Scared to Death

Why can't I feel you? Why are you not moving around? I ponder this with serious thought as I eat chocolate-chip ice cream for breakfast, hoping it will get you moving inside of me. When I realize the ice cream has not had its desired effect on you, I become anxious and nervous. I gel up my watermelon-sized tummy with lubricant and place the rented Doppler over my tummy in whirling movements.
Thank God! I hear your heartbeat, but it's a shallow rhythmic pattern and I am not comforted by it. Something is dreadfully wrong!

I get into the car and struggle with the seat belt as my tummy reverberates against the steering wheel. I back out of the drive in a frenzied fashion. I accelerate and hope that it doesn't stir a cop's attention. I fumble with the cell phone and I somehow manage to call "Daddy." I tell him that something is wrong and I am hurrying to the doctor's to get it checked out. For some bizarre reason I feel I need to make him feel that everything is fine, so I tell him not to worry, that I'm sure your just sleeping in there and being stubborn. He is convinced by me and not worried. I tell him, I'll call him back at work after I get "you" checked out.

I rush into the doctor's and I'm brought in right away. The doctor comes in and begins to examine me. I tell her that I am worried and about the failed ice cream attempt. I mention again that for the last several days, "you" have not been moving around a lot in there. I also tell the doc, that I rented one of those babies Doppler’s and that I have managed to locate your heartbeat during the times on non-movement. The doctor assures me though that "those" Doppler’s cannot be depended on.

The doc, putt’s her own gel on my protruding belly. The gel is goopy and makes my tummy tingle with the cold sensation it arouses. The doc, moves around her reliable Doppler on my belly. Usually, your heartbeat is found rather quickly, today it is not. I inhale deeply and send out a silent prayer to God. "God, please, find my babies heartbeat, let her be okay." "Here, it is." The doc, comments as she finally locates your heartbeat. The doc listens to your heartbeat for a minute and responds by telling me that it sounds all right.

As the doc wipes off the cold goop, off my tummy, I pull back down my shirt over my exposed belly. I still am not comforted by your heartbeat. The doc takes my blood pressure and calmly states that it is a little on the high side. This freaks me out. My blood pressure, before I was pregnant was always low. Since being pregnant, my pressure had always registered in the normal range every time I had it checked out. This signaled another warning sign to my overtly full brain.

Next, the doc checks the swelling in my grossly distorted ankles. I try to look at my ankles but my huge belly gets in the way. The doc pulls down my soaks and notices the gross imprints that my socks have made into my widely swelled-up ankles. I tell the doc that my ankles have been swollen for a several months now. She then responds by telling me that she's not worried about my ankles retaining too much water but that she is noticing that my face looks very round and bloated. If it had, I didn't notice. It's hard to notice your getting bigger when every part of you has expanded grossly anyways. At this point, at thirty-five weeks pregnant, I had stopped wondering what was normal, cause to me; nothing on my body was recognizable.

The doctor looks at me with a frown displayed upon her face. Another warning sign clicks off. She then tells me that she's not sure but I may be experiencing toxemia, though she quickly said not to worry, my heart surged with a fear I had never felt in my twenty-seven years.

The doctor then went on to tell me that she was going to send me across the street to the hospital to get checked out. She wanted me to be hooked up to the pre-natal machines that monitor your baby’s heartbeat and contractions. This brought back a feeling of normalcy to me. For the last few weeks I had been going to the hospital weekly to be hooked up to the machines. I had insisted on being hooked up, every time that I had not felt you move regularly. I would go in and be hooked up to the machines. The nurses would hook a big belt around my expanded belly, it reminded me of an old fashioned ice pack that my mom had used on me when I was kid, except this belt held a square box that medically probed into you to find your heartbeat. I had to lie still and to the side. This was awkward for if I moved one way too much, the thing would fall off and it would have to be readjusted by a nurse.

Every time I had insisted on this same test, you would eventually start to move around and the nurse's would monitor you for an hour to make sure your heartbeat pattern remained stable. I always left the hospital after the test with the feeling that I was being one of those over-protective first-time pregnant people. You know the ones who follow the entire doctor's views and wishes to a tee and worry about every single issue that pregnancy brings about.

When I arrived at the hospital this time for the same test however, I felt that something was different. The nurse hooked me up to the machine and I laid there in wait for a minute. In the next moment I knew something was very wrong. Four nurses were in the room and they were all pondering over the machine's data. I looked at the monitor to see that your heartbeat was now twice what it should have been.

No one in the room was talking to me. The nurses were all talking to each other as I lay there trying to figure out what was wrong. Before I could ask any questions a nurse told me that your heartbeat was too high but not to panic. They were going to have the doctor on call come in and look at the heartbeat monitor's data.

When the doctor arrived, I felt a little bit easier. At least I knew the doctor on call. She had covered for my own OBGYN when she was out on maternity leave. The doctor began to look at the machine's printouts. I watched her like a hawk while she scanned the readings. I was looking for any sign in her face that things were all right. What I saw instead was a slight frown emerges and my heart began to race as I registered that something was indeed wrong.

The doctor informed me that the baby's heartbeat was too high and that my blood pressure was too high as well. She said that there could be several reasons why this was happening and not to panic. Funny, everyone keeps telling me not to panic but they aren't really giving me reasons not to. She then informs me that they are going to send me down for an ultrasound to see if they could pin-point what was going on in there.

Another nurse who I was not familiar with came into the room and wheeled me into the elevator to bring me down to the ultrasound area. This nurse was different; she introduced herself to me and tried to make small talk. I knew what she was trying to do. I knew she was trying to get my mind off the trauma I was encountering, but I greatly accepted the distraction and welcomed the small talk.

When I sprawled onto the ultrasound table, I was told by the nurse to lie on my side. She handed me a comfortable pillow to put between my legs. The nurse smiled at me reassuringly as they swapped on more gooey gel.

The ultrasound tech was young. I wondered how old she was. She looked about my own age. I glanced at the monitor that displayed you on the screen. The tech told me that they were going to perform a test to see how the baby was doing in my womb. So they began to look at all your major organs. The tech proclaimed that your heartbeat was still very high but that your heart looked good. I then heard the nurse ask the tech quietly,” Can you see if the cord is wrapped around the neck?" This question terrified me and I arched my back up a bit to try and see for myself on the screen.

The tech said she couldn't tell for sure if the cord was around the baby's neck or not. They then informed me that my amniotic fluid was really low. She said it so matter factly that I had to ask if that was a problem. She calmly said that it could be because the baby didn't have enough room to move around inside of me. She then continued on to finish performing "the test" which I had no idea at the time exactly what they were looking for.

When the tech eventually finished the test, which seemed to have taken a really long time to me. She printed out the data and said she would go and retrieve the results. I agonized the whole minute or two that it took to get the results. I was so terrified and nervous. My stomach did continuous flip-flops and the nice nurse was continuing small talk. I thought in my head that this couldn’t be happening to me. I had had a good pregnancy and "you" just had to be all right. I wouldn't hear of anything else. I just couldn't.

When the tech returned she was empty-handed. I wondered where the results were. Before I could ask, she informed me that she had turned the results over to the doctor on call and that the doctor herself would be coming in momentarily to explain the results to me. I remember thinking that this can't be good. Why wouldn't the tech just give me my results if everything were all right? I had a million questions that I wanted to ask but I just couldn't manage to get them out.

The doctor came in and sat down to talk to me. Yes, sat down. I tried to prepare myself for bad news but you really can't. The doctor explained that your heart rate was too high; my blood pressure was too high (all stuff, I all ready knew). She then said that the baby did not pass the stress test that they had performed. Meaning that "you" were not moving around in there like you should be. She continued to say that there were a lot of reasons this could be happening such as the cord could be wrapped around the neck or perhaps you were just sleeping but they didn't know and she said they felt it would be best to get the baby out as soon as possible. She went on to say that normally they would induce labor but that could take awhile and they wanted to get you out as soon as possible. This meant a c-section.

At that moment I tuned everything out. I just couldn't grasp what was going on. I remember a slew of people coming in and out of the room, having me sign all sorts of medical papers. I then remember asking to call my husband. My husband was at work and he had no idea that something like this was going on. I was allowed to use the phone that was in the room with me. I couldn't remember my husband's work number so I dialed his cell and thank goodness he answered it.

I began to tell my husband what was happening and he was very silent. I then repeated that they were going to be doing a c-section soon and that he needed to get here. He was forty-five minutes away from the hospital but the nurses assured me that he had plenty of time to go and get my bags at home and then come to the hospital. They made it seem as though the surgery would take place in hours.

When I hung up with my husband the annestiologist came in to talk to me. There were more papers to sign and he wanted to put an oxygen mask on me. "What for" I asked and was shocked to hear him say that I would need to wear it during the emergency c-section. First of all, this was the first mention I had heard of the word emergency and second of all, I just told my husband who was on his way home to pick up my bags that he had plenty of time to get to the hospital.

I then remember rambling on about this to the annthesilogist who told me to call my husband back and tell him to get here as fast as he could because I was having this baby as soon as possible. I called my husband who had just made it home to pick up my bags. I cried into the phone that he needed to be here now. I don't think I even made much sense during that phone call. The only thing was he was still thirty minutes away from the hospital and they were talking about doing the surgery in minutes.

The nurses then came into shave off that unmentionable area for the surgery. The anesthesiologist came back after that. I told him that my husband couldn't get there for thirty minutes and could we please wait to do the surgery until he got there. The anesthesiologist blatantly looked me in the eye and said "Your baby could be dead by then. We don't have time to be selfish and wait for you to be comforted by your husband. We need to get this baby out now or it could die!"

After he said this to me I lost all sense that I had left. I was no longer able to deal with what they were telling me. I just broke down and cried and cried. They slipped on the oxygen mask and my tears were streaming down my face so rapidly that I was fogging up the mask. I became nauseous and felt faint. I couldn't breathe. I clutched at the mask and pulled it off my mouth. I instantly felt better and could breathe again. The anthesiologist glared at me and moved the mask back up over my mouth. I instantly removed it again and begged for him not to put it back on. I told him "I can't breathe with this thing on. It's making me sick. It smells like something that is bothering me." He responded by telling me "You need this to have surgery, are we going to waste more time getting your baby out because you are being selfish and won't keep the damn mask on!" I responded by losing what little sanity I had left at the time. Finally, a nurse suggested that they put the oxygen tubes up my nose. They ended up doing that and I was able to keep those in without getting sick.

I then had to put on the dreaded hospital gown that has the open back. They then asked me to walk down to the operating room, which was on the same floor but I couldn't believe that I had to walk with my ass sticking out for all to see, down the hall. I couldn't even see straight for the tears clouded my eyesight and I was hysterical. This asshole of a guy who was suppose to be understanding in a time like this, made me feel like I was killing my baby by being so terrified that I wanted my husband there with me. I just didn't want to be alone. I loved my baby and how could he make me feel this way. When I think back about this asshole of an anesthesiologist, I think of him with pure hatred, hatred that I have never felt before. I think someone like him must end up in hell. Who tells someone petrified that her first-born child could be dying and it's all her fault? How dare him! I wish I had written a complaint about him but I was too whacked out afterwards.

I remember next, being helped up onto the operating table. I was told to sit by the "asshole" and to bend over and not move. He then gave me a shot that hurt like hell but I didn't cry out for I was numb inside. I then lay down on the table and waited the few minutes it took for my whole bottom half to become numb. I was still crying excessively and I couldn't stop. I kept thinking "oh God, what if my baby is dead and there’s no one here who loves me and who can comfort me." I didn't want to face this alone. I'm not the kind of person who needs to always have someone there but this was different. I was in the middle of the scariest thing that had ever happened to me and there was no one there that really gave a damn about my baby or me. Even my regular OBGYN wasn't there but the doctor on call.

I remember that there were some student nurses in the operating room with me. I didn't remember giving permission for them to be n there but I really wasn't in control of my thoughts or feelings at the time. I remember one of these student nurses grabbed my hand and held it tight while the doctor began cutting into me. The student nurse also kept telling me that everything was going to be all right. I thank God for her being there that day for no one else there seemed to treat my like a human being.

There were two doctors doing the surgery and the "asshole anthestologist" was at the back of my head monitoring me. The "asshole" asked me what I was going to name my baby. I remember uttering "Sydney."' He then asked if I was naming her after the Alias TV. Character Sydney Bristo? He then began to chat with the doctors about TV. Shows and I remember the doctor cutting into me saying that she doesn't even own a television. I wanted to scream at these idiots "how can you be talking about TV. While my baby could possibly be dead or dying inside of me?" How dare they sit there with their smug as remarks about television and attempt at some semblance of normalcy when my whole world was crashing down on me?

I wanted my husband to be there so bad. I couldn't feel a thing that they were doing to me, maybe that was good but I also didn't really know what was going on down there. The next thing I knew I heard a shrill cry and the doctors stating "time of birth 11:52 A.M. A sudden sense of relief came over me. That cry was so beautiful. It was more beautiful to me than any flower or person could ever be. It made up for the fact that they didn't even tell me when they had pulled her out of me and that they didn't bring her over for me to see right away either.

Just as they were apparently cleaning up the baby and doing her Apgar scores, my husband walked into the operating room in green scrubs. He came up to me and gave me a kiss and asked me how I was doing. What would you say? I think I uttered that I was o.k. He was then escorted over to see the baby. I still feel a little resentment that he got to see the baby even before I did after all I had been through. He then was allowed to bring the baby over to me. He lifted her up so that I could see her. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She had big beautiful eyes that just stared into mine. I wasn't even allowed to hold her since the doctors were closing me back up. I told my husband not to leave the baby's side. He left with the nurse to bring the baby into the nursery to clean her up.

When the surgery was over, they wheeled me out of the room and into the hallway. As we passed the nursery, my husband came rushing out to show me the baby again. This time I was allowed to briefly hold her for a minute. She was so tiny and so cleverly wrapped up in two blankets. She had a cute hand made knitted red and white hat on her tiny head. The hat drooped down over the baby’s eyes. I didn't want to leave her. That was another choice I didn't get to make. I was told I had to go to the recovery room and that I wouldn't be able to see my baby for a couple of hours. I began to cry again. My husband told me he would stay with her and not leave her side. This made me feel a little bit better. He then handed me a picture that was taken of him holding the baby right after she was born. I remember clutching that picture so tightly to my chest as they wheeled me down to the recovery room.

I laid in that recovery room for two hours. The only thing that got me through it was looking at the picture of my beautiful baby girl. My "Sydney" she was so small and wonderful. I kissed the picture where her forehead was. That picture got me through the pain too as the numbing feeling wore off my body.

When I finally was reunited with my baby a few hours latter I was so glad to see her, to feel her in my arms and to kiss her real forehead. I didn’t' want to put her down but since she was born at thirty-five weeks, she was tiny and her temperature needed to be regulated. She had to be put in a little baby incubator that was in the corner of my hospital room. I was told she weighed five pounds, thirteen ounces. She was nineteen inches long. She also had bright blue eyes and a hair full of black hair.

I ended up staying in the hospital for six days. It was a very trying time, not to mention that she was born on December 15th and we weren't released until close to Christmas. I kept thinking that I hadn't even finished my Christmas shopping yet and we didn't even have a tree up yet. These feelings brought back some strange feel or normalcy for nothing else that week felt normal at all. The pain I felt from the surgery didn't feel normal, nor the breast-feeding, the diapering, the allergic reaction to morphine or the misshapen body that was left in place of what once was. It was hard for me to get use to not having the baby inside of me anymore as well.

I had many scares while in the hospital as well. Sydney was losing too much weight, she had jaundice and there was a small problem with her breathing at one point that brought my hysteria back full force. I remember getting out of the hospital how I was so happy just to be going home but so terrified with the thought too at the same time. I didn't feel like a mom yet and I wondered at the time if that was o.k.

As I look back on Sydney's birth now, I realize that I was just going through the motions of life while in the hospital. I wasn't really feeling I was just doing what I knew needed and must be done. I didn't take any time for myself to adjust to almost losing my baby. It turned out that I did have toxemia and that Sydney's cord was wrapped around her neck three times. I remember a nurse saying to me "It's a good thing you listened to your instincts and came in to have things checked out." She then told me "You saved your babies life. She wouldn't have made it another day the way she was." Hearing this did not comfort me. It instead terrified me and I played the "what it’s" over and over again in my head for over a year after Sydney was born.

I wish that someone had acknowledged the feelings and emotions that I was going through right after Sydney was born. I wish they had had a therapist or someone come and talk to me in the hospital. I think I blamed myself for a lot of what was going on and that wasn't right. I had no control over what happened to my body. There was nothing that I did that made Sydney’s cord wrap around her neck three times and I didn't cause the toxemia either, but I couldn't see this at the time or grasp it either. I had a lot of self-blame and terrifying dreams and memories of Sydney’s birth way after she was born. I ended up developing post pardum depression and thank goodness I was able to see that something was wrong and get help. I was also luck that it was only a mild case of post pardum depression as well.

Today, Sydney is a beautiful seventeen-month-old little girl. I am once again thriving and can for the first time think back on her birth without crying and blaming myself. I am still angry at what the anthesologist said to me during the trauma. I loved the hospital where I had Sydney but will never let that awful excuse for a human being ever come near me, let alone touch me again.

I love being a mother and am almost ready to try and conceive again. I thank God every day for my motherly instincts that did save my babies life. I write this to help other people who have or will go through a scary birth trauma. I want them to know that things will get easier and you can heal, it just takes time. Time to deal with what you went through and to accept that there was nothing that you could have done to make the outcome different.


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