Oliver’s Story – Part 1: The Delivery

I have written and changed and deleted this post several times already. There is just too much to include in one, so I’m going to do it in three parts; the delivery, the NICU, and life at home. I can tell you now, it’s not the storybook experience I had hoped for, but I think it’s important to share and continue to help people understand the journey that is stillbirth, child loss, pregnancy after loss, and raising a rainbow baby.

Two weeks before my scheduled c-section, I woke up feeling very uncomfortable. I got out of bed, went downstairs to let Zach sleep some more, and tried to get more comfortable on the couch. I was having a lot of lower back pain and Braxton Hicks contractions. As I sat on the couch watching tv, I started to think, “Holy shit, I may actually be going into labor!” So I did what any responsible adult would do, I text my group chat, all moms, and asked them if what I was feeling was in fact contractions. We decided it was so I started to time them and then called the doctor who sent me to triage.

Once at the hospital, I was hooked up to the monitors where we saw I was in fact having real contractions, but I wasn’t dilating and there was no labor progression. Just in case Oliver decided to make an early arrival, the doctors gave me a course of betamethasone shots to help his lungs develop a little more. They kept me over night, Oliver did great on all the monitors, showing perfect readings the whole time we were there, and my contractions stopped completely.

When the doctors sent us home the next morning, the fear was indescribable. Last time I was sent home from the hospital this close to delivery, the next time I went to an appointment, I learned that Stella and Joy no longer had heartbeats. It was terrifying to put my faith in the doctors and monitors, and trusting that everything would be ok. The next two weeks, I stayed home, doing as little as possible, trying to make sure Oliver stayed in and safe until his scheduled arrival. I was hyper aware of every movement, or lack there of, and could focus on nothing else.

Those two weeks passed and suddenly it was Sunday night and Zach and I were laying in bed preparing for Monday morning and the birth of our son. I got a whole 2.5 hours of sleep and was already awake when the alarm went off at 5:30 am. The time had come. We grabbed our bags and headed over to the hospital, filled with both fear and excitement. Oliver’s birthday was finally here.

Once I got to the hospital, they brought me back to triage, and all of the prep work began. We were the first scheduled c-section of the day, 7:30 am, and the nurses said they were running on time. After I changed into the gown, two nurses came in and hooked me and Oliver up to all of the monitors. To say I was anxious would be a gross understatement. To put it in perspective, the heart rate monitor alarm kept going off because mine was as high as Oliver’s (around 140 at its peak). We explained our history to the nurses, who were incredibly kind and caring, and they decided to take that monitor off. They realized it wasn’t going to lower until I knew my boy was out and alive.

I cried a few times while in triage. Mostly out of nowhere, just randomly, and because of my nerves and anxiety. They have a clock facing the bed, so of course I just sat and stared, counting down until it was time to go to the OR. The doctors came in, check on me, signed my belly, and told me they were just waiting for the anesthesiologist to come down. That’s when things started to go downhill.

The anesthesiologist came in and let’s just say his bedside manner was lacking at best. There was something going on with medication not being where it needed to be, an internal problem, and he seemed to be taking it out on the nurses. None of this helped calm my nerves. He left, and the nurses prepped Zach and I for what was about to happen. They explained that Zach would not be allowed in the room right away, they talked about the anesthesia process, and what would happen with Oliver once he was born. Zach got dressed and we all walked over to the OR together.

At this point, it is important to mention that while I have had a c-section before, I really don’t remember much about it. By the time that surgery came, I had been given so many drugs to deal with the shock that my daughters were going to be delivered sleeping, that the entire thing is one big blur. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe at one point, and I remember crying and being scared, but other than that, my brain had done its best to forget the rest. The next thing I remember, Stella and Joy had already been changed and I was going to bed. There are things that I know happened, but I can’t recall the details.

Once I got to OR, I gave Zach a kiss, and left him in the scrub room while I continued on with the nurses. As we got into the room, the sounds, the cold, the feelings, the smells, all became so familiar. I started having flashbacks and remembering things from when I delivered Stella & Joy. At some point, all of the doctors and nurses introduced themselves and tried to make small talk. Everything was sort of blurry and I started shaking.

There was a wonderful nurse, I wish I could remember her name, who held my hand, asked me questions to try to keep my mind busy, and just talked to me like she had known me for years. The anesthesiologist came in and they again explained the process of getting the spinal. It was then that I really started to panic. Again, this nurse held my hand, rubbed my head and hair as a curled over so the spinal could be inserted. She tried so hard, but it all came back. The numbness running up my spine and down my back. The feeling of weights on my chest and not being able to breathe. The brightness of the overhead lights. The sounds of the monitors beeping and tracking. I started to cry. I started to panic. I didn’t think I could do it.

Zach still wasn’t in the room. I was crying and telling anyone who would listen that I couldn’t breathe. They all tried to reassure me that I was breathing, pointing to the monitors and showing me my oxygen level. I remembered the nurses doing the exact same thing when I delivered Stella and Joy. I asked repeatedly for Zach, begging them to let him in. It was then that the anesthesiologist basically threatened me, if I didn’t calm down, Zach would not be allowed in and they would put me under instead. I froze, and held in my tears and fear the best I could.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Zach was allowed in. Once again, the rest of the c-section is a blur. Zach says at one point I got very pale and my blood pressure dropped very low. He was scared, but I don’t remember. It felt like hours had gone by, but it had only been about 45 minutes. They said I would feel pressure, but I don’t remember feeling anything. Then the doctor said, “He’s here! Wow, he’s a big boy!” I remember asking if he was alive. I needed to hear those words. I didn’t want to know that he was there, I wanted to know that he was alive. And he was.

I cried, and continued to cry, as Zach went over with the nurses and Oliver and the doctors finished working on me. They brought him over and held him next to my head for a few minute and let me see him. At one point, someone came over and started telling me that Oliver was having trouble breathing. They said they were going to take him to the special care nursery for observation. I told Zach to go with him. I didn’t want to be alone, but I needed someone I trusted to be with Oliver. They left and the next thing I really remember, I was in the recovery room.

Once in recovery, I was finally able to drink some water. There was a nurse there, but it was much quieter and darker than the OR. I still was numb from about the chest down, and I hated that feeling. I want to adjust how I was laying and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to wiggle my toes and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to bend my knees and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to go see my baby, but I couldn’t do it.

Two nurses came in and had me hand express as much colostrum as I could. They were going to take it down to the special care nursery. I still didn’t know what was going on, and Zach was still down there. I cried some more. How is that I have had three kids, and not one was born normal?

I’m not sure who came in first, but Zach and a doctor from the NICU came to the recovery room and started to explain to me what was going on with Oliver. The doctor was really good about explaining what the possible scenarios were, best case and worst case, but it was all gibberish to me. All I knew was that I brought yet another child into the world that I could not hold, or bond with, or comfort, or save from danger. I really questioned my ability to be a good mother.

After an hour or so in the recovery room, I was wheeled down to the NICU where I was able to see and touch Oliver, but I still couldn’t hold him. Then I was brought to my postpartum room, on the other side of the hospital. Once again, the c-section was a bit of a blur. The delivery was traumatic for a whole other set of reasons this time. But it was only the first part of Oliver’s story.