I Am a Bad Mom, Chapter 2, My Birth Story

So, here I am. A week into my 20th year on earth, 8 1/2 months pregnant, newly single and homeless.  Well I was staying with my parents but that hadn't been my home in some time and our relationship was rocky to put it politely.  I didn't get much sympathy seeing that they never liked my boyfriend, come late to find out, it was for good reason.  I am heartbroken. I am destroyed. I am deflated. I am scared. I am responsible for it all because ready or not this baby was coming.

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were a blur.  I do remember doing two things pretty much the whole time, crying and sleeping.  As you might remember from chapter 1 I was bedridden during my 2nd trimester and I may not have mentioned it but I was also diagnosed with gestational diabetes. For those of you unaware of what gestational diabetes is, well as the name might suggest it diabetes through your gestation (pregnancy) period. This made me a high risk which meant I had to check in with my doctors almost daily.  The scary thing about having gestational diabetes is that the babies tend to be bigger and have broader shoulders which can affect whether or not they can successfully pass through the birth canal.  My doctors were trying to avoid a cesarean section.  In what was going to be my final prenatal care visit, I was told I would be admitted into the hospital at 8am the next morning for an induced labor two weeks before my due date. WOW, this was really happening.

Now, up until this point I hadn't been in contact with my boyfriend, except when he realized I wasn't at home that night I left.  He called my parents house and I took the call.  Totally distraught confused and hurt.  I told him what I found. Silence on his end. I hung up the phone and sobbed some more.  That was almost three weeks ago, now I am about to give birth to our child.  He has a right to know, right?  I thought so, my family did not.  I packed my overnight bag and slept on it.  In the morning, I woke up dazed, confused, overwhelmed, just so many emotions at one time for so many reasons.  My father and sister accompanied me to the hospital.  My mother said she couldn't stand to see me in labor and in pain so she asked to be notified as soon as I gave birth.  This is not how I envisioned my birth story to be.  I had always envisioned this being something my boyfriend and I would experience together.  A moment that will bond us with our son and to one another forever.  Now, I am looking at a very nervous but supportive sister and an ants-in-his-pants father who is totally out of his comfort zone.  They both, along with the doctors tried to make me comfortable and walked me through all of the steps.  Let the inducing begin.

First few hours, not so bad.  Not really feeling any contractions. I am feeling comfortable, this labor thing is a breeze.  I was hooked up to more than a few machines with wires on my arm and my belly.  DuckTales just came on and I can hear the theme song playing in the background when suddenly the machines started beeping suddenly flooding my room with doctors and nurses. I was scared.  What's wrong? What's happening?  One of the doctors said, Erica, the baby is in distress.  The umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck. We don't have a lot of time, we need to perform a c-section.  My heart stopped, or at least it felt like it did.  I quickly signed a form and was wheeled off to the OR.

I remember being very cold.  I remember a curtain going up starting from under my chest so I couldn't see what they were doing to me.  I was very cold. They were talking about golf while moving my organs around in search of my son.  My sister peeking over the curtain and telling me what a fine job I was doing, tears in her eyes.  A bright light in mine.  She held my hand and said, are you ok? Whats the matter?  To which I distinctly remember saying, oh you mean other than the c-section that is being performed on me? Nothing, why?  Time stood still, I couldn't tell you if minutes or hours had passed.  Time came into focus the moment they placed this beautiful baby boy on my chest, introducing me to my son.  He was beautiful.  A head full of hair (that explains all the heartburn) the sweetest dark brown eyes that look a lot like mine, staring back at me, the tiniest of balled up hands, the heart shaped lips.  I cried.  I've just met the tiny little bean that instantly, in that very moment, changed my life forever.  Machine bells started going off again, a nurse quickly grabbed my son off my chest and said we need to get you stabilized and rolled me off to another room.

Later that afternoon after I was rolled into my own room, with the nurse  and my tiny baby close behind.  My hospital room was filled to the gills with family and my mother's work friends who came directly to the hospital after work.  My epidural was wearing off and I had an allergic reaction to it that made me scratch and rub my nose the entire time they were there.  Crowding around me, snapping pictures with me and my son, it was a scene.  My son cried, the nurse suggested he might be hungry and asked if I was interested in breastfeeding.  Before this entire ordeal, I wanted to be that mom.  The one who bonds so perfectly with her new baby while being nurtured with milk that only my body can give him.  But at that moment, I just couldn't.  I asked for a bottle and asked my mother to feed him.  What was happening?  Why did breastfeeding not feel right to me? Why hadn't I even tried?

After my visitors cleared out, I asked the nurse to take my son back to the nursery so I could get some rest.  I had JUST undergone major surgery and given birth,  I thought I deserved a nap.  That night, I laid in bed with the glare of the hallway light under my door to remind me of where I was, I couldn't sleep.  I needed to hold my baby at that very moment.  I called for the nurse and asked for my baby back.  She wheeled him in to me.  I thought my heart might burst, he was perfect.  I held him in my arms and cried while I promised to love him forever and protect him with my last breath.  We had finally had our moment.

The following day, I received word that my boyfriend tried to visit us at the hospital but was denied access.  He called my room and said there was a picture of him at the security desk with a note that he was not allowed in.  I was devastated, I didn't understand what was happening.  I didn't do this. He deserved to see his son.  I wanted him to.  Was it my parents? It had to be.  Later that day when my parents came to the hospital, I asked them what they had done.  They admitted to giving the guard a picture and restricting his access to me and his son.  I cried with anger and pain.  I couldn't raise my voice or argue, you'd be surprise how important your stomach muscles are when you don't have them.  They told me, my son shouldn't have his father's last name.  They wanted me to forget about him.  My son and I would have a better life if his father wasn't in it.  How could this be?  It felt so unnatural.  I was hurting but what did that have to do with our son and his needing a father.  Can his father just be erased like he never happened?



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LifeStyledbyErica