Birth Story

There are some moments, some days, you want to remember every detail of for forever. The birth of my son is one of those days.

Thursday, Jan. 24, 2013
10 pm

I say my last prayer for baby Will (that's what we're calling him), before he comes into the world. I fully expected to be too nervous and anxious to sleep with the c section scheduled in the morning, but strangely I fall asleep right away. The last memory I have of that night before his birth is lying in bed with my hands on belly, thinking to myself, after tomorrow I will never be the same.

Friday, Jan. 25, 2013
5:30 am

Bill and I are both awake before the alarm goes off. We have to be at the hospital by 6:30 am. We get up and go about our routine like it's any ordinary morning. Then we're standing at the foot of our bed, our suitcase in front of us. For some reason I start thinking of all the places that suitcase has been: Michigan, Florida, Illinois, Georgia, Hawaii, Washington, Alaska. Medical City will be the biggest adventure of them all, I think to myself.

6:00 am

We are on the highway headed to the hospital. My stomach growls but I don't feel hungry. I don't even feel nervous. I am downright scared. Holy $hit, this is happening.

6:30 am

We arrive at the hospital and because the c section was scheduled they're waiting for us. They escort us into the triage room right away. The nurse gives me a gown to change into and leaves us alone one final time. I feel myself start to shake. It's ok, Bill tells me. I'm not sure I believe him. I am scared.

7:00 am

The nurse hooks me up to the monitors, starts my iv, and I listen to Will inside my belly for the last time. I think to myself how I will miss him there. It seems like such a strange thought to have when he's about to be in my arms, the real deal, but that is so scary to me. It occurs to me I have never held a newborn. Not once.

7:30 am

The anesthesiologist arrives for the epidural. I am alone in the room. Bill had to go back out to the car because we left our cord blood collection kit there, which is kinda important. I am alone for my epidural. I start to really shake. The nurse, a really sweet girl about my sister's age, sees my distress. She has me sit cross-legged facing her. She places her hands on my shoulders and tells me to lean into her, take a deep breath and let it out. I feel the sting from the local anesthetic, the pop of the catheter in my spine, and it's done. Good job, the anesthesiologist says to me, while the kind nurse squeezes my shoulders in reassurance. I start to think that just maybe it is going to be ok after all.

7:45 am

My OB arrives for surgery and the nurse and anesthesiologist tell me it's time to go to the OR. I start to panic. I can still feel my legs! The epidural hasn't taken effect yet, I'm not ready! Bill and my mom just left the room. I wanted her in the OR with us but they said only one other person was allowed. They'll allow Bill in the OR once they've finished preping me. The OR is bigger than I'd imagined. I see the baby station where they'll evaluate Will as soon as he's out. They transfer me onto the operating table and all I can think is, I wish I could pass out! I'm really scared about being cut open while awake, and I can still feel my legs. The anesthesiologist starts poking my legs and hips with an electric buzzer thing. He does this a couple times over the next several minutes until finally I can tell him that I don't feel it.

8:00 am

My OB is in the room, they raise the drape, and finally there's Bill. He sits on a stool to the left of my head. His nose and mouth are covered with the surgical mask but I can see his eyes are smiling. He looks so calm. I think to myself, how in the world is he so calm? He takes my left hand and I hang on to him for dear life. Our life together briefly starts to play in my head, like a movie on fast forward. I see 16 year old Bill; Bill on the beach; walking up to my grandma's cottage; walking out of the airport terminal at DFW; waiting for me at the exit in the Flint airport; Bill on our wedding day. I look up at the bright overhead spotlights and I can see my entire torso reflected in them. Dear God! I tell myself to focus on Bill's eyes and to not look away. There's music playing in the room, "Philadelphia Freedom" by Elton John. I like the song. I sing along with it in my head as my doc says, ready for the incision...

8:13 am

I see this red, angry looking thing lifted up over the drape. Doc is holding him with both hands, Will on his back with his arms and legs flailed out to the sides. Bill laughs It's only a split second and he disappears behind the screen again. I hear the nurse ask Bill if he wants to come over and see him and he goes without hesitation. I hear the clicks of his camera. I hear Will's cry and think to myself that it's not very loud, and I hope that's not a bad thing. Then Bill is back at my side and tells me he's okay as I feel my body rock side to side from the sewing of my incision.

8:45 am

I'm ready to leave the OR for the recovery room when they hand Will to me. I hold him for the first time and immediately take in every feature of his face - his blue eyes, long eyelashes, black hair, chubby cheeks, full, red lips, receded chin, flat ears and tiny nose. I marvel at how beautiful he is. He is more beautiful than I'd imagined. He is perfect. He is perfectly mine? It's so much like a dream. This is the closest thing to an out-of-body experience I've ever had. Even so I feel myself smiling down at him as I tell him hello for the first time.

Later that morning...

After about an hour and half in the recovery room with me they take Will away to the nursery. I start to dose until they tell me it's time to move to my postpartum room. They wheel me past the nursery so I can see Will again. My mom, Dan and Bill are there. Bill has been in and out while I was in recovery, busy making phone calls to friends and family. They are all smiling and tell me that they saw him have his first bath. Mom says she's amazed how little he's cried. The nurses tell me how beautiful he is and I feel my first burst of motherly pride.

Monday, Jan. 28, 2013
12:00 pm

We've been discharged from the hospital. I'm in the wheelchair holding Will. Bill has gone ahead for the car. We're headed home as a family for the first time. Are we ready? Can we do this? What will it be like? Will he like me? Will I be a good mother? As I sit in the backseat of the car next to Will's carseat and look out the window, everything I see looks different. It's so strange, this highway I've driven a thousand times looks brand new to me. I look down at Will, sound asleep, and I know. I will never be the same.