Incision
On my daughter’s fourth birthday I'm searching for the bones of my birthing experience so I can bury them somewhere fertile.
Zola expanded in my body so painfully I still feel a dull pull when I think of that pregnant summer in Hong Kong. The escalator was under repair that year, just in time for me, my 10 extra kilograms, and an all-uphill walk home from work. I’d waddle up to Midlevels while Zola tumbled and teased an early arrival. She was born at midday on her due date so she didn’t leave me hanging, but by month six I was thoroughly fed up with the production she was staging in there. I tried everything to coax her out as June came and went. Pineapple. Squats. Manifesting.
At around 1 AM on the day she was born, I sat propped up on all four of our pillows, measuring the valley of space between contractions. She was on her way. Will was up watching sports in the study so I turned on Nanette, watched the clock, and cried until my fingers tingled. When he eventually slipped into bed I told him I was in labour. I’m not sure how he fell asleep.
My water broke at around 6. I took a shower and made Will a cup of coffee and a bagel. Two years earlier while experiencing contractions with my son, I stood at the stove making sugo and penne, disappearing into the bedroom to let a contraction roll over me, and appearing again to check on the sauce. This time Will was taking his sweet time drinking coffee while Zola somersaulted and my anxiety simmered. It was a Sunday morning and our nanny was just heading out for church, hair still wet. I asked her to look after James because I had to go off and have a baby. I didn’t mean for this to happen on your day off.
Our Uber was a Tesla because the Lord has a terrible sense of humour. We were pleased to find the maternity triage station at Queen Mary Hospital empty and I calmly walked the midwife through my birth plan, stopping to emphasise the part that read no c-section unless absolutely medically critical. While elective caesareans are popular in Hong Kong they’re rare in the public health system. Epidurals are equally hard to come by. Two years prior I’d blacked out from pain. This time I was prepared for minimal intervention and the sound of Cantonese pulling me in and out of an altered state. The midwife said second babies come quick but two hours in, Zola went quiet. Her heartbeat kept dipping, prompting the machine next to my bed to freak out, which then brought the doctors in (and out, and in, and out again). By the time the medical back-and-forth became a series of urgent exchanges I’d squeezed Will’s hand raw, moaning through the Pitocin they thought would help bypass the need for surgery. It didn’t help. When her condition was in the red zone they wheeled me down a hallway of fluorescent lights and doors while I wept and gave my consent.
What is your name?
Nomfundo Msomi.
Do you know what procedure you’re having?
Emergency c-section.
What is your name?
Nomfundo Msomi.
Do you know what procedure you’re having?
Emergency c-section.
I looked up at Will as the doctors fiddled with my insides. He was a body and a face but I couldn’t see him. It was unclear if anyone could see me. Zola let out a weak cry and they put her on my chest for a moment before taking her away so they could observe me for an hour. A nurse asked about my braids while I stared up at the round light directly above my bed.
No, I don’t do them myself.
They cut her out of me and I lay there with broken muscles and a perfect child. They cut her out of me just as I was coming to terms with her no longer being mine alone. They cut her out of me and I wanted to fight back so bad I irritated my stitches. They cut her out of me and I took her for long walks when I should have been resting. Once I walked so far down Conduit Road with Zola in the BABYBJÖRN I called Will to come and get me. The incision was stinging and I didn’t think I could make it back. They cut her out of me with my consent. They cut her out of me four years ago and today I chase her around with a bottle of detangling spray and a hair brush. Zola June, born in July.
During the last night of our hospital stay a doctor came to check on my wound. I have great news for you! You can have a VBAC – vaginal birth after c-section. My body was undone and Zola was asleep. She was brand new and I wanted to go home. We were standing at the edge of the earth together.
Birthing while Black is a beautiful, unnecessarily dangerous thing. Read about how Serena Williams saved her own life and support the Black birthing people in your own community.