What was different, however, were the high numbers on my blood pressure reading at every appointment. My feet also swelled abnormally compared to my other two pregnancies, preventing me from walking too much, something I was none-to-pleased about as I couldn't get in any exercise, something I was religious with for the other pregnancies to help control my gestational diabetes. My totally in control, very soothing midwife didn't seem to be especially concerned over my HBP and my swollen feet as I was not dropping protein so I was not concerned, either.
My due date came with no productive contractions on the horizon and I was scheduled for an induction seven days later. That week passed with much of the same: Baby girl was not coming out on her own.
So I arrived at the hospital to be induced and was ordered to stay there so they could monitor my blood pressure. As it continued to climb and my contractions got more regular, other signs of active labor were still not happening. Finally, a nurse came in and said the doctor called it: After two natural deliveries, I was going to have my first emergency c-section.
My husband got scrubbed up and they prepped me to be taken to the OR when things started to shift. I could actually feel my heart racing, my blood pressure continuing to climb and after years of being asthma-attack-free, I started to have a hard time breathing. I'm assuming it was around this point that they decided my husband could not join me in the OR, after all. As I yelled out that I couldn't breathe, I heard the nurses scrambling to find my chart to confirm whether I had asthma or not. Between the epidural and other preparations, I was given an inhaler to help my breathing followed by an oxygen mask.
That was when I finally got scared. I lay there, gasping for breath thinking, "This is it. I finally have my girl, my children are so young and I'm going to die. I'm going to leave my children motherless."
Obviously, I survived.
As I felt my body tug in different directions and was lucid enough to feel very exposed in a room full of OR staff, I waited for a cry, a scream, something. And then there she was. Screaming like a banshee, not happy at all to be removed from her cozy, warm apartment. I asked if she was okay and they brought her to me for a quick kiss before they took her away.
My heart broke. With the boys, I was able to hold them right away, introduce myself, cry over their little bodies, count their fingers and toes. This time, I had to lay there while I was stapled back up wondering how my daughter was doing, wondering if my husband knew what was going on.
It wasn't that long before I was wheeled to the maternity ward. Despite the pain I was in and how any movement had me heaving into those plastic, kidney-shaped pans, I was obviously eager to make my way to the nursery to see my baby girl. My husband came in and told me he was able to see our daughter. She was in the NICU. While she was okay, she had to be monitored in an incubator with tubes hooked up to her. I was sad for my baby who could not be comforted by the warmth of her parents' bodies or the sound of my heartbeat. I was sad for my husband who had to see his daughter in that condition. And I blamed myself for all of it.
Every time the nurse came to check on me, I asked when I would be able to get up and move so I could move my way to the nursery. Despite every muscle in my body telling me I was not ready, my heart had other plans. Luckily, it's advised to get moving as soon as physically possible to release some of the gas bubbles that accumulates in the body during surgery so I didn't have to wait too long. After a couple of hours, I was getting ready to see my baby.
I walked into the NICU and a nurse was feeding her. This was the first good look I got of her and she looked just like her big brothers. I asked if I could touch her and the nurse had a different idea: She told me I could hold her and feed her. So I did. And as I held her perfect little body, I silently apologized to her for having such a crazy mommy; for all the times she heard me cry and the pain I shared with her; I promised her I'd get better and do everything in my power to give her the most I could with what little I had, that I'd be a better mommy to her big brothers; and I thanked her for being a part of my life as I consider myself a person so undeserving of such incredible love.
I spent a couple of horrible days in the hospital so they could monitor my blood pressure but, at least, she was well enough to room in with me. While she seemed to cry almost nonstop and I was warned not to feed or hold her too much (Really? Can you really hold a newborn too much?) I had no intention of listening to such nonsense. I held her constantly. I held her as she fell asleep in my arms and refused to put her back down, allowing her to sleep on my chest as I drifted off to sleep, myself.
Finally, after more than three days in the hospital, I brought my baby girl home.
And we'll talk about that later. Until then, here's my princess getting ready to go home:
(to be continued)
Every time the nurse came to check on me, I asked when I would be able to get up and move so I could move my way to the nursery. Despite every muscle in my body telling me I was not ready, my heart had other plans. Luckily, it's advised to get moving as soon as physically possible to release some of the gas bubbles that accumulates in the body during surgery so I didn't have to wait too long. After a couple of hours, I was getting ready to see my baby.
I walked into the NICU and a nurse was feeding her. This was the first good look I got of her and she looked just like her big brothers. I asked if I could touch her and the nurse had a different idea: She told me I could hold her and feed her. So I did. And as I held her perfect little body, I silently apologized to her for having such a crazy mommy; for all the times she heard me cry and the pain I shared with her; I promised her I'd get better and do everything in my power to give her the most I could with what little I had, that I'd be a better mommy to her big brothers; and I thanked her for being a part of my life as I consider myself a person so undeserving of such incredible love.
I spent a couple of horrible days in the hospital so they could monitor my blood pressure but, at least, she was well enough to room in with me. While she seemed to cry almost nonstop and I was warned not to feed or hold her too much (Really? Can you really hold a newborn too much?) I had no intention of listening to such nonsense. I held her constantly. I held her as she fell asleep in my arms and refused to put her back down, allowing her to sleep on my chest as I drifted off to sleep, myself.
Finally, after more than three days in the hospital, I brought my baby girl home.
And we'll talk about that later. Until then, here's my princess getting ready to go home:
(to be continued)
