How is this survivable? Della's Birth Story And 13 Days That Changed Our Lives Forever
PART 1 TW Infant Medical content. If you're expecting a baby, recently post-partum, or sensitive to strong imagery in the birth space please skip this post.
The nervous excitement in the hospital room as the sun rises before a c section is such a treasured feeling. Abdominal surgery is scary, getting the IV sucks, and I can’t even let myself think about the spinal tap … But here we are, minutes away from our lives changing completely and finally meeting the little soul we’ve been waiting for (and finding out the gender)! These moments pre-surgery will be missed now that my baby making era is over.
For my final baby, and third c section, the stars aligned and I was able to have the doctor who performed my first c section and the doctor who performed my second, work together to accomplish the third! It felt serendipitous to me, and very reassuring.
Side note- all 3 of my c sections have been performed by a team of excellent, confident, powerful, magical, and supremely talented women. The experiences I had delivering my babies in an operating room with my loving husband and a team of excellent medical professionals was JUST as valid and empowering as I had always imagined childbirth would be.
The beginning of the surgery goes rather quickly! Jake’s next to my left shoulder, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, leg shaking with anticipation. Jake’s always been a proponent of not knowing the gender before birth, he wants to be surprised and I was willing to go along with it for all 3 babies. But this was our last one, we had two girls at home, so thoughts of meeting a son were top of mind (although being a girl mom is so fun, I wouldn’t mind adding another). Jake stood up as they pulled the baby out, “IT’S A GIRL” his voice was a mix of shock, joy, and fear lol I was a puddle of happy tears. I saw her for just a brief moment through the clear plastic drape before she was brought to the baby nurses for attention.
Having been through two prior c sections I know the drill here, they bring the baby to the warmer, get her cleaned, do her shots and eye goop, and get her birth weight before bringing her to me all bundled and warm. Jake goes with her and I can see the team of people around her in the warmer. Occasionally Jake turns and gives me a thumbs up indicating everything is fine.
I’m staring up at the ceiling still reeling from the adrenaline of delivering my third baby girl when I notice it feels like it's getting harder to breathe. I let the anesthesiologist know, “Hey Doc, I’m having some trouble breathing. It feels like I can’t take a deep breath.” He says “No, your oxygen level is at 98% and your breathing is just fine, here- I’m going to give you this and it should help.” And with that, he sedated me, probably thinking I was on the verge of a panic attack. So I don’t remember the rest of the surgery, just coming to in my hospital room a few hours later with a very kind nurse but no husband and no baby.
I want to pause here and say, I don’t hold any ill will against that doctor for sedating me. I hate having holes in my memory around this time but in reality, it was becoming clear to everyone in that room that the baby wasn’t okay. And even I remember starting to think “why isn’t Jake still giving me a thumbs up?”. So in reading the room and hearing me say I was having trouble breathing, he did what he thought was best to protect my physical well-being during surgery. But I have a spooky strong sense of mothers intuition, and it's only gotten stronger as I’ve grown in motherhood. For me, intuition manifests physically. I know when one of my kids is panicking at night because I wake up panicking at night. I can tell when someone is getting an ear infection because I start to feel an ear infection (to the point of going into urgent care myself to get antibiotics for me, only to realize I’m fine but my daughter needs it). When Lila was younger she got nursemaid's elbow for the first time and the only reason I thought maybe her elbow was hurt is because my elbow hurt. And that day in the operating room, I believe I was having trouble breathing because my baby was having trouble breathing. There was nothing actually wrong with me- physically or mentally- it was my mother’s intuition telling me what was wrong before I actually knew.
Recovery was fuzzy, but soon my husband came in and gave me an update. Our baby girl, who we named Della Aspen, was born having trouble breathing so she’s in the NICU getting the support she needs. They told him that this can be normal for babies born at 37 weeks, she might need to be there for a day or two but would soon be in our room for the remainder of our stay. I felt desperate to see her, meet her, let her know that her mama was right there with her. But it took an additional 6 hours before I was able to get out of the bed and into a wheelchair… oh and I was throwing up everywhere!
When I rolled into the NICU Della was laying in the warmer with a CPAP machine over her nose and a feeding tube in her mouth. I got to touch her tiny body and let her know I was close by, but I could not stop puking so after a brief visit I was wheeled back to my room. This was okay, I felt good about her care, I was happy to finally meet her, and we went to bed that night with a solid plan. We would get a good night's sleep as much as possible, waking up to take pain meds and pump on schedule. Solid plan.
And then overnight, everything changed.
Sometime in the night a small, quiet older woman (who I would later learn was the Neonatologist on call) came to our room and told us Della had air in her chest cavity and would need a needle aspiration to relieve it. I remember asking if we could be there to hold her hand or provide comfort but she told us it had to be a sterile environment so staying here was our best option. A short while later she was back, “Della’s right lung collapsed, releasing more air into her chest cavity, putting pressure on her heart and other organs. We acted quickly to insert a chest tube and relieve that pressure. She’s comfortable but on significant oxygen support.”
I just laid there, on my back in the hospital bed silently contemplating what had happened. Della has a chest tube. Breathing issues. Lung collapse. So many questions swirling in my brain yet I didn’t know what to think. Was she in pain? Did she go through all that without pain control? The doctor mentioned something about a dose of surfactant but what did that mean exactly? How was it administered?
I don’t know how long I laid there, silently trying to organize my thoughts. When the sun started coming up I spoke out to Jake, he responded right away which told me he too was awake, thinking. I was desperate to see her. Despite the pain and difficulty moving, I needed to see that she was okay, talk to her, touch her cheeks so she knew I was close.
We walked into the NICU that morning with very few details and no idea what to expect, but I was wholly unprepared for the sight before me that day. It’s hard to adequately describe, but I’ll do my best. Walking up to Della’s little corner felt ominous, and the first thing I noticed was her heaving chest gasping for air. Every rib was clearly visible as her chest convulsed in an irregular rhythm. I remember seeing her sunken abdomen, thinking it looked like nothing but skin and ribs against the flat bed she was in.
And as I stood there, processing the situation, the walls fell away. The curtains, white board, machines, people… everything fell away and in its place were waves. Towering, dark, sinister waves. I saw my new baby, wearing nothing but a diaper, gasping for air and fighting for her life treading water while the waves crashed around her. How is this even survivable? She was only hours old, still finding her way to us, and right now it seemed like she was moments away from slipping under the surface and being lost forever.
At that moment, I flipped some sort of internal switch. I decided right then and there that the ONLY way I could help her was by being 100% healthy, positive, and hopeful. She was barely a day old.. up until 24 hours ago her and I were the same person. That’s all she knows! So I have to be at 100%, because if she’s at 50% and I’m at 100%, then together we can get her to 75%. If she’s at 50% and I’m only at 70%, that’s 60% and that’s unacceptable. Fake it till you make it. Consider myself recovered. I didn’t know enough to know if what Della was going through would be survivable. The only thing I could control was how I made her feel when I showed up. And I vowed to tread the water with her, remaining calm, and staying confident. I released my desire to solve the situation, put every ounce of trust I had in the NICU team, and readied my heart and mind for the days ahead.