I was pretty nervous when I realized I was pregnant. I knew that my husband would initially be VERY upset, but would turn around. We were pretty broke, waiting for him to get through some residency issues before he could work and I had one part-time job. Things were tight. I can honestly say that I had a strong feeling we'd conceived almost as soon as it happened. I remember regressing back to college with feelings of guilt-forgetting for a second or two that I was married. I didn't say anything to my husband because I didn't want him to freak out, but we had to make a trip to NY to move the rest of his stuff and re-paint his room from blue back to normal. I can't remember how I put it out there, but I suppose he got the picture when it was time to paint and I was missing in action.
Since we were so broke, I went ahead and applied for Medicaid, to make sure I got the health care I needed. After my first appointment at the clinic, I was told that my due date would be moved back at least one week, because my child didn't look big enough to have been concieved when I thought it happened. I never stopped believing my motherwit, but let's not forget, I had other important things to do, I WAS PREGNANT for goodness sake.
I simply adored being pregnant like I thought most women did, but as I progressed and started telling people, I realized that no one in the world was as happy to be pregnant as I was. We had no money, but I was pregnant. We couldn't afford the down payment on our gas heat, and used space heaters in every room, but I WAS PREGNANT. I would lay on our couch with two or three blankets and put all kinds of jazz on for my *son* (yes, I always knew,too) to listen to.
I'd been offended when I was told that classical was the best music because it gives a sense of rhythm that most modern music can't. I rebuffed all of that so-called knowledge and played Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane(talk about rhythm), lots of reggae, old school rock and r&b, and african drumming. I knew what he liked by how or if he kicked.
That year, there was a major ice storm in our part of NC, electricity was out for almost a week, and I stayed at my friends house for just about all of that time. Nothing seemed to matter, but that I was happy and pregnant.
I didn't start gaining weight until my 7th month, but no one seemed to be too worried, as my baby was growing relatively normal. I tested and passed for all of the diseases that would make my pregnancy high-risk. We were on a roll with getting ready for the baby.
In my head, I'd always planned for my child to be born by June 13th (a Friday, by the way), but the doctors who didn't trust my newly acquired motherwit pushed my due date back almost two weeks, to June 26th.
The last month of pregnancy was a little uncomfortable, I'd started a job with a local university and was sitting a lot more than I had the other 9 months. I was starting to swell and it was starting to get hot.
Editors cut to June 23rd--first day of soccer camp (I volunteered to help with the school's soccer camp registration and was expected back at work around 12pm). I thought nothing of the day--went to work, had some pains and cramps and was uncomfortable again. Later that evening, around 6pm, I started to have what I thought were Braxton Hick's contractions. Strong enough to stop my senseless cleaning and make me go lay down.
The contractions/cramps I was feeling continued on and I started to get worried around 9pm and finally mentioned my worry to my husband. He inquired with our trusty handbook:
What to Expect When You're Expecting and even though it didn't mention much about Braxton Hicks, it did say that any contractions that lasted that long and were that close together (I wish I could remember how long and how far apart) should be taken to the hospital. Remember, we were still broke, so we had to schedule two seperate rides to the hospital with friends that lived closest and a little further away. One of us called ride #1 (I think my husband, I vaguely remember packing a bag because the first one didn't have anything I wanted at that moment in it) and let him know we were going. Our ride rushed us over to the hospital I'd registered with--on the way, I called my mother (it must've been about 1030 or 11pm by then) to tell her we were going, but I thought I might need to just come back. Please note that I was very upset that I might have to come back home after visiting the hospital and still have to go to work in the morning.
We checked in and were sent directly to the women's center for all the stuff they do. While they were getting an explanation as to what happened, someone announced that they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. I tried to explain that I'd been laying down and so, he might be in a strange position (I was still under my own impression that this was a false labor--they had other ideas). The doctor in charge tried three different ways and still couldn't find the heartbeat, the look in his eyes told me everything--NO HEARTBEAT, NO BABY. He rushed into action, ordering nurses to take my jewelry off and prep me for surgery. There was no discussion, only commands. After he'd gone and requested an Emergency operating room across the hall, he stopped to tell us what he could.
All I heard was NO HEARTBEAT, get the baby out, c-section, getting prepped NOW. A nurse, who's name was the same as mine, struggled with my wedding bands and ended up nearly tearing my finger off but used K-Y jelly instead. In what felt like the next three minutes, I was wisked across the hall and recieved an epidural and oxygen. They didn't have time to put me under full anesthesia, so I was awake and completely panicking. I think I might have been hyperventilating or the epi was numbing my chest, I am not sure, either way, they sent my husband in to calm me down.
Once I saw him, I was a little more comfortable, but very nervous (I'd never been admitted into a hospital for anything in my life--except maybe my own birth). I tried to concentrate on what they were doing to me, but could only hear blurred words and feel pressure on my back.
Before I knew it, someone (again with the someone) announced that it was a boy! They showed him to me quickly and as everyone became silent, he appeared to be looking at me and he let out what sounded like wheeze or a sigh before he was taken away to the Neonatal ICU. I was taken into a recovery room and could finally try to figure out what was going on.
They hadn't told me much, but my husband found out that our son, Ohene Adari Samello, had what looked like a muconium infection, and was kind of small (he was 5lbs 6oz), so they wanted to watch him. I cried, but upon reflection most likely just from relief. Kids get over meconium infections all the time, just means they were in too long, right?
After several hours, my mother arrived (She says that it took her almost 5 hours to drive what normally takes me 2 1/2 hours) and we found out more. My husband and mother went to see "the boy" and said that he was already breathing on his own, but his blood sugar levels were poor.
No one had answers about what happened. Was he late? Most likely.
Was it something I did or ate or was it my body? No one knows
What can we do to help him? We're not sure right now, but we will monitor him
Thank all that is good for morphine, or I would've been even more hysterical. I started pumping immediately and they started giving him whatever would come out. I still couldn't see him though, and was advised to get myself all healed up from the c-section, so that I could get up and finally go see him. My husband took pictures and went to work and emailed everyone I knew and came back everyday for a week and even washed me when it was time to start doing that. Thinking about it all now, I even cry a bit.
I think I fell in love twice during that time; for the first time with my son and again with my husband who became my pillar of strength during a time I couldn't imagine going through alone. As we approach the 3 year anniversary of that life-changing day, I still cry a little, and I can still hear the little noise that little boy made in the near silence of an emergency operating room. I still can't believe that on June 24th at 1:00 a.m., a child was born, and he's with me now.
(the rest of the story is coming, keep posted)
