Want to See Behind the Scenes of a C-Section?

A visual essay of Roman's birth

(Potentially obvious) content warning: this post contains photographs of a graphic nature that won’t be for everyone. But, y’know, they might be for some. The miracle of birth! Or something.

On December 20th of 2024, I had my second C-section. The first was an “emergency C-section” or, as I like to refer to it, a “surprise C-section”. “Emergency” feels too dramatic, when no one’s life was in immediate danger, there was no shouting, no rushing from one room to the next. It’s just that I’d been in labour for a while (24 hours, give or take), and nothing was happening. The C-section was recommended.

It’s something I struggled to process, over the ensuing weeks and months. I felt as though, in saying “okay, let’s do the C-section”, I had failed at some intrinsic part of womanhood. In a way, opting for the C-section for childbirth felt akin to taking Ozempic for weightloss: taking the easy way out, despite the fact that neither of these things is easy and, in any case, why must women suffer in order to “deserve” the outcome they want?

This, the second time around, I felt more at peace with my decision – and it was that, a decision, made ahead of time. My obstetrician was open to the possibility of my choosing a VBAC (vaginal birth after C-section), but with so many variables involved – and no guarantee that I wouldn’t just end up on the operating table anyway – I decided to schedule a C-section.

In the end, by the time I was 39 weeks along and preparing to check in for the procedure, I was not dilated at all – meaning, labour was nowhere near – and, when Roman was born, he weighed 9lbs 2oz so, in all, I felt as though the C-section was a solid choice.

Both Brandin and my sister were there with me; the anesthetist was an angel, who talked me through every moment of the operation warmly and calmly; I had created a playlist of songs I love, songs I thought might be soothing to me throughout the endeavour. In all, I had a beautiful experience, and, if I hadn’t also opted to have my fallopian tubes removed “while you’re in there”, I would absolutely opt for a C-section with my next child (even if a VBAC was an option which, after two sections, it often isn’t).

Beatrice, not having the option of holding my hand (Brandin claimed that honour), took photographs throughout the procedure. And because everything is content, I thought you might like to see them. Then again, you might not! That’s fine too!

In a way, I hope that these photographs might help any of you who are due to have a C-section and dreading it, those people who have had C-sections, and remember nothing (me, when Atlas was born), or just those among you who will never, for whatever reason, have children, but would still like a peek behind the curtain.

These photographs, if you ask me, are Beatrice’s magnum opus. Forget her own children, or her career. Small fry compared to these: a series of documentary-style shots that show the precise moment Roman Douglas Mac Cabe Wallace entered this world, and all of the guts and gore and glory that came along with him. I’ll never be able to do anything for her that compares. (I wouldn’t dare try.)