Let's start at the beginning.
On the morning of May 21, 2019, I had only slept for about a half hour, if that. My scheduled c-section was looming, and I was freaking out, to say the least. I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink anything since midnight, and although the adrenaline was taking care of the hunger, I was extremely thirsty and kept swishing water in my mouth, then spitting it out. The heartburn was out of control and had been all night. I did have a decent amount of heartburn throughout my third trimester, but this was on a whole new level. Here and there, I wondered if I was going to vomit, but I didn't. The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. Although I hadn't slept much at all and knew what time it was, my heart jumped into my throat when I heard that sound. It was time.
Allan and I got ready to head to the hospital, packing our last minute things and contemplating the last time we would be in our apartment without a baby. It was a surreal feeling. I kept feeling my son move inside my belly, and as much as I wanted to savor those sensations, he had gotten so strong that his movements just plain hurt. I was glad this was the last of being kicked in the ribs.
As we drove to the hospital, which was roughly a half hour away, we passed the time by guessing at the baby's weight and height. We had a general idea from the 36 week growth scan, but it was still fun to speculate about a final number. With each mile that passed, I became more and more nervous. As we took the exit off the highway, it became harder to breathe. Finally, the hospital came into view, and I cast a panicked glance at Allan, who smiled at me. He is infinitely calmer than I am. Then again, he wasn't the one having abdominal surgery. I tried to remind myself that this was the best reason ever to have surgery, but I was too nervous to focus on the end game.
The hospital was huge, and it took a few minutes to figure out how to get up to the labor and delivery floor. We finally asked a janitor, who pointed us in the right direction.
Although I had filled out the paperwork at my doctor's office, and they had sent it over to the hospital back in January, I wasn't in the system. We were told to sit in the waiting area while they tried to hash out what had happened to my paperwork. It was not exactly the best situation for someone who was already consumed by severe anxiety. Allan and I mindlessly watched the small television, which was playing infomercials.
Finally, I spotted my doctor, walking in with a cup of coffee in hand. He smiled at us and proceeded to the desk to talk to the staff. I felt marginally calmer, because I absolutely love my OB and trust him completely. He was able to get my paperwork straightened out right away, and then he came to sit with us. He laughed at the fact that we had been watching infomercials and procured the remote control from the nurses' station. We settled on Everybody Loves Raymond. It was much better than watching a constant loop about LifeLock.
My doctor began asking Allan about concrete. Allan owns a property maintenance company and has worked related jobs all of his adult life. Apparently my doctor was looking to remodel some part of his house and was curious how much it would cost, what material he should go with, etc. It seemed a perfectly normal conversation to be having at a perfectly abnormal time. Didn't they realize what was about to go down here? Looking back, it was a good thing that my doctor was so calm like it was just another day, but at the time I was freaking out inside more than a little bit.
Finally, they called me back into a room and began to prep me for the c-section. I changed into a hospital gown, an IV was started, and the nurse was asking me a ton of medical questions. She put a monitor around my belly to track the baby's heartbeat. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal block to me and had me sign a waiver allowing him to administer the anesthetic.
And that's when things went sideways.
My son's heartbeat, which had been strong and steady for nine long months, dropped away. I thought I had just shifted in bed and the monitor had slipped. A nurse came in and repositioned the monitor, but I did not start to hear my beautiful baby's heartbeat as I expected I would. Suddenly, the room was a beehive of activity. There were so many medical professionals in the room that I lost sight of Allan, who was sitting at the foot of my bed. Someone placed an oxygen mask on me and told me to take deep breaths, which was all but impossible. Two nurses helped me turn onto my left side while they kept checking for his heartbeat with the monitor. Still nothing, and I had never heard silence more deafening. They rolled me over onto my right side. The nurse's face began to relax, and I kept asking her over and over in a panic through the oxygen mask, "what's happening?!"
"It's ok," she assured me. "The heartbeat is coming back up. Don't you hear it?"
I couldn't hear anything over the sound of my own pulse slamming in my ears.
Finally, I locked eyes with Allan, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't give me a reassuring smile. He was scared too. I vaguely heard my doctor telling him that he was going to put me under general anesthesia because there was no time to place the spinal block, and the baby had to come out now. He said it might be better for my anxiety anyway, but that Allan would not be allowed in the operating room. I couldn't hear what his reply was, but he was nodding with a stone-faced expression.
Things happened very quickly. My doctor, calm as ever, told me that I would be put out for the c-section because the baby needed to come out as soon as possible. He quickly placed a catheter, which they usually do once you're numb, but I wasn't, and it was unpleasant to say the least. I was then wheeled into the operating room, and I remember looking up at the alien-looking overhead lights. I was terrified and overwhelmed, and I could only hope that I would wake up to my sweet baby, but I honestly wasn't sure what I would wake up to. I was trying to tell myself not to think the worst, but an optimist I am not. Panicked, I begged the anesthesiologist to make sure I woke up, and he promised me that he would.
"I'm ready when you are," the anesthesiologist said to my doctor.
And then everything went dark.
I came to with a familiar hand holding mine. Allan. I started asking questions, and I'm not entirely sure if any of them made sense. I did ask about the baby, and he told me he was just fine. They had brought the baby to him minutes before I had been brought into recovery, and he was healthy and beautiful and perfect. For the first time in quite a while, I was able to breathe. Dylan Andrew was here, and he was fine and safe. I had no idea yet what he looked like or what his temperament was, but I loved him beyond measure.
They brought me to my room and transferred me into a hospital bed. I had a private room, which was nice. Then a nurse wheeled a bassinet into the room, and inside was the most perfect little baby boy I had ever seen. Was he really mine? The nurse picked him up and placed him in my arms, and suddenly nothing else existed. Eight pounds, three ounces and twenty inches long, he was my perfect little nugget that I had worked so hard to make sure was healthy and safe for 9 months, and now he was finally here. This is the beginning of everything. I'm a mommy, and I truly understand the saying "my sonshine."
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