A Cesarean Scar, A Lifeline

LifeLine – This Scar Stays

It is the space of transition; from womb to the world. It is a door, an entrance through which a being enters the world, his path. His path has and shall further intertwine with countless paths of others, with places and spaces, experiences and memories. This line, this scar, this formation of fibrous connective tissue is the most meaningful space on my body, behind it a lifetime began. It is a lifeline.

Sometime earlier…

Facing your obstetrician you discover that the hope of a natural birth has turned into a reality of surgical instruments and drugs. Birthing a baby naturally, I believed was how I could truly participate in the process of our son entering the world, with the help of God and hypno-birthing of course! Cesareans have been on the rise for all types of reasons such as failed inductions, cephalometric disproportion and then there are those questionable reasons which has created a debate – the politics of the caesarean – which I won’t get into right now.  Cesareans do, as any surgery would, come with its risks for mama and baba and I left that chair feeling unsettled. As much as I had faith in my obstetrician I wanted a second opinion from our fetal specialist. We waited two more weeks to deliver our son via Caesarean, as per his advice.

In that time I realized that the birthing process – that entrance of being to the world, its path and postpartum – had to be an empowered one. I fuelled myself with the realization that a birth by caesarean does not render the mama immobilized in thought and emotion on the operating table. My thoughts and emotions could still permeate our son and the experience.

Leading up to birthing, I continued connecting with this being within; dancing, singing, talking, rubbing my full belly, using crystals, making visits to our kinesiologist, chanting and praying. A birth plan was created in areas where I felt I could participate which also helped cultivate restfulness within my mind, even though a birth plan is just that – a plan. As as a layperson regarding obstetrics (no matter how much I could read up on it), the birth plan was also a way to surrender to what was beyond my control. The obstetrician is the first to hold a being from the womb and pass that baby to its mother. That passing over, what a sacred, powerful act and on that day I was so glad to see her warm face in that clinically white room.

 On the day of Rocky’s birth my mind lay calm, receptive, soaking in every moment; every move he made, every rub of my abundant belly. I Saturated myself in this sacred relationship that two beings share – my last moments as a carrier of life, as a full woman before our welcomed division as one-becomes-two-that-much-will-come-from; a world within my womb.

I remembered these words of Anaïs Nin that was discovered during the pregnancy:

“Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman’s womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her.”

In empowering the birthing process something quite spectacular happened. My husband in our last moments as Two (husband and wife) began to chant. On his face was a love that grew seemingly instantaneously as his first-born, his son appeared from behind the screen. There was an anticipation that burst from him all for this tiny sprightly being. This was the birth of his fatherhood. We whispered Om in his tiny receptive ears, looked into his darting bold dark eyes knowing our lives as Three has now truly begun.

And so, this is why my caesarean scar stays. It is an exquisitely crafted line on my feminine form. I run my fingers over it on days when the world is noisy and pin-drop quiet, on those challenging days as a first-time mom, when he is asleep and best of all when I think of the future and how miracles happen. After all, our son was a spec on a screen and now he is a being-on-the-grow. It’s a miracle.



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