There was this matter-of-fact aura in the air the morning of Addison's birth. I awoke and moved out of bed. Then I clumsily stepped in the shower and then put on a fresh coat of makeup and brushed my teeth. I checked my bags for all the necessities. Slowly, I ventured to the living room picking up the remnants from the night before--toys, socks, books, and remotes. As I opened the curtains and let the light flutter gradually into the living room I took in the smells and noises around me, Hunk snoring in the bedroom, Punk's humidifier murmuring, and a handful of birds singing their morning song.
This would be my last morning waking up in our home. I started to cry, a routine that I was not usually accustomed to, but I stopped quickly when I realized that time was ticking by and I didn't have the luxury of reminiscing. So I pulled myself out of my own nostalgic memories and began to check Brecken's bags as well, since he would be spending the weekend with Grandma and Grandpa. Then I made my way to the spare bedroom where his tiny mattress laid nestled in the corner of room. As I slowly rubbed his back trying to gently arise my sleepy boy I realized this would be the last moment for just the two of us. Not wanting it to end I laid down next to him trying to take in his smell as he nestled he head near my chin.
When we finally arose I realized we would be late. The peaceful ambiance the preceded was now replaced with the jostling of bags, laptops, and toys as we loaded into the car. Time was not on our side. We drove to our neighbor's home were Brecken would spend the day and then we hurriedly made our way to town. Half way there we realized I had forgotten my identification---back home we went.
We were frazzled and late.
When we finally reached the hospital my body began to panic. My palms began to sweat and my mind began to convince my body that there was no way I could go through this again. I knew the pain, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. I'd heard that for many woman a C-Section was simple, routine, and an easier adjustment back to normalcy than a vaginal birth. The pendulum, however, was weighted for me on the other end. It shot through my body like an injection of gasoline. So painful in fact that tears would not do justice, but would only add to the impending pain on my body.
But this was "one doodle that can't be undid..." (name that movie)
So we entered the hospital. checked in. made it to our room. and waited.
Finally, my body was prepped and a nurse came and walked me to the surgical room. It seemed so surreal that I stood up and just walked-walked right into the room where I would have my baby. No pain, no contractions, no moments of labor, just walking.
The surgical room seemed like such an awful place for welcoming a new child into the world. Stark white walls, bright fluorescent lighting, lifeless tables and surgical supplies, and bitter cold. No wonder babies cried when they entered the world.
When I was finally settled on the table the anesthesiologist administered the epidural and spinal block--a routine that I was well prepared for. After the pins and needles had shot through my body making me immobile and numb from the chest down I lay there staring at the blue hues of the surgical lights waiting for the procedure to begin. Then without warning I began to throw up. I couldn't move and as the paralyzed fear began to take over my body a nurse slowly caressed my hair as I kept throwing up over and over again. Once I stopped I wanted to cry, mainly out of fear, but also because I had no control over my own body or its reflexes.
When they were sure that I had finished the oxygen was placed in my nose and the procedure began. The bantering of the doctors and the surgical techs soothed my nerves. Hunk stood above me monitoring me from both sides of the curtain. The moments proceeding were more blurry. I tried to remain awake, tried to take in each moment as if it were my last, but between the culmination of painkillers and whatever other concoction they had brewing in my body it just seemed easier to fade in-and-out of consciousness.
Then it happened.
Still trying to grasp a hold of reality I heard it and I am sure the rest of the surgical room did as well. Her voice. She started screaming the moment she was taken from me. No, it wasn't one of those light, airy newborn screams that melts the hearts of mothers everywhere. It was deep with a rumble that seemed to shake even the faint of heart awake. Addy Mae came into this world with a vengeance
As I laid on the surgical table trying to muster as much energy to stay awake I silently thanked God for a baby with big booming lungs. You see my greatest fear was silence. When Brecken was born there were wisps of crying, but nothing that could be conjured up as a full blown fit of rage for being torn from his safe haven. Instead, I laid helplessly on an operating table for twenty nine painfully stricken minutes while they tried to revive my little baby boy. So you can only imagine how light our hearts felt to hear the world's loudest scream echoing throughout the room when Addy entered the world.
As the nurses and doctors bustled throughout the room like a synchronized rowing team, Hunk knelt by my side asking if I would like to see her. My body, weak and medicated, would not allow me that luxury of taking control so as she was brought up to my face my heart skipped. Literally skipped. A baby with rolls and chubbiness, staring with bright eyes was before me.
Soon, I was being bustled out of the frigid surgical room down a maze of hospital halls to the recovery unit where a swarm of nurses began changing my bedding, jostling my catheter, and even taking Addy and attaching her to my chest. Still numb and barely conscious she was placed in my feeble arms. No longer crying she nestled in as if she knew the routine and would help guide me as to what my mothering role was in the whole process.
more to come..