I typed out this huge diatribe about choices, and now I erased it.
On purpose. By choice.
If you're reading my blog, it's either because you know me, and thence know my feelings about the current birth climate in America, or because you randomly found my blog by searching for zombies, pinkeye, Tom Robbins, or Cap'n Crunch. And if it's the latter, you probably don't care about my thoughts regarding a pregnant woman's responsibility to research her birth options and make the most intelligent choice possible for the health of herself and her child.
So i'm going to take my big, long, frothy soapbox oration and condense it for you.
I'm pro-choice on pretty much everything. I support a human being's right to choose. To choose whatever. Choose your shoes, choose your haircut, choose to wear pleated pants with tapered ankles, choose which donuts you want in your Dunkin' Donuts Dozen, but please don't let the fruit filled ones touch the chocolate glazed. And, yeah, I support your right to choose your religion, to terminate your pregnancy, to own guns, to do drugs, to prostitute your body (but please don't do these last two near me). It's your business. It's your choice.
But for pete's sake, make the choice YOURSELF.
I hear about so many pregnant women who basically opt out of their own health care. They don't read books, search the internet, seek recommendations, opt for second opinions. They follow their doctor's orders blindly. Incisive, intelligent women who would spend 45 minutes choosing a cough syrup or cereal will nod happily when their obstetrician recommends inducing labor at 39 weeks or scheduling a c-section for questionable reasons. It's become so common in this country, with our 30% c-section rate, that folks seem to forget that it's major abdominal surgery with major drugs and serious possible complications for mother and child. And I don't want bad things to happen to people, especially people I care about
So i'm not going to tell you how horrible my c-section was, although I will tell you that Dr. Crog poked his head around the drape and hollered, "OH MY GOD, THERE ARE INTESTINES ON THE TABLE! THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE! IT'S LIKE A ROMERO FILM IN HERE!" I'm not going to go on and on about inductions and what can go wrong. And i'm not going to talk about infections, popped stitches, exploding colons, prolapses, or that wacko who carved his name into that poor woman.
I'm just going to say this: CHOOSE. Choose wisely. Trust no one. Question everything. It's your body. It's your baby. It's your freedom.