👶 C-Section or VBAC: A Personal Dilemma

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👶 C-Section or VBAC: A Personal Dilemma
Before the birth of my second child, Van, who is now fourteen, I wrote this reflection. My thoughts were consumed by the looming decision regarding his delivery, a topic that held particular weight because his older sister, Zelda, had been born via Cesarean section.
The experience with Zelda naturally led us to question the safest and best approach for the next delivery. The medical term that dominated our discussions was Vaginal Birth After C-section (VBAC). The prospect was alluring—the promise of a standard delivery and recovery—but it came with a significant degree of anxiety and risk. On the other hand, a planned repeat C-section offered a predictable, though major, surgical procedure.

Ultimately, after careful consideration and consultation with our doctors, Van was born via C-section in the end. This was a deliberate choice. A major factor in our decision was the estimate of his size; he was projected to be larger than Zelda was at birth. Given the potential complications associated with a larger baby and a VBAC—including the elevated risk of an emergency situation—we concluded that a scheduled C-section was the prudent and safest path forward for both me and for Van. Looking back, we remain confident that we made the best decision possible given the medical circumstances and information available to us at the time.

This period of deliberation was particularly intense, and a memory that solidified our choice came from a friend who was navigating the very same decision. Unlike us, she was determined to have a vaginal birth. Tragically, her attempt to deliver vaginally had a severe complication: the baby eventually had to be delivered via emergency C-section because her uterine scar ruptured. That outcome was a powerful, sobering reminder of the very real risks involved in a VBAC and served to validate our decision to proceed with a planned C-section for Van.

👶 C-Section or VBAC: A Personal Dilemma
November 6, 2010
A Crossroads in the Journey: Weighing the Path for Baby Va
n

My husband, Devin, and I find ourselves at a significant and emotionally charged crossroads, desperately trying to discern the safest and most responsible path forward for the arrival of our new baby, Van. Devin, ever my rock, is completely wonderful and has expressed his contentment in leaving the ultimate decision to me. Yet, this freedom, while loving, leaves me utterly and completely torn between two very different medical routes.
The core of my internal debate revolves around the stark reality that both a planned, repeat Cesarean section and the attempt at a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-section) carry distinct and real risks. This isn’t a theoretical concern; it’s rooted in our history. Our first child, our daughter Zelda, was born via an emergency C-section back in October 2009. Now, with Van due in January 2011, the pregnancies are undeniably close—separated by only fifteen months. This remarkably short inter-pregnancy interval is the single factor that haunts my thoughts, as I constantly worry about how it impacts the integrity of my uterine scar and, consequently, the safety of my decision.

My doctor has been a source of both extensive knowledge and, paradoxically, conflicting advice. Her insights are helpful, but they pull me in two different directions. On the one hand, she strongly suggested that a VBAC would be the preferable route if our family’s long-term vision includes having more children. It would reduce the accumulated risk of multiple major abdominal surgeries. On the other hand, she was quick to reassure me of the relative safety of repeat procedures, noting that I could safely have three C-sections, and we all know people who have gone on to successfully manage four!

This is where my deepest, most agonizing fear resides: the potential to inadvertently place Van in danger. The thought of pursuing a VBAC simply to preserve the option for a larger family down the road feels selfish if it means even a fraction of a percent increase in risk for my baby boy now. I am consumed by the singular desire to know, unequivocally, which of these two paths—a surgical birth or a trial of labor—offers the healthiest start for my baby boy. It’s a decision that feels too heavy to carry alone, and I would genuinely welcome any thoughts, shared experiences, or perspectives from others who have faced this delicate and difficult medical dilemma.

The Case for a Scheduled C-Section
The decision to schedule the birth of our second child is overwhelmingly influenced by practical considerations, a choice that promises to significantly simplify our lives. The logistics surrounding Devin’s demanding job make a planned event almost a necessity; eliminating the uncertainty of when labor might strike ensures he can arrange his work schedule with confidence, minimizing potential disruption and stress for him. Furthermore, arranging childcare for our first daughter, Zelda, is greatly simplified. My cousin, who has graciously offered to help, would benefit immensely from a concrete date, allowing her to make firm plans without the anxiety of a last-minute emergency call.

Beyond the external logistics, scheduling a C-section offers a path to avoid the intense emotional and physical stress I experienced during Zelda’s birth. That spontaneous labor ultimately devolved into a frantic, emergency Cesarean section, a traumatic experience I am keen to prevent repeating. Since a medical induction, which was attempted with Zelda, is not an option this time, choosing a scheduled surgery provides a sense of control and predictability that a trial of labor simply cannot.

There are also encouraging assurances regarding the recovery process. I’ve been advised that a second C-section is often associated with a faster and easier recovery than the first. This is a considerable benefit in itself, but it also translates into a more extended period of approved time off work, a crucial factor for both my physical and mental recuperation.

The advantages of a planned surgery extend to the medical setting as well. A scheduled date means I can actively choose my preferred surgeon, ensuring continuity of care with a doctor I trust. The operating room environment will be calm, prepared, and routine, far removed from the rush, worry, and fear associated with a sudden, unscheduled emergency. We can walk into the hospital knowing exactly what to expect.

However, the weight of this decision rests on one major, permanent drawback. Committing to a scheduled C-section means accepting that a vaginal birth is no longer a possibility for me. Every future child we are blessed with will, by necessity, have to be delivered via Cesarean section. This single choice sets the course for all our future births.

The Appeal of a VBAC
The upcoming delivery is consuming my thoughts, primarily because of the intense desire for a successful Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC). The very idea of achieving a vaginal delivery is tremendously exciting—it’s a deeply personal milestone that offers such freedom. A successful VBAC would finally open up the possibility of having more children in the future without the looming certainty of another major surgery every single time. It would mean that my family planning is dictated by nature and readiness, not by a surgeon’s calendar.

Beyond the long-term implications, I strongly believe a vaginal delivery will make the immediate postpartum period much easier to navigate. I vividly remember the grueling recovery from my first C-section; the incision pain, the inability to move easily, and the extended time before I truly felt like myself again. I imagine, and desperately hope, that the post-delivery pain following a VBAC won’t be nearly as intense or debilitating, allowing me to be more present and active with my newborn, Van.

Regarding the logistics of the delivery, I’ve made the firm decision to have an epidural. This was not a choice made lightly but was largely influenced by the medical advice I received. The doctors presented it as a crucial safety net: in the event that the trial of labor became unstable or if we encountered an emergency that necessitated a repeat C-section, they could simply administer additional anesthetic through the already-placed epidural line. This would eliminate the dangerous time delay of having to perform general anesthesia.

However, the single biggest factor driving my preference for a VBAC is the timing of the birth. A vaginal delivery allows Van to determine his own birthday, coming when his body and lungs are truly ready. I have a profound anxiety about the standard C-section protocol, which typically schedules the surgery a week or two earlier than the due date to prevent the onset of labor. I worry that this premature exit will deprive him of the final, necessary days or even weeks of development in the womb—time that is so vital for the maturation of his organs and systems. The thought of him coming out before he has reached his optimal readiness weighs heavily on me.

Conclusion
I understand and deeply respect that the doctors and medical team are the experts, possessing the knowledge and experience to guide this process safely. Yet, despite their assurances and statistics, this choice feels so immense, so personal, and so loaded with emotional weight. It is not just a medical procedure; it is the gateway to my child’s life and a defining moment in my own journey as a mother. I am finding myself at a crossroads, balancing medical recommendations against my strong maternal instincts and deeply felt desires. More than anything, I am hoping to connect with other mothers who have walked this path—to hear what specific challenges they faced during their own VBAC attempts, what resources or conversations ultimately helped them find peace and certainty about their final decision, and how they reconciled the inherent risks with the profound reward.
On January 17, 2011, I gave birth via-c-section to a healthy baby boy. He is not 14 years old and in the 8th grade.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

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The Weary Crown of Morning

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The jarring, insistent shriek,
An alarm clock’s metallic cry,
Assaults the fragile morning’s peace,
A painful echo in the sky
Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound
Instantly swallowed by the deep,
Heavy silence all around,
I try to meld back into sleep.

A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat,
From sleep’s warm, velvet, soft embrace,
It snatches me, with sudden heat,
And leaves my heart against my face.
My eyes fly open, dark and blank,
Staring up at the ceiling’s shade,
My body, safe within the bank
Of blankets, a fortress I have made.

But now the cold kiss starts to creep,
A sharp, unwelcome morning chill,
That pricks the skin I cannot keep
Beneath the covers, lying still.
With weariness, I fight the day,
The first act: pull the fabric high,
To hide, to make the light away,
And plunge into a private sky.

No. It can’t possibly be now,
Time is a thief that steals the night,
I want to vanish, somehow,
From all the expectations of the light.
Just lie here, a statue, breathing low,
Letting my mind drift, free and wide,
Back to the quiet dreams I know,
A ghost the sheets completely hide.

This is my refuge, warm and deep,
A sanctuary I’ll not leave,
While outside, light and noises sleep.
I am a vessel that will receive
A torrent of chaotic thought,
The doubt, the list, the sudden spark,
In this brief silence, dearly bought,
Before the world steps from the dark.

But then, the quiet starts to fade,
A deep, weary settling down:
Alas, the rising must be made.
Each day, a loop, a weary crown.
I run a race that has no end,
Against the clock, against demands,
A weight that bends, and still must bend.
I shove the covers with both hands.

The only prize, the only true
Reprieve, is time, unscheduled, pure:
To take a day, a week or two,
With only my children, to be sure.
No emails, bosses, or cruel stress,
Just me and my kids, simple, slow,
Wrapped in the light of quietness.
That is the only finish line I know.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

A Ghost, Unseen.

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I keep the fire in this hall,
Arrange the chairs and mend the wall.
My hands are worn with tending tasks,
Fulfilling all that anyone asks.
I am the keeper of the space,
The one who sets the hurried pace.

And some who gather here draw near,
Their quiet thanks both warm and clear.
They see the work, the effort spent,
Acknowledge what the labor meant.
In their kind eyes, I find my place,
A welcome smile, a moment’s grace.

But others in this shared abode,
Who travel down the very same road,
Look through me as if I were glass,
Observing only shadows pass.
The meal is served, the linens clean,
But I remain a ghost, unseen.


They take the comfort that I make,
But offer nothing for my sake,
A servant in the home I claim,
Known by my function, not my name.

More works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Creeds (Kids Book Series)

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Let’s Greet the Day

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Let’s Greet the Day

The sun, a sneaky, golden thief,
Has crept in, past the window’s leaf.
No shadows dance, no moonbeams gleam,
It’s morning now, you living dream.

My sleepy cubs, my drowsy crew,
The world awaits, a vibrant hue.
No time for burrowing, deep and tight,
The day’s a canvas, burning bright.

Those eyelids heavy, slumber’s hold,
A story whispered, brave and bold.
Of possibilities, yet unfurled,
Adventures waiting, in the world.

The birds are singing, crisp and clear,
A symphony to banish fear.
Of early rising, tasks to face,
Embrace the moment, find your grace.

The kitchen’s humming, warm and sweet,
With fragrant toast and morning treat.
A steaming mug, a gentle nudge,
To chase the sleep, and be a judge.

Of how you’ll shape this brand new day,
With laughter, learning, come what may.
So rise and shine, my sleepy dears,
And conquer dreams, and dry your tears.

No grumbles, groans, or heavy sighs,
Just open hearts and sparkling eyes.
The world’s a stage, the play’s begun,
Let’s greet the day, my rising suns!

Fake Friends

I wish people were honest with me. If you don’t like me or have a problem with me just say it. Cause this, acting like I am like a sister to you and then turning on me is such a waste of time. I would rather spend my free time with those I care about and those who actually care about it.

Fake Friends

In shallow laughter’s fleeting sway,
I lost precious moments, secrets astray.
Surrounded by smiles, a false display,
I thought I’d found friendship, come what may.

Time’s relentless river, swift and wide,
Washed away those bonds, a fading tide.
Empty promises echoed, a hollow guide,
Revealing the truth, I could no longer hide.

With eyes now open, illusions depart,
I see the true gems, a change of heart.
My family, my friends, a love that won’t start,
Had waited for me, from the very start.

Regret’s sharp sting, a lesson I’ve learned,
True love’s bond, where loyalty is earned.
No more wasted moments, a new page turned,
My heart seeks connection, a lesson discerned.

For my family, by blood or by choice,
Deserve every beat, every word, every voice.
In their warmth and embrace, I rejoice,
A love that knows no bounds, I’ll always voice.

In this sacred space, where love’s light gleams,
I’ll savor each moment, like sweet summer dreams.
Forever grateful, for love’s gentle beams,
A love that never wavered, so it seems.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

My Body, a Battlefield, Stitched and Still Sore.

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The castle of pillows, once a throne of dreams,
Now holds a captive, bound by surgical seams.
My body, a battlefield, stitched and still sore,
Yearning to rise, but weakness pleads for more.

My husband, my fortress, weathers the storm,
A juggler of burdens, keeping us warm.
His gentle touch soothes, a silent decree,
“Your strength will return, just wait and you’ll see.”

The children, like sunshine, peek through the door,
Their laughter, a melody I long to explore.
Guilt paints the silence, a tear escapes sight,
A mother restricted, a wife dimmed in light.

The house, a reflection, whispers my name,
Dishes pile high, a game I can’t play.
But whispers of hope in my spirit take root,
This rest is a haven, to bear future fruit.

For them, I will rise, a warrior anew,
My love, their compass, forever will hold true.
This too shall pass, like pages turned with care,
A stronger wife, mother, with burdens to share.

It Stings to Hear Their Memories Frayed

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It Stings to Hear Their Memories Frayed

The whispers twist like smoke and ash,
A tarnish on a cherished past.
They paint a picture, cold and gray,
Of parents loved, now swept away.

Their laughter, once a joyful tune,
Now echoes hollow, out of tune.
Their kindness, once a warming sun,
Deemed weakness by the thoughtless one.

It stings to hear their memories frayed,
Their gentle hands as faults portrayed.
The love they gave, a precious thing,
Reduced to whispers on the wing.

But anger flares, a righteous fire,
To shield their light, their hearts’ desire.
Their legacy, a tapestry bright,
Woven with love, and woven tight.

No whispered word, no careless tongue,
Can steal the truth of what they’ve done.
Their love remains, a guiding star,
Though shadows try to dim how far

Their light has reached, the warmth they gave,
A shelter strong, a life they saved.
So let them speak, with words unsound,
Their whispers lost on hallowed ground.

For in your heart, their memory lies,
Untarnished truth in loving eyes.
And when the storm has passed its peak,
Their love will guide you, strong and sleek.

Family

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A tapestry woven with laughter and tears,
A chorus of voices that echo through years.
A big family, a bustling embrace,
A love that fills corners of every space.

Dinner tables stretch long, a feast for the eyes,
With stories retold and laughter that flies.
Grandparents’ wisdom, a warm guiding light,
Siblings’ squabbles soon turning to fight.

Cousins like friends, a mischievous crew,
Sharing secrets and games, ever new.
Aunts and uncles, like branches so strong,
Sharing advice, where they once did belong.

Holidays hum with carols and cheer,
Tiny hands reaching, eyes sparkling clear.
Presents piled high, wrapped in love’s embrace,
Memories made, etched upon every face.

Though storms may come, and paths may divide,
The family bond, forever will guide.
A safety net cast, a love that endures,
A comfort, a strength, forever secure.

So raise a glass, to the ones who hold dear,
To the laughter, the tears, and the love that’s sincere.
For a big family, a gift to behold,
A story unfolding, forever untold.

Whispers on the Breeze

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I write this poem with whispers on the breeze,
Of parents lost, too young to hold their knees.
Grandkids unseen, stories left untold,
A love’s sweet melody, forever on hold.

Though stars now hold them, distant, ever bright,
Their spirit lingers in the fading light.
In laughter’s echo, eyes that hold the sea,
A glimpse of them, forever lives in me.

We trace their features in each playful face,
The stubborn chin, the smile’s familiar grace.
In bedtime stories, whispered soft and low,
Their love unfolds, a seed begins to grow.

We build sandcastles where they walked the shore,
And sing the songs they hummed to me before.
Their absence hangs, a tear that won’t descend,
Yet in their memory, our love will transcend.