My Elective C‑Section Experience in the UK: What Actually Happened
I’ll be writing a separate post about why I chose to have an elective C‑section, but this post focuses purely on the experience itself — from being booked in late, to the day of surgery, recovery, and discharge.
There’s a lot online about planned C‑sections, but much of it is either very clinical or overly polished. This is neither. It’s simply what actually happened to me.
Being Booked for an Elective C‑Section (Late in Pregnancy)
In the UK, an elective C‑section usually involves an appointment with an obstetrician around 36 weeks to discuss risks and give informed consent. If you go ahead, the surgery is typically booked for 39 weeks — late enough for lung development, but early enough to reduce the likelihood of going into labour naturally.
I only committed at 37.5 weeks, which is quite late. Because of that, I had to rearrange appointments to be seen urgently. Thankfully, things moved quickly: I saw an obstetrician at 37.5 weeks and was booked in for a planned C‑section at exactly 39 weeks.
The Consultant Appointment (and the GBS Conversation)
The obstetrician had clearly read the notes from my previous birth and summarised them accurately: I’d had an epidural, the baby’s heart rate fluctuated, the delivery was assisted with ventouse, I had an episiotomy — and both my baby and I tested positive for Group B Strep (GBS), requiring seven days of IV antibiotics in hospital.
After outlining all of this, she said:
“So — all relatively straightforward last time. Why do you want a C‑section this time?”
That comment caught me off guard. In the UK, the quoted statistics for passing GBS to your baby are around 1 in 1,750–2,000, but experiencing it firsthand — including a week‑long hospital stay — didn’t feel “straightforward” to me. It felt minimising, even if unintentionally so.
She went on to explain that:
second vaginal births are often easier
there’s usually less risk of tearing the second time
I was fit, healthy, and had no medical reason requiring a C‑section
She also offered a GBS swab and suggested I might not even be carrying the bacteria anymore, as nothing had shown up in my urine samples.
Ultimately, this was not enough to convince me (I did take up her offer of a swab, which actually came back GBS positive!), but thankfully she didn’t push. Once the risks of a C‑section were read out and I signed the consent form, my decision was respected — and I was officially booked in.
The Day of the C‑Section
We arrived at the hospital at 7am. Two other couples arrived at the same time, all of us there for elective C‑sections, all with suitcases.
At around 8am, a nurse explained the unit had had a very busy night and that all C‑section recovery beds were full. This meant a long wait, and a small chance of delays.
We waited until around 11am before things started to move.
Because recovery beds were still full, we weren’t taken to a bed beforehand. Instead, we waited in the triage waiting room. Going from sitting there fully dressed to being told “We’re ready for you” and walking into theatre within about 30 minutes felt surreal.
Everyone apologised repeatedly for the delay, but we honestly didn’t mind. We were very aware that we weren’t an emergency and felt grateful simply to have a planned slot.
Going Into Theatre for a Planned C‑Section
The recovery nurse who met us was warm, friendly, and reassuring — which made a huge difference. The walk through the surgical corridors felt cold and clinical, with bright white lighting and blue walls, very different from labour wards.
In the recovery room, both my husband and I changed into surgical gowns, caps, and shoe covers. I was asked basic questions, including when I last ate (food had to stop at 2am).
In theatre, the anaesthetist set the tone completely. She was calm, chatty, and reassuring, explaining everything step by step and offering music or the radio.
She inserted a cannula into my hand and gave me local anaesthetic before the spinal. For the spinal itself, I curled forward and held my husband’s hands. The anticipation was far worse than the procedure.
I felt a warm spreading sensation, followed by numbness moving up my body. After testing sensation and adjusting the table, the anaesthetist said:
“They’ve already started.”
That was actually a relief.
Baby’s Birth and the Operation
The surgeons were very quiet and clinical, with minimal interaction. Most communication came from the anaesthetist.
Within around 10 minutes, our baby was lifted over the curtain. My focus went straight to her face. I’d had some anxiety during pregnancy about scan measurements, but she cried quickly and looked okay.
She was wiped down and placed on my chest soon after, wrapped in a towel. My arms had been raised and bent awkwardly for a long time, so holding her felt uncomfortable. When she became unsettled, my husband took her for skin‑to‑skin.
I didn’t mind. I think I was still running on adrenaline and relief, just focused on everything having gone smoothly.
The full operation lasted around 90 minutes.
Immediate Recovery After an Elective C‑Section
Back in recovery, the nurse checked on me frequently and gave me anti‑sickness medication. I was unbelievably thirsty and absolutely ravenous once food was allowed.
I ate three packets of biscuits almost immediately. Later, my husband brought me a beef baguette from the hospital M&S, which tasted incredible. Thankfully, I didn’t feel nauseous at all.
Midwives came in regularly to monitor the baby’s temperature, heart rate, and breathing, and to check feeding. Because of our history, she followed a two‑hour monitoring protocol.
Around five hours post‑surgery, I was encouraged to get out of bed, walk, and use the toilet. Pain was minimal — more tightness and discomfort than anything else — and I moved cautiously.
Standing actually felt more comfortable than sitting or lying down.
I also had to pass urine three times, and produce 250ml of urine each time, before being fully cleared to move out of the recovery ward and into the postnatal ward. This came with an uncomfortable bladder sensation and a surprising mental block. Even eight days later, I could still feel faint traces of that discomfort.
Moving to the Postnatal Ward
At around 11pm, we were moved to Mulberry ward which has been newly refurbished to include a lot more private side rooms, and we were given our own side room with an en‑suite.
My husband didn’t have a bed, just a chair, but simply having him there overnight was invaluable. He managed some sleep by lowering one of the bed rails on my bed and putting his feet up.
Our baby struggled to settle independently on the first night and needed to be held to sleep constantly. We were exhausted, but having a private room — and shared support — made the experience infinitely easier than my first hospital stay.
Discharge After a C‑Section
Discharge took much longer than expected, mostly due to paperwork and waiting for different members of staff.
Before leaving, we went through:
Baby’s head‑to‑toe physical check
Baby’s hearing test
A discharge chat (safe sleep, when to contact A&E for baby, and when to contact maternity triage for mum up to six weeks postpartum, midwife visit dates)
A doctor check‑in about bleeding, lochia, and scar healing
A midwife‑led review of medications, including pain relief and blood‑thinning injections
Removal of my cannula
Confirmation that we had a car seat, and that baby was properly secured
Final paperwork and a security check
By the time we finally left, I was tired, sore, and very ready to be home.
Final Thoughts
An elective C‑section isn’t the easy option — but neither is any path through birth. This experience wasn’t perfect, but it was calm, controlled, and predictable in ways that mattered to me.
I’ll be sharing a separate post about why I chose a planned C‑section, including the role my previous birth and GBS experience played in that decision. I’ll also be sharing a post with practical tips — what helped me, what I didn’t need to pack, and what I wish I’d known before a planned C‑section.
If you’re reading this while navigating your own choice: you’re allowed to trust your instincts.
