The FINALE! Eight Years Ago I Gave Birth 11 Weeks Early - Part 3

What actually happened? I did give birth as the title suggests...

A warm trickle slid down my leg. Did I just pee on myself?  Did I pull the catheter out? What is this? How do people do this? It was early in the morning and the hospital was quiet before shift change. I buzzed for my nurse. 

“I feel like I am leaking. Did I pull this catheter thing out?” I asked. She lifted up the sheets and checked. 

“No, the catheter is okay,” she said, “Your water broke.” Oh sh*t. 

I’d been in the hospital since Monday afternoon at 4:00 PM and it was now Wednesday at 6:00 AM. Bedridden because of the medicine I was on to try and keep the baby in, this was a watershed moment, literally and figuratively. Good-bye, bedrest. 

The doctors scurried in after shift change. Now that my water broke, there was no turning back. The baby can’t stay in - there is literally nothing for her to “stay in” anymore. Plus, the risk of infection increases once the water breaks. We need to prepare to deliver at some point, they said. The plan was to closely monitor and see how I progressed. 

University of Cincinnati is a teaching hospital, so we were treated to a parade of residents and fellows, attendings and department heads. Bring it on, the more the merrier! Yes, it was a lot of people seeing me naked, but I figured the more bright minds on the case the better. Multiple doctors came in and described what would happen when I delivered. The delivery team will deliver the baby and attend to me, while a team of nurses, respiratory therapists, and neonatologists will be waiting to take the baby, assess her breathing and get her to the NICU. Be prepared that you will probably not get to see her was something they repeated over and over. 

My nurse for the day was Rebecca. She started off a little brusque and stand-offish. I didn’t get the best feeling at first but as the day progressed we were joking and laughing. Both my husband and I tried to find the laughter as much as we could through the tears and the fears. My husband is steady and cool, unflappable - stoic - with the pleasant composure of a Ken doll. In fact, that’s the first thing I thought when I met him - he looks like a Ken doll (the irony of our last name, Kendall, is not lost on me). He also has a goofy side which helped make the connection with Rebecca. 

We spent the day in a holding pattern - like a circling airplane when there isn’t a spot on the runway to land. Hubs kept up the communication chains with family and friends across the country, and I channeled the beach by listening to Jack Johnson. His birthday happens to be May 18, that very same day I laid in that hospital bed dreaming of banana pancakes. I hadn’t eaten since Monday lunchtime. 

I continued to dilate throughout the day, the pain getting somewhat worse, and finally around 4:30 and eight centimeters, the team paraded back in. The main doctor (or it could have been the janitor, there were so many people in the room) looked at us and said, “this baby is coming very soon. We are going to get everything ready.” 

“Are you sure? Should we wait?” I asked. 

“No, you’ll want to do this before shift change happens anyway. The baby is coming.” 

“Can I get an epidural?” I asked. 

“Too late.” 

Rebecca really stepped up here and was by my side the entire time. Everything happened so fast, the rush of people and the preparations. I could see my husband tallying up the people and the cost in his head, the consummate construction manager - on a job site, this many people, at this rate, would cost…

Everyone got into position - some had on full protective gear including face coverings and some of the doctors were just gowned up. 

“Isn’t it going to get messy?” my husband asked. The ones not geared up just shrugged - been there done, that - do you want to hold a leg they asked him? “I’m good up here,” he replied. He might be a stoic but he doesn’t do blood and guts. 

Suddenly it was time to push. I had to curl my body and felt myself lift off the bed. I could feel this effort down to the mitochondria in my cells. In between pushes Rebecca tended to me like a prize fighter in the ring. I didn’t know if I could make the final push. She grabbed my face and said, “you’ve run a fucking marathon. You can do this.” 

And so I did. Our girl slid into this world at twenty-nine weeks and two days at 5:24 PM in the afternoon on Wednesday, May 18, 2016. A full twenty-four hours after the second steroid dose. She weighed 2 pounds, 15 ounces - big for a 29-weeker! - the team exclaimed. 

I didn’t know what to expect - what would a baby look like born that early? Would she cry? Would she be breathing? 

She looked like a tiny baby, wailed immediately, and was stable. She had a full head of hair which surprised me the most!  I got to hold her on my chest and my husband got to cut the cord. The waiting NICU team bundled her up, strapped on a C-PAP, and took her away to the NICU. 

The room grew quiet. We held each other. Rebecca returned with peanut butter and crackers at my request. While we were waiting for a transfer to our recovery room, I decided I wanted to stand up after being bedridden for so long (I don’t know if I would have done all that well at bedrest after all). I wanted to shower, rinse off and change my gown. I was not prepared for the gush of blood - heck, I wasn’t prepared for any of it - but give me some peanut butter and I can be ready for anything. (That’s generous, I need coffee too). 

After the parade of doctors came the parade of visitors. My brother-in-law was the first to arrive, with food. The mom of the boys my sister and I baby-sat for years came next - “we were on our way downtown to dinner when your sister called. We had to divert immediately so I could get eyes on you.” Three of my aunts showed up. My dad’s best friends’ wives. 

“She’s related to almost everyone in this city,” my husband quipped to the care team. If they can have a parade of doctors, I can have a parade too. We were grateful for the support and the diversion. The flowers that rolled in the following weeks filled every room in our house. 

We got to go down to the NICU later that night and see our girl. We reached our hands through the incubator. “I guess this is Plan C,” I told God. 

Thus began our two month stay in the NICU. My daughter thrived. We were very fortunate she needed little intervention. She just wanted to come early and be the first, something that’s been very on brand as her personality develops. 

Looking back at that time now that I am on the other side, I realize it was a time when I had to move forward with complete faith, let go of control, and erase expectations. It’s easy to forget that now, now that my daughter is a bright, assertive and inquisitive eight-year-old and we battle over loud music and screen time. It’s easy to forget that now that the trials of motherhood with three can wear me down. But I try to remember, because my first experience bringing life in this world taught me so much about how to live. 

Thank you for reading. It was very powerful for me to revisit this experience. If you know someone that is going through a NICU experience and needs someone to talk to, I am a two-time NICU veteran and would be honored to be a hand for someone to hold. Please feel free to share this post as well. 

Missed the other two posts in the series? Here they are: 

Part 1 

Part 2 

1. Did you like the series format? Should I have released them closer together? 

2. Speaking of series - Bridgerton Season 3? Pen and Colin? But I kind of like Lord Debling? Anyone else question Colin’s motives like me because I am also not the girl the “it” boy would have picked and grew up in the era of “She’s All That” and “Ten Things I Hate About You” and there was always an ulterior motive?

3. Any other questions about our NICU experience? I am happy to answer.