On Rocket Launches & C-Sections

A post for whomever needs it

The sterile, cold room. The steady beep of my heart monitor. The focused voices of the staff. And then, a push, a tug and the cries of a baby!

I really, really loved my scheduled c-section!

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What is it about a SpaceX launch that moves and uplifts? Humanity, striving for the future, giving the best of themselves. If I’m not already tearing up during a successful launch, the moment that gets me every time is when the broadcast cuts to the control room. And there they all are — the team, staring in wonder, as their rocket, their baby, flies. They cheer. I bawl. I am utterly moved.

I’ve now birthed three human babies of my own at ages 30, 35 and 40. The first birth was unmedicated — I birthed “naturally,” which is a label that tries to do too much as it implicates and irks. The second birth, labor went wrong. Chaos descended upon our little family — I needed an urgent C-section, my daughter’s first breaths blew out her lungs — double pneumothorax — she coded and went to the NICU, I hemorrhaged and a week later developed HELLP syndrome with multiple organ failure. After two weeks of my husband and myself feeling traumatized, it was over and we were all OK, our family of four moved on with our lives, stunned, changed and grateful.

My life looked different after that — I had never been so close to death.

Still, we had one more empty seat at the table. After years of discernment, and talking with my capable OB, we tried for a third child. This time, I scheduled a C-section.

I sent an intention for delivering my son: To radiate love and gratitude to our care team as we received their best.

It was a sacred birth, full of magic and mystery. This was not lessened in a hospital.

New life is sacred, even if candles are replaced by fluorescent lights and even if your birthing tub is replaced with a sterile bed and even if a midwife is replaced by a care team in scrubs and hairnets who have dedicated their lives to co-creating this moment with you.

A C-section is a disappointment for some. I get that. I’ve been there. It’s not picture perfect. It’s not so Instagrammable.

But what if we could help mothers to see in the moment the beauty of the dance in the surgery room — of people working together as a team, most of whom the birthing mother has never met — and the beauty of trusting, of surrendering, of relinquishing control.

Trust birth, indeed, in the hands of souls who create a level of safety and miracles our birthing ancestors could only dream about.

We can choose to love and appreciate those humans who share their intellectual gifts and humanity in service of our care. Who am I to receive such a gift on behalf of my family? An entire control room of professionals focused on helping us?

I was blown away.

It was our own little rocket launch. I’m profoundly grateful.