Sunday, July 14, 2013
Waiting
This post is Part V in my story about birth and mothering.
After weeks of prodromal labor, starting and stopping and starting again, I thought my "labor engine starter" might be broken. I was getting no updates on my cervix from my midwives, and I think that helped me stay somewhat sane. The date I had guessed came and went...and went further. A week after this date I went in for my weekly appointment. David came with me since I was (once again) having contractions I could time.
The midwife did offer an update on my cervix this time, and also offered to sweep my membranes. I consented. With Nora I would have refused this procedure, but I had been subtly warned that I was on a tight time table to avoid pressure to schedule a repeat C-section. There would be midwifery call starting the next morning at 8 AM. (This was a stressful issue for us as the midwife I had sought out had moved out of state as I neared term. Now the practice was short, and the midwives couldn't cover call 24/7.) My midwife said she would see me back in five days and would have to do an ultrasound to check fluid levels then. I think she saw the look on my face, and on her way out the door she said, "I feel sure you will..." her voice trailed off but her experienced and slightly reassuring tone gave me hope.
Friday morning David decided to stay home from work. That day we did all we could to encourage labor. It was so hot out, we decided to go to Lowe's to walk briskly. I had every sign of labor. I was just waiting on a contraction to stop me in my tracks. I knew the start and stop labor pattern was most likely due the baby's position. She seemed to be lying in my womb the same way her sister had, and my midwife had agreed with my assessment. I prayed she would turn.
Saturday morning I woke up still pregnant. We had plans to spend the day with my family as my brother was home. I appreciated distraction, but I was battling with discouragement. It was looking like I might make it to that next appointment, where I would have to fight for things. David and I walked in the yard and prayed. "God, go before us. Make the path straight. This is our request, Lord. We give it to You." I had begun feeling contractions again. I decided to do my best to go about my business and not despair.
David and I decided to make plans to go to his sister's house the next day. We thought the pool would be a great distraction. That night we drove to town. I found a bathing suit top that fit my 10 month pregnant belly. David bought a road map to have just in case. His sister's house was about an hour away from the hospital if we knew the back roads. Everyone thought we had lost it, but we packed everything just case labor showed. According to my guess date I was now 41 weeks and 3 days. I figured labor may never come anyway!
Throughout that night I dreamed very vividly. Oddly, at some random points, I would see myself in my dream, dropping to a squat in the peak of a contraction. I woke to go the bathroom at about 5 AM. I thought it might have been just after a rush. I was able to go right back to sleep. Sometime around 7:30, Nora kicked me and I woke in the peak of a rush.
I knew it was labor but tried to stay prepared for the possibility that it may fizzle out again. I told David. We timed them at 4 minutes apart. I called Mom to catch her before she left for church. I called Grandma too. We made plans to get Nora to them before they left the house. I was hurried to get her ready. Contractions were still coming, even stronger. I was convinced this was the day! I watched Nora toddle over next door. She was holding her daddy's hand, Susie doll in the other. She was my heart. I felt a tear surface as I lost sight of her pink plaid dress, pink bow, pink shoes. "God, help her with the adjustment. Don't let her feel that I don't love her." Peace washed over me. I was ready.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Healing
This is part IV of my story on birth and mothering. I journaled this on June 25, 2012, at 39 weeks pregnant with our second baby.
I want control of this situation.
No words I could speak or write would convince you of the importance of this matter to me.
I WANT a healing birth.
I have spent the last year preparing for this experience, now a matter of days or even hours away.
I have dug deep, I have searched and researched implemented and prepared.
I have worried and lost sleep and stressed.
Now I feel one thing, because I have come to the realization that I am not the one in control.
I am scared.
I am not in control.
Is there something more I should do?
Have I missed some preparation?
What will happen?
How will I respond?
I am scared.
Who is in control?
I feel anxiety growing stronger.
Where do I turn.
Oh, Lord, YOU are in control.
You are in control.
I am sorry for holding onto this for so long.
Tears fill my eyes as I surrender.
Take this from me, Lord.
It is too much for me.
But in Your hands, it is a tiny matter.
"No mountain, no valley, no gain or loss we know
Could keep us from your love...
How high, how wide
No matter where I am
Healing is in Your hands
How deep, how strong
Now by Your grace I stand
Healing is in Your hands."
I want control of this situation.
No words I could speak or write would convince you of the importance of this matter to me.
I WANT a healing birth.
I have spent the last year preparing for this experience, now a matter of days or even hours away.
I have dug deep, I have searched and researched implemented and prepared.
I have worried and lost sleep and stressed.
Now I feel one thing, because I have come to the realization that I am not the one in control.
I am scared.
I am not in control.
Is there something more I should do?
Have I missed some preparation?
What will happen?
How will I respond?
I am scared.
Who is in control?
I feel anxiety growing stronger.
Where do I turn.
Oh, Lord, YOU are in control.
You are in control.
I am sorry for holding onto this for so long.
Tears fill my eyes as I surrender.
Take this from me, Lord.
It is too much for me.
But in Your hands, it is a tiny matter.
"No mountain, no valley, no gain or loss we know
Could keep us from your love...
How high, how wide
No matter where I am
Healing is in Your hands
How deep, how strong
Now by Your grace I stand
Healing is in Your hands."
Different
This is part III of my story about birth and mothering.
One day in October 2011, I came home from what I would still call the worst day I have ever had at work. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. David and I were supposed to be leaving Nora with my mom the next day. We were headed to a Zac Brown Band concert in Charleston. I was so looking forward to having a date with my husband. Despite the fact that I had blown through approximately 27 pregnancy tests (can you say money money money?) in the last month or so, David suggested I take a pregnancy test. "Okay, whatever. It will be negative like the rest of them." But in the face of my pessimism, the line turned pink and my frown turned upside down!
I called my old OB office with the news. I had labs done and filled out the paperwork. One day before my first appointment, I called David on the phone. "What am I doing? It is crazy to think that I can repeat the same "experiment" and expect a different outcome." We had to have a conversation about money, since changing place of birth and care provider meant more money for insurance deductibles, co-pays, gas, etc. The conversation wasn't very long, because we talked about the impact that having a couple more c-sections would have on our finances. David and I were in agreement. Things had to be different this go-round if the outcome was to change. So the search began. I felt like I was back at square one, only this time I had experiences and a scar to guide me. I set out on a mission, like a mad woman, to learn as much as I could about natural birth and to surround myself with people who would support me.
I found myself at the doors of Covenant Birth Center, accompanied by my husband and 16 month old. I knew I was not a candidate to birth with these midwives. I knew DHEC regulations. But I didn't know where else to turn, and a "You have not because you ask not" glimmer of hope guided me to this place. I opened the doors, and there stood both of the midwives. I had come unannounced. They were busy preparing for a photo shoot, yet they welcomed us into their beautiful facility, even as my toddler cried and whined to be put down for a nap.
They offered me a quiet place to nurse. The halls were painted with photos-happy photos- of families who had birthed there. I also saw several beautiful plaster forms of pregnant curves hanging on the walls. In the quiet room, there were toys, a Bible, a comfortable chair, a fetoscope, an exam table. Nothing about the room made me feel as though this was a place to handle a medical condition. Instead, there was warmth and joy. I wished I could hide the scar on my torso and be "allowed" to birth here. Regret filled my mind again as I thought back to the phone call I had made to the birth center when I first learned of my pregnancy with Nora. David helped me focus. This was about the future, not the past.
"She was born by Cesarean." Their faces fell. "We cannot. DHEC has said..." "I know. We came here hoping for advice, guidance. Do you have any recommendations?" The initial stiff feel to the conversation gave way to warmth and encouragement as I shared some of my story with these ladies. Out of the blue, one of them explaimed, "Oh! She needs Jennifer!" They wished us well with much sincerity and we were on our way.
Jennifer was a nurse midwife about 45 minutes from my house. According to the licensed midwives I hear about her through, she was very natural birth minded, a professional to whom they referred their mothers who "risked out" during pregnancy. I was able to speak with her on the phone one evening for about half an hour. After listening to my story, she said she believed that I had a great chance of VBAC. I was surprised at how encouraging she was. I felt like I was talking to someone who cared about me and my family. She had faith in me from the get-go. I needed that.
A new place of birth and a new care provider was just the beginning of what was different about this pregnancy. I began reading books. The Birth Partner, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, to name a few. I watched The Business of Being Born. I looked for a comprehensive natural childbirth education class, but didn't find one in the area. I chose to order the Hypnobabies home study course and started working through it at about six months along. I was also seeing a chiropractor certified in Webster on a weekly basis.
I was bursting with new ideas and information, but I still had doubts. After all, it didn't work the first time. Every time I got down about this, David would say, "Rebekah, everything is different this time." But was I doing enough? I felt the weight of every decision I made.
One day in October 2011, I came home from what I would still call the worst day I have ever had at work. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. David and I were supposed to be leaving Nora with my mom the next day. We were headed to a Zac Brown Band concert in Charleston. I was so looking forward to having a date with my husband. Despite the fact that I had blown through approximately 27 pregnancy tests (can you say money money money?) in the last month or so, David suggested I take a pregnancy test. "Okay, whatever. It will be negative like the rest of them." But in the face of my pessimism, the line turned pink and my frown turned upside down!
I called my old OB office with the news. I had labs done and filled out the paperwork. One day before my first appointment, I called David on the phone. "What am I doing? It is crazy to think that I can repeat the same "experiment" and expect a different outcome." We had to have a conversation about money, since changing place of birth and care provider meant more money for insurance deductibles, co-pays, gas, etc. The conversation wasn't very long, because we talked about the impact that having a couple more c-sections would have on our finances. David and I were in agreement. Things had to be different this go-round if the outcome was to change. So the search began. I felt like I was back at square one, only this time I had experiences and a scar to guide me. I set out on a mission, like a mad woman, to learn as much as I could about natural birth and to surround myself with people who would support me.
I found myself at the doors of Covenant Birth Center, accompanied by my husband and 16 month old. I knew I was not a candidate to birth with these midwives. I knew DHEC regulations. But I didn't know where else to turn, and a "You have not because you ask not" glimmer of hope guided me to this place. I opened the doors, and there stood both of the midwives. I had come unannounced. They were busy preparing for a photo shoot, yet they welcomed us into their beautiful facility, even as my toddler cried and whined to be put down for a nap.
They offered me a quiet place to nurse. The halls were painted with photos-happy photos- of families who had birthed there. I also saw several beautiful plaster forms of pregnant curves hanging on the walls. In the quiet room, there were toys, a Bible, a comfortable chair, a fetoscope, an exam table. Nothing about the room made me feel as though this was a place to handle a medical condition. Instead, there was warmth and joy. I wished I could hide the scar on my torso and be "allowed" to birth here. Regret filled my mind again as I thought back to the phone call I had made to the birth center when I first learned of my pregnancy with Nora. David helped me focus. This was about the future, not the past.
"She was born by Cesarean." Their faces fell. "We cannot. DHEC has said..." "I know. We came here hoping for advice, guidance. Do you have any recommendations?" The initial stiff feel to the conversation gave way to warmth and encouragement as I shared some of my story with these ladies. Out of the blue, one of them explaimed, "Oh! She needs Jennifer!" They wished us well with much sincerity and we were on our way.
Jennifer was a nurse midwife about 45 minutes from my house. According to the licensed midwives I hear about her through, she was very natural birth minded, a professional to whom they referred their mothers who "risked out" during pregnancy. I was able to speak with her on the phone one evening for about half an hour. After listening to my story, she said she believed that I had a great chance of VBAC. I was surprised at how encouraging she was. I felt like I was talking to someone who cared about me and my family. She had faith in me from the get-go. I needed that.
A new place of birth and a new care provider was just the beginning of what was different about this pregnancy. I began reading books. The Birth Partner, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, to name a few. I watched The Business of Being Born. I looked for a comprehensive natural childbirth education class, but didn't find one in the area. I chose to order the Hypnobabies home study course and started working through it at about six months along. I was also seeing a chiropractor certified in Webster on a weekly basis.
I was bursting with new ideas and information, but I still had doubts. After all, it didn't work the first time. Every time I got down about this, David would say, "Rebekah, everything is different this time." But was I doing enough? I felt the weight of every decision I made.
Searching
This post is part II of my story about birth and mothering.
When my baby Nora was eight weeks old, a very dear friend of mine passed away suddenly. She was working for the Lord in a children's home in Malaysia at the time. Before she left the country, she had come to see Nora and me in the hospital. I didn't know that would be the last time I would see her. Her birthday was the day we brought the baby home from the hospital. I couldn't make the party, so Joy had tried her best to arrange a time for us to get together before she left. It never worked out because I was too wrapped up in myself and my baby to make time for one last visit. I now live with that regret. But then, in the summer of 2010, I lived in a state of shock and disenchantment. I walked on, but I didn't feel. I didn't stop to think.. I had one more year of nursing school, and I set my eyes on the goal of finishing.
There was a day when I finally sat down and thought. I wrote ferociously. Things didn't necessarily make sense, but at least I was beginning to feel alive again. Joy had been the truest friend I had ever known. She pursued me when I did not want to be pursued. I had chosen not to obey God's Word and had become a mess of a person, but Joy never stopped ministering to me. Even when I tried to keep her at a distance or said hurtful things to her. She lived for eternity. What was I living for?
I had this to ponder. I also struggled moving on from Nora's birth. Another day in February, I began writing again. This time I wrote about birth. I was doing my final clinical rotation in the hospital where Nora was born. Every time I passed by the maternity unit, my heart would beat faster and my palms would get sweaty. I began having flashbacks of the moments just before the c-section, the moments I had experienced my first anxiety attack. I realized that I had things to deal with. Writing it all down was the beginning of the healing process. I still had a long way to go, but I felt ready to move forward.
David and I had always said we wanted a big family. We had never put a number on how many children we hoped to have, but we both felt it would be more than two or three. Because I knew having a cesarean scar on my uterus put a possible limit on the number of children we would be able to have, we didn't spend much time thinking about repeat c-section vs vaginal birth after cesarean. We also knew I was a great candidate for VBAC, especially if we were to wait a little to have another baby. We had plenty to distract us during this wait as I graduated and began learning the ropes of working as a RN. It wasn't long before we were officially hoping to see two pink lines.
I remember this season of my life as a time of questions, a time of searching for answers. I prayed to my God, who works things we can't understand for our good.
When my baby Nora was eight weeks old, a very dear friend of mine passed away suddenly. She was working for the Lord in a children's home in Malaysia at the time. Before she left the country, she had come to see Nora and me in the hospital. I didn't know that would be the last time I would see her. Her birthday was the day we brought the baby home from the hospital. I couldn't make the party, so Joy had tried her best to arrange a time for us to get together before she left. It never worked out because I was too wrapped up in myself and my baby to make time for one last visit. I now live with that regret. But then, in the summer of 2010, I lived in a state of shock and disenchantment. I walked on, but I didn't feel. I didn't stop to think.. I had one more year of nursing school, and I set my eyes on the goal of finishing.
There was a day when I finally sat down and thought. I wrote ferociously. Things didn't necessarily make sense, but at least I was beginning to feel alive again. Joy had been the truest friend I had ever known. She pursued me when I did not want to be pursued. I had chosen not to obey God's Word and had become a mess of a person, but Joy never stopped ministering to me. Even when I tried to keep her at a distance or said hurtful things to her. She lived for eternity. What was I living for?
I had this to ponder. I also struggled moving on from Nora's birth. Another day in February, I began writing again. This time I wrote about birth. I was doing my final clinical rotation in the hospital where Nora was born. Every time I passed by the maternity unit, my heart would beat faster and my palms would get sweaty. I began having flashbacks of the moments just before the c-section, the moments I had experienced my first anxiety attack. I realized that I had things to deal with. Writing it all down was the beginning of the healing process. I still had a long way to go, but I felt ready to move forward.
David and I had always said we wanted a big family. We had never put a number on how many children we hoped to have, but we both felt it would be more than two or three. Because I knew having a cesarean scar on my uterus put a possible limit on the number of children we would be able to have, we didn't spend much time thinking about repeat c-section vs vaginal birth after cesarean. We also knew I was a great candidate for VBAC, especially if we were to wait a little to have another baby. We had plenty to distract us during this wait as I graduated and began learning the ropes of working as a RN. It wasn't long before we were officially hoping to see two pink lines.
I remember this season of my life as a time of questions, a time of searching for answers. I prayed to my God, who works things we can't understand for our good.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
A Day for Celebration
Last night as I was putting Nora to bed, we kissed and hugged as usual. I turned to walk away but decided against being hasty. "Nora, I need another kiss. This is the last time Mommy will be able to kiss two-year-old Nora. Tomorrow is your birthday!" Nora's grin peeked from behind her paci as she stated, "Tomorrow I will be 3 years old, Mommy." Three years. Time flies, but it really does feel like she's three, if not older, because I have forgotten what day-to-day life was like before Nora came along. It seems like she's been mine forever.
Today was a day to celebrate Nora. It was a day to bask in the simplicity of being a little girl as I stood wishing I could play pin the tail. It was a day to realize I sometimes bite off more than I can chew. It was a day to be thankful for helping hands and willing hearts. And now, before I lay my head down, it is a day to reflect on this day three years ago, the day I became a mother.
I woke up at 4 AM on June 22nd, a giddy 20-year-old with big hopes and a belly full of baby. I would fall asleep again 24 hours later changed, with a baby in the bassinet next to me and a heart full of emotions it would take me months to process. It was one of the longest days of the year and the longest day of my life.
My God is faithful. The story I am beginning to write here is one that is still unfolding. Really, it is just a smaller part of the story of my life. Three years out from the beginning of this smaller story, I can see now that it was, in fact, just the beginning of something. This smaller something is still being written, but I am far enough out from its beginning now to see that it is something that required a sovereign Author.
My very first semester of college, I elected to take a seminar in women's health. I still remember how much writing I did for that little one credit hour class and how much I learned. The professor assigned a big group project for the end of the semester. My group chose to compare outcomes of hospital births, birth center births, and home births. We spent hours looking at research and compiling our project. At the end of our presentation, my professor looked at me and asked, "So if you ever have a baby, where will you choose to give birth?" I did not hesitate to provide my answer. "I will give birth with a midwife in a birth center."
When David and I found out we were expecting, just 4 months after we married, I felt two things. I felt sure I was having a boy and I felt sure that my body was meant to grow a baby, bring it forth, and continue to feed it. When I went into labor 9 months later, I knew I was having a girl and I was filled with a lot of questions of "What if...?" I knew that labor and birth were normal and generally safe, so I would try to keep it as natural as possible. I didn't want a lot of interventions, but what if?
Because of little doubts and on whims of convenience, when labor day came we had already made several decisions that decreased our chances of having a natural birth. We were ill-prepared and had set ourselves up, so to speak. To make matters worse, though we didn't know much about how it would affect my labor, the baby girl was not optimally positioned. I refused induction in the days leading up to my due date. I chose to go home from the hospital so that I could move about and eat while I was still in early labor. But that was about the extent of our natural labor and birth.
Once I felt the first pain of active labor, I swore to David and my mother that I would no doubt have an epidural. As soon as possible. I was scared. I was so so scared. I was scared of the pain and scared of the unknown. I was scared of being told to be still in the bed. I was scared of having to speak up for myself. I was scared of surgery. My mother had three C-sections. I felt scared that I would have a C-section, too, and I was scared of surgery.
The epidural led to immobility as I napped for hours. That initial intervention was closely followed by several others, but things seemed to be moving along just fine. Then after two hours of pushing there was a vacuum extractor, a baby blanket on my chest, and word sent to the family waiting, "It won't be long now."
But it never happened.
They took the baby blanket away. No more pushing. Pain. Calling in the OR staff. Sign on the line. Don't worry. The anesthesiologist is coming. Pain. Vomit. Anxiety. Fear. Panic.
I was scared of surgery. My greatest fear was coming to be real. And my epidural was no longer working. I tried my best to communicate this information. I heard a conversation about what drug to give now. I spaced out. I was tripping.
I blinked. I saw blue. Lots of blue. I saw lights swirling in big circles. I heard voices. I felt a hand on mine. "Your husband is here." I felt a moment of focus. "I am having a C-section. What happened? David? Did I tell you I love you?" I heard a baby cry. (This is the part of the story that is the most difficult to write, but it is the part that ultimately impacted my perspective of birth.) I did not know whose the baby was. I knew I heard the cries of a baby, but I did not know the baby was mine. It was 11:30 pm. David says they checked her out, then put her on my chest. I don't remember the moment, but we do have photos that the anesthesiologist took for us. I do remember her face being really close to mine. They untied my arm so that I could touch her. I said something about how swollen her lips were. They took her to the nursery. David went with her. I fell asleep a second later.
(I realize that not every mother who has a C-section feels so disconnected from her baby. The medication I was given, Ketamine, induces dissociative anesthesia and causes hallucinations.)
I slept for nearly three hours in the PACU before finally meeting Nora. The nursery nurse, bless her, did not give the baby any water, formula, or pacifier. When we were finally united, Nora nursed like a champ and never looked back. Despite the odds being against us, we were able to breastfeed without difficulty. That was God's grace. I didn't know at the time how vital that relationship would be, helping me bond to my baby I didn't know had come out of me.
Nora weighed 8 pounds and 9 ounces. She had a head full of rather long, dark hair. She had blue eyes and eyebrows that looked like they had been perfectly drawn with a pencil. I studied her. I was amazed at how intricately designed she was. I tried to soak in every little detail. She was beautiful and yes, she was mine! A good gift from God. In the coming days, we would spend hours together, nursing and cuddling. And I would spend those hours reflecting.
To be continued...
Today was a day to celebrate Nora. It was a day to bask in the simplicity of being a little girl as I stood wishing I could play pin the tail. It was a day to realize I sometimes bite off more than I can chew. It was a day to be thankful for helping hands and willing hearts. And now, before I lay my head down, it is a day to reflect on this day three years ago, the day I became a mother.
I woke up at 4 AM on June 22nd, a giddy 20-year-old with big hopes and a belly full of baby. I would fall asleep again 24 hours later changed, with a baby in the bassinet next to me and a heart full of emotions it would take me months to process. It was one of the longest days of the year and the longest day of my life.
My God is faithful. The story I am beginning to write here is one that is still unfolding. Really, it is just a smaller part of the story of my life. Three years out from the beginning of this smaller story, I can see now that it was, in fact, just the beginning of something. This smaller something is still being written, but I am far enough out from its beginning now to see that it is something that required a sovereign Author.
My very first semester of college, I elected to take a seminar in women's health. I still remember how much writing I did for that little one credit hour class and how much I learned. The professor assigned a big group project for the end of the semester. My group chose to compare outcomes of hospital births, birth center births, and home births. We spent hours looking at research and compiling our project. At the end of our presentation, my professor looked at me and asked, "So if you ever have a baby, where will you choose to give birth?" I did not hesitate to provide my answer. "I will give birth with a midwife in a birth center."
When David and I found out we were expecting, just 4 months after we married, I felt two things. I felt sure I was having a boy and I felt sure that my body was meant to grow a baby, bring it forth, and continue to feed it. When I went into labor 9 months later, I knew I was having a girl and I was filled with a lot of questions of "What if...?" I knew that labor and birth were normal and generally safe, so I would try to keep it as natural as possible. I didn't want a lot of interventions, but what if?
Because of little doubts and on whims of convenience, when labor day came we had already made several decisions that decreased our chances of having a natural birth. We were ill-prepared and had set ourselves up, so to speak. To make matters worse, though we didn't know much about how it would affect my labor, the baby girl was not optimally positioned. I refused induction in the days leading up to my due date. I chose to go home from the hospital so that I could move about and eat while I was still in early labor. But that was about the extent of our natural labor and birth.
Once I felt the first pain of active labor, I swore to David and my mother that I would no doubt have an epidural. As soon as possible. I was scared. I was so so scared. I was scared of the pain and scared of the unknown. I was scared of being told to be still in the bed. I was scared of having to speak up for myself. I was scared of surgery. My mother had three C-sections. I felt scared that I would have a C-section, too, and I was scared of surgery.
The epidural led to immobility as I napped for hours. That initial intervention was closely followed by several others, but things seemed to be moving along just fine. Then after two hours of pushing there was a vacuum extractor, a baby blanket on my chest, and word sent to the family waiting, "It won't be long now."
But it never happened.
They took the baby blanket away. No more pushing. Pain. Calling in the OR staff. Sign on the line. Don't worry. The anesthesiologist is coming. Pain. Vomit. Anxiety. Fear. Panic.
I was scared of surgery. My greatest fear was coming to be real. And my epidural was no longer working. I tried my best to communicate this information. I heard a conversation about what drug to give now. I spaced out. I was tripping.
I blinked. I saw blue. Lots of blue. I saw lights swirling in big circles. I heard voices. I felt a hand on mine. "Your husband is here." I felt a moment of focus. "I am having a C-section. What happened? David? Did I tell you I love you?" I heard a baby cry. (This is the part of the story that is the most difficult to write, but it is the part that ultimately impacted my perspective of birth.) I did not know whose the baby was. I knew I heard the cries of a baby, but I did not know the baby was mine. It was 11:30 pm. David says they checked her out, then put her on my chest. I don't remember the moment, but we do have photos that the anesthesiologist took for us. I do remember her face being really close to mine. They untied my arm so that I could touch her. I said something about how swollen her lips were. They took her to the nursery. David went with her. I fell asleep a second later.
(I realize that not every mother who has a C-section feels so disconnected from her baby. The medication I was given, Ketamine, induces dissociative anesthesia and causes hallucinations.)
I slept for nearly three hours in the PACU before finally meeting Nora. The nursery nurse, bless her, did not give the baby any water, formula, or pacifier. When we were finally united, Nora nursed like a champ and never looked back. Despite the odds being against us, we were able to breastfeed without difficulty. That was God's grace. I didn't know at the time how vital that relationship would be, helping me bond to my baby I didn't know had come out of me.
Nora weighed 8 pounds and 9 ounces. She had a head full of rather long, dark hair. She had blue eyes and eyebrows that looked like they had been perfectly drawn with a pencil. I studied her. I was amazed at how intricately designed she was. I tried to soak in every little detail. She was beautiful and yes, she was mine! A good gift from God. In the coming days, we would spend hours together, nursing and cuddling. And I would spend those hours reflecting.
To be continued...
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