One Day at a Time

 Growing up in Utah, I had classes broaching subjects like episiotomies, lamaze, and more. Needless to say while I didn't want kids, I had my birth plan ready to the letter all the i's dotted and t's crossed. I planned a relaxed at home delivery with my birth partner in a tub of purified water, dim lights and the sounds of the ocean playing over a pre recorded sound track of my heart beat. I wanted erotic stimulation if labor stalled. I wanted delayed cord clamping and UV lights on the ready with an infant eye mask. 

With Res out of the picture, some of that obviously went out the window.

As my due date came and went, my pre labor continued. Two weeks of contractions starting and stopping. Alone in a hotel room (chosen for its location relative to a hospital with a level five NICU and not for the black mold growing inside the bathroom or drug addicts in the hallways or gun shots down the street) I kept asking myself how I was going to do this. How was I going to create a stable life for a helpless child? 

I expected to have Res to lean on. I expected to already have I Insure Me up and running after investing into professional marketing for it but with the constant nausea of pregnancy and Res's presence in the picture getting blurrier by the day... nothing was turning out as expected. 

My mom flew out arriving the day after I was to give birth. At first I was relieved to have her, but as the days passed and she missed more and more work, guilt piled its weight on me. 

This wasn't her problem. She didn't need this stress. I was tempted to tell her to go back and not worry about me, but the sense of total helplessness and vulnerability held those words hostage. 

The hotel bill climbed higher and higher. Stress built. Res's instability escalated until I no longer recognized the person on the other side of each text or phone call. My abandonment triggered his PTSD, and things between us were no longer what dreams were made of but rather oozed with nightmarish qualities. 

Despite everything though, I still loved him and wanted more than anything to go back and try to make things better and I would have except I knew from the last seven years of research into the psychology of relationships going back would only allow for our issues to escalate and with a baby coming, that wasn't an option. I had to hold my boundaries. He had to get help for his depression and PTSD for there to be any hope of a future for us. 

Everything weighing down on me concern for the baby suddenly took precedence. Something was off. I didn't know if it was my stress or some unknown, but after a sleepless night of research I decided it was time to get things checked out. It was six days past when the baby was due. 

I arrived at the hospital expecting to be told I had new mom paranoia and to just relax that the baby would come when she was good and ready. I expected to be sent back to the hotel room to sit and wait. 

That didn't happen. The ultrasound revealed that at 41 weeks gestation my daughter was the size she should have been at 35 weeks gestation. She had moved from the tenth percentile down to the eighth. 

If it hadn't been for keeping up with prenatal appointments they would have told me my due date was off and sent me on my way but because I'd been vigilant in going to each doctor appointment and getting my records transferred to the hospital I was now in a radiologist was soon sent in.

A doppler ultrasound was given and showed blood flow to my daughter's brain was restricted. 

My mom waited with Messy out in the parking lot for three hours for me. I called to let her know what was going on. Another two hours passed before I was told I was admitted for the night. 

Hooked up to monitors it was clear I was in labor, contractions were evident, but my body kept stopping the birth.

I'd been in labor for three weeks. I thought I was crazy and kept waiting for the "real" pain to start. 

When the night doctor arrived he recommended treatment with a cervix softening gel. My cervix hadn't continued dialating and spent the last three weeks at only a half centimeter. He cautioned me though that IUGR pregnancies didn't handle this well. 

I'd diagnosed the IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction) and told the hospital when I arrived that's what was going on... my main OB/GYN was terrible but was one of two my insurance covered within an hour's drive. I transferred out of her care to give birth. I asked my newly assigned team of care givers to check my records and be certain I hadn't misdiagnosed my condition. 

I was assured I was right in the self diagnosis. As the night progressed the baby's vitals were monitored. Each contraction caused my child's heart to decellarate. My body kept ceasing labor at the distress but now with the cervicil forcing contractions... there was no going back. Something had to be done or my daughter would die. 

The doctor was amazingly compassionate, kind and understanding but being obstinate it took having the midwife on call to give me the push necessary to have a C-section.

After prayer and continued patient heartfelt urging from the doctor and being told despite all the other women in the hospital giving birth that night, I was put at the front of the line due to the urgency of my condition, I agreed to the procedure. 

I called my mom. Despite the early morning hour she was still awake. Messy was giving her hell. Instead of going to the bathroom the twerp kept looking for me each time my mom took her out. 

Paralyzed from a near the spine injection, I stared at an empty waiting crib. It looked like something from a seventies syfy movie. 

My mom arrived to hold my hand. She was drowned in sea of blue that could have fit at least five of her inside it. Her tiny head poking out of the top was almost something from a cartoon. It would have made me laugh if it weren't for the emotional agony I was in. 

Unable to move more than my head and fingers my mother and I held hands as they finished prepping me for surgery.

Tears pooled in my eyes and fell down the sides of my face wetting my ears. The staff tried to talk me out of my grief. Tried to make me okay with having a C-section, but they should have saved their breath. I needed to mourn the birth I'd wanted and the moment I hoped would change everything.

Getting a C-section I knew I wouldn't get the flood of oxytocin to my brain. I knew I wouldn't have the same instant bond to my child as a vaginal, full pain, no epidural delivery. 

Silently I cried. I let the tears pour down. I gave myself permission to feel my feelings and damn the anesthesiologist, doctor and everyone else there. The only person who could have lessened my grief by sharing it wasn't there, couldn't be there. Res. 

I worried without the flood of oxytocin heroin like moment I would never be the mom my child deserved, worried I would never love my child the way she needed or deserved. 

Soon the procedure was over. The baby came out pooping. There was already meconium in the amniotic sac, luckily though the little girl hadn't breathed it in. From behind the curtain like a magic trick a baby was lifted. Poof! Abracadabra! I was a mom. 

My eyes glued instantly to the writhing squished red thing in the doctor's hands. Stayed glued as it let out it's first cry as it passed to the nurse and from there was taken to the crib but on the way it sounded like she called for me. "MA.... MA" she wailed. I spoke and she reached towards the sound of my voice it seemed. 

At the crib she got her first ever test. Scoring eight point eight out of ten on the apgar my child needed only a blow by of oxygen before my mom could hold her. I however couldn't even reach out to her. 

Before Oxygen

                                                                                                                     

After Oxygen

It seemed like a year between when she was lifted out of my belly and brought to me. She smelled like a bowl of cornflakes, fresh out of the box. When I finally got to see her face. It was the face I remembered from the first intravaginal ultrasound. Not the face that looked like there was something wrong beneath her nose though there was indeed something there now, something wonderful.

My daughter was born with a bright red strawberry mustache. Normally that wouldn't be something I'd love but having spent months worrying about not being able to pick my baby out of a line up, the distinctive mark provided overwhelming relief. After surgery we were wheeled down the hall, me in the bed and her in the seventy's space crib ahead.

Her crib was within eyesight the whole way to the room. I still hadn't held my baby. Once in the recovery room the drugs began wearing off and my mom handed me my daughter or in my still somewhat child free brain, the squished tomato. 

As the sun touched the sky my mom left barely able to keep her eyes open to go and care for Messy. We'd had a long night. 

At this point I hadn't slept in over twenty four hours. It was a relief to be alone with my baby until a nurse came in to check her vitals. '

Concern etched the nurse's face. "Something wrong?" I asked. 

"Her sugars are low." The nurse didn't look at me as she styloed information onto a tablet. "You're going to need to feed her." 

"Duh," I thought not realizing the implication. The nurse gave me a bottle and left. I put the baby on my breast and then tried to give her the bottle, after a few sips she was asleep. I wasn't worried. She looked fine. She wasn't screaming. Obviously everything was okay. 

A half hour later another nurse came in to check vitals. I'd fed her a little. Everything should be fine after all it wasn't like someone that tiny could eat much. 

Everything was not fine. I'd already screwed up and hadn't even been a mom for more than a few hours. Her sugars were even lower than before. 

My daughter was taken from me and sent to the NICU. 

We were put on a feeding schedule. I was sent a lactation consultant who made it clear if I wanted to breast feed I needed to make every feeding and pump every three hours. 

Knowing the incredible benefits and having friends who made it seem like it was bliss, I'd always planned on breast feeding if I ever had a kid. 

I'd worried about my child having a shallow latch or that I wouldn't produce enough hormones to make milk come in... however a week before giving birth I discoved something I never expected, something that would have gotten me burned at the stake and called a witch if I'd lived in Salem during the late sixteen hundreds. What I thought was a mole or weird scar engorged, started leaking and proved to be a third nipple before my what bras are made to hold two breasts got down to business. 

Most might find that gross or weird but I was thrilled. I always wanted a super power. Lactating from a third nipple might not be useful but I find it entertaining. 

Out of all my fears and worries over breast feeding one I didn't consider was the lack of sleep after major surgery. It was forty hours before I got a twenty minute nap. 

In my sleep deprived state I didn't understand the IV in my daughter would keep her from slipping into a coma and dying. I think some nurse at some point was explaining why she had an IV and my tired brain missed out on part of the explaination. So I was determined to be at every feeding because in my exhausted state I thought my breast milk might be the only way to keep her alive. 

It wasn't.

Despite everything I and a team of nurses were doing though my daughter was soon upgraded to level three NICU.

My little unicorn.

During all of this, I was waiting and hoping for the moment of bonding and connection with this beautiful child. Breastfeeding was helping but post partum was setting in. It didn't help my moral reason was on trial throughout this experience.

The reason for over population is the intervention of modern medicine. I thought I would let myself die before getting a c-section, but then factors came into play I'd never considered. I chose getting a c-section instead of risking further brain damage to an innocent child. 

Seeing the other babies in the NICU, learning they would be living much harder lives than my little one, who was the largest of the small ones there as some babies weighed in at less than two pounds and in the larger category there were babies there over nine pounds struggling to breathe I rationalized the amount of care my daughter recieved was leading to quality of life not just quantity. 

There is some risk of her having cerebral palsy due to the blood flow restriction but it isn't something I will know for at least six months. 

Constant interuptions nurses and doctors in and out of my room, then time to head to the NICU for feedings. The week passed in a blur with sleep deprivation a constant companion. 

Because my daughter was an IUGR baby she also didn't have the fat pads normal babies do to suck and because of her low sugars I was only alotted thirty minutes to feed her so I had to express until I was bruised and sore all over my chest. Still it was worth it to get the prolactin for bonding. 

As I hauled in the massive carseat I'd chosen knowing my baby was in the 10% for small I passed others with carseats heading for the NICU for the final test. "How many car seats did you go through before you got that one?" They asked while commenting that they were on their third or fifth. 

"Oh this is my first," I replied rushing away as I hadn't gotten a chance to pick up the pain pills for my c-section and had no one there to help me. I was holding back screams of agony, and hoping I wasn't being rude to parents of babies who'd been in the NICU for almost a year. 

Once again my little one passed a test with flying colors. 

Part of me wished she hadn't. Knowing it meant I was about to take her home without knowing how I was going to provide for us terrified me.

Her birth if you can call it that went nothing as I'd hope and being a mom did not give me any massive "hey you don't know until you are a parent knowing or love..."  but as my daughter and I are now on the road of figuring things out together I'm praying I can be the mom she needs and that her father will make his way out of mental darkness back to being the man I once knew. 

So I am white knuckled starting this adventure... clueless as to how I'm going to make it and provide all she needs and doing my best not to have a heart attack at the overwhelm and uncertainty. Still I am gritting my teeth and forging ahead. 

The only baby gift I want

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