I went to work in the morning, feeling fine if a bit tired. Dealt with mundane matters in the office and with staff - had a light lunch - took an orientee with me to catch a normal C-section that was being done by my OB/GYN. During the procedure, he looked at me - mind you, I was covered head to toe in surgical garb, with only my eyes peeking out - and asked me if I felt ok. The Head Nurse in the delivery area answered for me that I looked awfully pale. I laughed as they decided that I needed to be checked out! Sheesh - I was 33 weeks pregnant - what did they expect??
My OB and I met up in his office a short time later; after the exam, he decided he wanted me to go back over to the hospital for a stress test. It was just across the street, but he insisted that I be taken over in a wheelchair. We started with a non-stress test, and lo and behold it was inconclusive. Next came the "stress" portion of our program, which consists of an IV being started and dripping in just enough medication to prompt a little contraction - with fetal monitor strapped in place, the baby's resilliancy to that bit of stress helps determine how hospitable the fetal environment is. Oppsie! Decells! (decellerations in the fetal heart rate) I.V. off - C-section day today!
Oh, for crying out loud!
So, my OB went to have his lunch while the staff did all the preparation stuff - drawing labs, etc. But just as the intern who was going to scrub in came in to talk to me about what was going to happen next, the monitor announced in no uncertain terms that this baby was in trouble. The resident and I looked at each other for a moment, stunned - then despite my emotions wanting to scream "NO!", my intellect did an over-ride and luckily my mouth cooperated - "Go!"
I flipped over on my left side, and one of the newer nurses in the delivery area was getting the O2 hooked up, but having trouble - that turned out to be the best thing that could have happened, because it gave me something to focus on. I talked her through how to put the adapter on the flow meter and connect the tubing - she cranked up the knob on the tank, and we were off and running to the surgical suite, bumping the next case as the poor woman was just being moved in for, but thankfully, had not yet started.
As they were flipping me on the table, I was shouting "call Dr. Robby (our chief of neonatology)... and oh yeah, call my husband!"
The next thing I remember was a very weird sensation - a physical buzzing feeling that increased in intensity until I was awake with a gasp - well, an internal, emotional gasp. I was still on the table and could feel them finishing up. I knew instantly, even though the words sound odd, that this was the experience of death - in reverse.
It took awhile to orient myself to what was going on. Figuring out the clang of instruments on the mayo stand, the voices, what was happening to my body and overlaying those feelings with my knowledge of the last act of the C-section play, helped my mind convince my emotions that I wasn't crazy or being tortured. "Relax... relax... just relax.... you can do this" kept going through my head. My chest rising and falling to the mechanical click and whoosh of the vent. Surrendering to what was happening made it easier to bear, and allowed me to drift away for awhile longer as well.
My anxiety about the baby pulled my mind awake again, this time in the recovery room - my husband was there, and I began to struggle to try to talk... wanting to ask about the baby - wanting to say "I love you". Still being a bit paralyzed, the words couldn't really form. He and the nurse reassured me that the baby was ok, and I should be still - that I could go back to sleep.
I knew they were right, but a very deep, very primal part of me was terrified of sleep. Working in hospice, I've learned more about that fear - the fear that if you go to sleep, you will slide into death. I had to let go and trust - I slipped away for awhile.
Finally in a hospital room, feeling better, fully awake - without the raging conflicts between body, mind and spirit - I began to sort through what had happened, and what I needed to do. My priority was to see my baby! I rang the call bell and asked for a wheel chair - by acting as chipper and "normal" as I could, the staff happily helped me into the chair and wheeled me to the nursery. Dr. Robbie was there, and smiled broadly as he introduced my little baby to me, going through the list of things they had done - reassuring my questions of apgar scores, FiO2's, arterial lines, and lab results.
At the same time that my intellect was collecting the data, my fingers were reaching for this fragile little person - pink, thin skinned, covered in light yellow duck down, a round head and tiny body - heart racing wanting to hold and touch. I smiled at the Dr. and the staff - "Thank you so much! He looks great!"
Just a short visit - time to get back into bed - the reality was that I was up way too soon. Sinking into my bed, and finding a position to be in that staying very still I could be pain free, I began to let everything sink in. I was stunned to discover that I was thinking about my baby in terms of "nice looking 33 weeker", but holding my tummy, emotionally feeling "someone stole my baby! where is he?". I had no idea what to do to reconcile these feelings and thoughts.
As tears rolled down my cheeks, I began to recreate what must have happened while I was out - imagining the birth - seeing the baby being taken out, the resuccitation - filling in the blanks of the experience, completing it. I found that when I visited the nursery later that night - with the night shift puttering around, the way the lights in the NICU look when it's dark outside, the relative quiet - I could look at and touch my baby as I imagined the birth. Creating the connection - helping my emotions realize that the "inside baby" hadn't been stolen at all, but was right here - feeling the grief of the loss of the pregnancy, and beginning the next attachment phase.
Later, I could use my experience with other women who went through emergency C-sections, as well as working with women who experienced post partum depression. The grief over the loss of the "inside baby" is very powerful, but rarely acknowledged. When the transition is sudden and the natural progression short circuited, it can be traumatic.
It was a difficult time, but I continue to be amazed and grateful for the inspiration that created a way for true bonding to occur between my son and I. He was released from the nursery, pretty early, but I was comfortable with caring for him. We made a nest in the corner of the family room, and there we stayed - moving from nest to bed - him lying on my chest or tucked under my arm most of the day and night. Mama Kanga and baby Roo.
Now, my little preemie is nearly 6 feet tall, sandy brown hair to his shoulder blades, blue eyes, black belt martial artist and sword fighter, musician, and creative writer with aspirations to work in set design and the theater. An "old soul" spiritually but with a beginner's mind that looks at everything fresh.
Life is a spiral circle - of separations and attachments - this level is the beginning of separation from my son's childhood and growing into the new era of young adulthood. Amazing.... simply amazing.
