I got a phone call from your mother yesterday morning at 8:23 (a Thursday). Actually, it was your mother, but it wasn’t your mother’s phone. Through sleepy eyes, better judgement told me to answer it even thought I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hey, it’s me. Now, don’t panic, but….”
I panicked. How does one not panic when you’re awoken by a phone call from your wife who’s sitting in an office bathroom, stuck in a stall, using a co-workers cell phone, explaining to you that her water broke and continues to drain, even though she’s only in week 35 of a pregnancy which we were told a pretty sure thing would probably go to 41 weeks? I cursed.
I got out of bed and put on the closest article of clothing that was near me, luckily it was mine. I stared at the dog and frantically asked him what I was supposed to do. All he could come up with was a look that said, “feed me.” So I fed him, then looked at the coffee pot. “Sorry pot, no time today.” I grabbed two towels, a stretchy skirt, a pair of underwear and walked out of the house. The stinkin car was so low on gas I had to stop before as I knew I probably didn’t have enough to get the mission done. I parked in front of your mother’s office, ran inside and was ‘allowed’ into the ladies room and we chatted for a minute (mostly I just bewilderingly questioned her). We gathered ourselves and headed out the back stairwell. I was parked there on Monroe Center for no more than five damn minutes and I got a damn parking ticket. Do you think if I brought you to the courthouse they would consider waiving the fine? Seems legit to me.
On the way to the hospital your mother filled me in. As she was smoothing the peanut butter on her english muffin in the office kitchen, her water broke and she ran to the ladies room. After sitting there for 20 minutes, she gathered herself, said “screw it” and ran back into her office, and the first woman she saw: “Nikki, can I see you in the bathroom?! Now!” and turned around and ran back. With a bewildered look, Nikki obeyed. She took care of Sarah until I got there and it was her phone she called me from. It was about 8:50 when I picked her up.
As we were getting checked in to the ER, another pregnant couple came in right behind. I suddenly felt very, very unprepared and self conscious. The father, wearing comfortable shoes, was carrying two luggage bags, a camera bag, and was wheeling his wife in a chair. I, on the other hand, had on flip flops, a hat covering a mop of uncontrolled hair, and held a skirt with a pair of underwear tucked in it. Your mom had on her work clothes and was sitting on two bath towels. We had parked in the lot and we walked in together.
Chatting with the other couple, we had learned this was day two for them. They came in the day before and had been sent home. When we were admitted into triage, several team members came in and we had to explain to each of them the scenario and made sure everyone knew you were breach inside momma, but that we were hoping for a natural delivery if possible.
We had been doing everything we could to get you to roll over. We decided early on that we were going to ignore all wives-tales about this pregnancy. But with you being breach, we tried it all – we were even going to a special chiropractor that was certified in a technique to treat preggos and getting baby where it was supposed to be. You were laying in momma sideways, you were close to getting your head down where it was supposed to be and we were trying to help you out.
A doctor came in and real quick gave you a visual exam. With basically no fluid in your momma’s belly, you could almost see your entire outline! (this is probably exaggeration, but it seemed like it to my bug eyes) I guess you had gotten tired of the position and wanted nothing to do with putting your head down – you were standing up tall on the inside, head straight up!! Doc saw that and without hesitation: “Yeah that baby’s coming out today, c-section is your only option at this point. We’ll get you in there within an hour or so.” With no fluid around you, getting you flipped was not an option. Though we were bummed, as we were trying hard to have a natural birth, we understood that this was medically necessary to keep you safe.
In triage, we overheard the other couple we walked in with. They were getting some instruction. They were getting sent home again.
We had a few minutes to ourselves. I starting to do a little thinking (you’ll later learn it’s dangerous when I “get to thinking”): if we had had just one more week. On the night before you came, we had made a to-do list for the weekend of dealing with all those questions and final placements of things in the house. We never got to that list. On Monday, we were scheduled for a tour of the birthing facility and nursery. We won’t be needing that tour now. On Tuesday night, we were scheduled to attend a breast feeding class. Now, trial by fire. Our birthing classes were on Wednesday nights and next week we were scheduled to write our birth plan and have it ready to share with the nurses. Scratch that plan! Your mother and I had agreed that it would be just her and I in delivery room and I would be in charge of the camera, taking only selective, intimate pictures: I didn’t have my camera. My cell phone has a crappy camera on it, but the battery was low and fading fast – and I was sans phone charger. The previous two nights had been rushed around the house and we got home late. Read: we had two days worth of crap piling up in the kitchen. I had no clothes and no possessions other than what was on my back, your mother had nothing as well. What you saw, is what you get. None of your clothes were washed yet. I hadn’t even taken the plastic off your mattress yet. 90% of the items we had for you were boxed up and spread out on the living room floor. All the careful and thoughtful prep work we had done for you, was for naught. We were, almost literally, flying by the seat of our pants. In that moment of quiet for your mother and I, when all that sank in, I began to cry.
Your mother is powerful loving woman. With what she can do to me, I cannot wait to see what she can do with you. “Hey, come over here.” I don’t even know what she said to me or how she touched me, but she pulled me back together and brought me back to reality. I calmed down the best I could but I guess I must have been obviously shaken.
A moment later the doctor came. She did a physical exam. “Oh yeah, that baby is breach. I’m touching a foot.” (my eyes go wide) “Here, we’ll do an ultrasound to show you.” “DON’T SHOW US ANY DETAILS! we don’t want to know the sex.” I [damn near] shout. This doctor was fantastic. She told your momma not to look and told me to stand behind the monitor. When it was clear, she said I could come out. When there was a deep breath and several of the birthing team was in the room, I asked them all politely to let me be the one to tell your momma if you are a boy or a girl. They thought that was a great idea and said they won’t forget. I’m not sure what triggered it, I must have said something, but doc asked, “where do you live?”
“Two miles from here!”
“Go home. Get your things. Get your camera. Relax. We’ll be getting her prepped and the team is getting the room ready. By the time you get back, we’ll be ready to go.”
“Sarah, is that okay?” I ask.
“Yes, get out of here. I’ll be fine. Call our parents, let them know what’s going on.”
I ran out and headed home. I tried to get my mom on the phone. Voicemail. I tried my dad. Voicemail. I tried my sister. Voicemail. I hate voicemail. I leave no messages. I think my mom is with my aunt so I look her up in my contacts. I didn’t store her number. It’s in an email at home. I get in the house and race to my email archives and as I’m searching through my aunt’s emails, my mom texts me. I call her. I tell her. She freaks. “Okay, I gotta go. Call dad.”
At that point, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I walk to the bedroom. I walk to the kitchen. I look out the front window. I may have opened the fridge. I started to load the dishwasher and said, “knock it off” and slammed it shut after two cups and a dish. I finally looked at the dog and asked him what I was supposed to do and all he could do was give me a look that said, “I gotta pee.” But something in that look calmed me down and I realized what I needed to do. I grabbed some clothes, some toiletries, my camera and an extra lens and a flash (didn’t need any of that but I’m an over packer), switched out the flip flops for shoes, scratched the dog’s head (when I let him back in) and headed out the door. On the way back I called my father-in-law and in a father-in-law kind of way he was pretty shocked but stayed calm. I assured him his daughter (your momma) was fine and so far there is no emergencies happening and doctors are calm. I said, “we’re doing this thing, now,” and told him to call grandmother and get her up to speed.
When I get back to your mother, everyone is in scrubs and I’m told to change into mine. She tells me that the surgery is scheduled for 11:45. I look at my clock, it’s 11:22. Had I mentioned how quickly this was all happening? I had just enough time to get get changed and debriefed on what I had missed. A pediatrician came in and told us what to expect with a premmie and a c-section. Your mother and I are both surprisingly calm. You are going to be a premature baby. Your due date was supposed to be September 5, it’s August 2.
It’s time to go.
You and your mother get wheeled out and I follow in tow. The nurse is really nice. She makes us all comfortable. I know that your mother needs to have her spinal administered so she doesn’t feel the surgery and I can’t be there for that administration. I’m told to wait in a chair outside the door. I obey.
Time passes.
I’m all alone. I see a sign in this little lobby; it says “15 minute waiting only.” I hope it’s true.
A pre-labor mother walks by. She drags her iv stand, her husband follows. Her parents show up. They chat with me for a minute, I try to stay calm. They walk by again for a third lap. They say they hope to not see me again on the next lap.
A minute later, the door opens and I’m waived into another hallway. I hop up as though someone lit a fire cracker under my chair. She tells me to tie my breathing mask up. I try to hold my camera in my arm pit and tie it. I struggle. Nurse says, “Let me hold that.” I still struggle. Nurse says, “Hold this.” I obey. She can’t reach the top of my head. I have to crouch. My knees almost buckle. “Go through that door…..”
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