I’m trying to write out her whole birthstory, but it’s coming one paragraph at a time. I hope I don’t forget everything by the time I get it all down. Here’s the distilled version:
Wednesday night
I don’t know when I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life.
Thursday 6 a.m.
Terry comes to the hospital, we have a few minutes to talk and pray together before the nurse comes in with razor and IV line to prepare my body. (Terry’s prayer: “Dear Jesus… HELP! Amen.”)
7 a.m.
Our doula arrives, rubs lavender-scented lotion on my neck and shoulders, anoints my forehead with essential oils (“your third eye,” she says, but all I can think of is the Episcopal church I used to attend). We talk about what will happen to/with the baby after the birth, reviewing all the details once again.
There is a delay. Evidently maternity filled to bursting overnight, and an emergency c-section had to be done in “my” time slot. So we wait. Our doula, L., sings us a song about opening and surrender and life.
7:45 a.m.
I am wheeled into a holding area, where the fear hits in an overwhelming wave and I cry. L. rubs my feet while T. rubs my back and when the nurse comes in I calm down and focus on breathing.
The anesthesiologist comes in and out and then signs my back with his initials before I am put in a bed and wheeled down the hall to the OR.
I see a smiling Doc (my favorite of the three) waiting by the door; he’s wearing a do-rag on his head with a tropical hawaiian print pattern – a welcome bit of whimsy.
A bit of a shuffle as everyone gets into position and T. finds a place near my head.
Time for the spinal – the worst part by far – mostly because of the fear.
The numbness sets in and I can breathe again. T. talks to me, strokes my shoulder, sings a little ditty about how we’re going to meet the Critter. Just as the Doc said, I can feel pulling and tugging and pressure but no pain. I focus on T’s face. He tells me I look pale. We just lock eyes and stay that way. I tell him how much I love him, over and over again. As my yoga instructor said, “love put this baby in, love can get this baby out.” As I reminded myself last night, “perfect love casts out fear.”
8:42 a.m.
Then I feel a push and a pull and suddenly a lightness – I feel them lift her from my body, and I say “Oh!” We hear her cry and the Doc says “you have a little girl!” We look over and there she is – crying and wiggling in the Doc’s hands. T. says “Holy shit, it’s a baby!” I cry out “my baby, my baby,” crying (as I am now) and so happy. I stretch my fingers towards her, reaching.
They bring her to us and I rub her vernix-covered forehead with my fingertips, talking to her like L. told us to, until they take her to the nursery. T. goes with her and I lie back with a big smile on my face as the sew me shut.
They say she had a very short cord, that didn’t allow her to turn.
I notice that there is music playing – Simon and Garfunkel’s version of the classic Peruvian melody, El Condor Pasa.
Finally I’m wheeled back to the recovery room where I wait for T. to come with Valerie. I have to stay there until I can wiggle my toes. It’s the strangest sensation, the immobility. The nurse is warm and friendly.
They bring her to me and she is so beautiful I am overcome. It looks like she’s been washed, but she hasn’t – T. has been massaging the vernix into her skin, like I’d asked him to. She is pink and sweet and has the beautiful black hair I’d hoped for, and a tiny “mongolian spot” on her bum. The pink hat she’s wearing, though, isn’t the one I made, and I make them change it as soon as possible. I am able to hold her and talk to her briefly until it’s time for us all to go to our new room.
I spend the day holding her, naked, against my skin. We begin the journey of learning how to nurse, and her first pee ever soaks her dad’s shirt.
May 26, 2008 at 11:14 am |
I got all weepy and happy reading your/her story. So happy for you!
May 28, 2008 at 3:10 am |
Hooray for love! Such a cutie!
May 28, 2008 at 8:04 am |
it sounds like it went well for you. thanks for the photo update
May 30, 2008 at 7:29 am |
Oh, what a beautiful story.