Today I'm going to write about one of my chapters, one of the difficult ones. In retrospect there would be much that I would do differently, but, of course we are not blessed with the gift of hindsight in the present tense.
It was a beautiful October day. Can I tell you that October is my favorite month of the year? I actually might be satisfied if every day would begin crisply and slowly fade to balmy sunshine. Perhaps heaven will forever be colored and temperate as a desirable October day. On this particular morning, I was in the early stages of labor with my second son. My water broke 24 hours earlier and since contractions never started, pitocin was administered. I can assure you that if you never encountered pitocin, you are likely better off.
Ryan and I had been in Utah for a year and personal connections were difficult to come by. Noah was a day away from turning 2 and Ryan was at home keeping watch and attempting to find a suitable sitter. Labor, just like pregnancy, was not at all similar the second time as the first. My doctor was on vacation so a doctor I never met showed up around 0830 to say "hello" before proceeding to the office. I remember thinking, "Seriously, how on earth do you expect me to carry on a normal conversation when I can barely breathe right now?" He asked why I was alone and I explained Ryan would be coming soon, and he assured me they would call him when it was time and he'd be on his way. Dude. Whatever. Be gone because I can't even right now...
Labor progressed so.much.more.quickly this time. I see absolutely no reason to be a hero and had requested medical intervention, but, alas, anesthesiologists are in high demand. A nurse arrived to inquire on my status. Finding me shaking, teeth chattering, and shivering from head to toe, she asked if I was cold to which I responded, "no." She told the student nurse this was a sign I was transitioning, then asked why I was alone and if there was anyone she could call, to which I again responded, "no." She assured me I was doing fine,the medical Savior would be on his way, and promptly left the room. I wanted my mother, and my husband, so desperately in that moment. It wouldn't be the last time that day either.
Ryan arrived in time for the saving medical procedure. I cannot fully explain the instaneous relief it was to go from intense, painful, full body convulsions, to...peace. Maybe this is why people do drugs. Seriously. Ohmaword. Amazing. Fifteen minutes later the nurse was shocked to report I was ready to roll... I was discouraged because sleep sounded so much better, but then it was announced that the doctor was still at his office which bought me 45 minutes of peace. The only peace I would have for the rest of the day.
Aaron Michael made his entrance so quickly. A bolt of energy which is characteristic to this day. It didn't take long to see they were not pleased with my son. They allowed me a quick glance, and began to assess his vitals. "He is fine, but just having a little trouble breathing so we will send him down to the nursery" was the response I received moments later. Ryan was clearly conflicted as to where his allegiance should be. I absolutely did not want Aaron to be alone and told him he must go with them. The medical staff did all the necessary things and left the room. I laid there, alone, feeling my body return to normal. I wanted someone. I wanted my child. I wanted my mother. I wanted my husband. It felt so empty to give birth and be left in the same space, viewing the aftermath... With nothing.
The nurses returned, helped me to get up, and took me to the maternity ward. I passed the nursery on the way but I could see nothing. They helped me into bed, much like a brokenhearted child, and made their exit. Still I waited. Alone. Looking out the window at the gorgeous multi colored tree. I made all the calls, which felt hollow, it felt surreal to announce a birth that was possibly questionable. I kept telling everyone the baby would be fine. Right? Just a little trouble breathing. Right? Breathing is not essential to life. Just a minor detail. It would be two, very long, very lonely, hours before Ryan returned with the news that it didn't look good and they were admitting our son.
In the coming hours we would learn that Aaron had pneumonia. They were treating him with antibiotics. I did not lay eyes on my new son for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four. Hours. It would be seventy two before I could hold him. Can you imagine a mother's heart at this point? A mother wants to look at her child. A mother wants to hold her child. To be denied the right to do so is to deny breath. Aaron spent two, physically and emotionally draining, expensive, weeks in the NICU. Many nights I wanted to pull out all the cords, and carry my child home like every mother is supposed to do. Many, many gut wrenching, tearful nights. The NICU is an emotional journey. It never goes straight from sick to well. More like, "sick" to "better" to "more sick" to "amazing" to "terrible" to "sick." I had to commit my son to the One who loves him more than I do. I had to trust He would hold him when I could not. No. Easy. Task. My mommy heart still feels the pings of all those lonely, uncertain hours. I hate that the birth of my child is forever shrouded in those painful memories. It should have been joyful. With lots of people to celebrate. It should have been filled with love and support and balloons.
Today I would have done things a little differently. I would have made more demands. I would not have been as passive. But the truth is, I see how this event greatly helped to shape my independence. Something I would need in the coming years. Something I am still proud to have. My baby son is none the worse for wear despite the less than ideal circumstances surrounding his arrival. In fact, he might be stronger because of it. Because nobody puts baby in a corner. Nobody.
No comments:
Post a Comment