My husband knew what he was getting into when he married me. I am strong willed, independent, and like to do everything on my own. But, the day that my twins were born was the day that my c-section made me love my husband more.
It was an emergency c-section, and something I was completely against. Two weeks before, I had told my husband that if this was the way their birth went, I would never be the same. But still, he held me and told me no matter what the outcome, it would all be okay.
For a while, I didn’t love him more. I almost held this anger over him because of all that he had to do for me during that period.
I was independent. I always had been. But, during those months after the surgery, I was solely dependent on him for so much. The anger didn’t stem because he helped me. The anger stemmed because I felt weak and I couldn’t help myself.
It was the most humbling experience of my life.
I had given birth naturally twice before, and that isn’t a bunch of beauty either. It’s a hot mess after you give birth, and I did need some help from my husband. I recovered fairly quickly though and was always able to do things on my own still for the majority of the recovery.
I wasn’t prepared after the birth of the twins.
My C-Section Made Me Love My Husband More.
For those of you that have never had a c-section or major surgery before, I am going to give you a little run down.
No, it isn’t going to be pretty. The road to recovery for me was months long, and the hardest thing I have ever gone through in my life.
First of all, you can hardly hold your child for the first few hours because the drugs that they give you make you so shaky. The first time my husband had to help me was moments after they were born, helping me hold my brand new babies because I could hardly do it on my own.
Secondly, you can’t get out of bed for a day. You have a catheter, you still can’t feel your legs, and you were quite literally gutted and put back together. You’re not moving. My husband had to get everything for me. The babies, drinks I could’t reach, anything from my bags… I could do nothing. I was confined to a twin size hospital bed.
When you finally can get up, you wish you didn’t have to. It is the hardest experience in the world trying to move around, learn how to walk again with no abdominal or leg strength, and only be able to move at slower than a snail’s pace. My husband had to help me get up from the bed. He had to help me sit down on the toilet, he had to hand me fresh pads at times.
Then, when you leave the hospital, my husband had to help me more. He had to help me shower. Literally. He washed my two day postpartum body, in all of it’s glory, because I couldn’t do it. He had to help me get dressed. He got everything and anything for me. He walked with me around my own home when I was feeling weak. He helped me position the babies to breastfeed.
Then, the postpartum anxiety kicked in. He went with me to every, single doctors appointment. He called doctors for me, he sat with me through full blown panic attacks, he prayed with me, he put up with every crazy health issue that I thought I had without ever questioning me or acting like I was a burden.
I was not the woman he married during that time. I was a shell of myself and it felt as though I was living outside of my own body. I could not be a good wife to him during that time, because I was too busy tearing myself apart.
But, he was there, and he held my hand through every moment, every tear, every appointment, and every breakdown.
Looking back, I was so angry that I had those months of weakness, that it took me almost a year to realize everything that he had done for me. He didn’t care that I was weak or that I needed him. He took that on the day he married me, for better or for worse. He held me at my weakest, loved me at my lowest, and was telling me how much I meant to him even when I was despising him for having to help me.
I love my husband so much more than I ever thought possible, because of my c-section and what we overcame together.
*Cheers to my husband, my best friend, and the man who has seen me at my lowest, and loved me anyway*