About 1 hour had passed since Ava was delivered into the world but awaiting any word on her condition seemed as if it took almost 3 hours. When the head doctor of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) finally joined me in recovery I felt a bit terrified of what words might come out of her mouth and I was secretly hoping I didn’t have to have the conversation that was about to happen.
I was advised that Ava had scored two 9’s on her APGAR which even through my drugged & sedated state I knew was a very good thing having had read every single book or magazine I could get my hands on to prepare myself for this very day. Though, it seems, no preparations could have ever prepared me for what happened.
There is always a “but” when it comes to doctors breaking good news to you and the tone in her voice and the knot in my stomach told me there was a “but.” I was advised that Ava went into respiratory distress about one hour after they admitted her into the NICU. Before I could even ask, the doctor told me that Ava was admitted to the NICU as a precautionary standard procedure having been an early bird. But had she not been there when she went into RD, matters could have been far worse.
I wanted to cry but I didn’t. I felt numb. It wasn’t from the drugs or the fact that my body temperature was still only at 94 degrees. I wanted to cry but I decided it wouldn’t do any good. Crying would probably upset my family & Mel, all of whom were taking their cues from me on how to react to the situation unfolding before our eyes.
I didn’t cry and all I heard for the next few minutes was a blur of medical jargon describing Ava’s condition, the tests they were running, and the medical equipment she was being hooked up to just to keep her alive. I felt so far away as if I was outside of my body and sitting in the corner of the room watching myself and my family as the doctor spoke to me.
I finally asked, “When can I see her?”
“Oh, I’m afraid not for a while. We have to stabilize the baby and monitor her condition before anyone is allowed to visit,” the doctor said routinely, almost as if she had repeated those exact words numerous times to the families that came before me. “It will be a few hours before we will know, but we will keep you posted,” she said anticipating the question I was about to ask. She abruptly left the room almost as quickly as she had entered.
I looked at my mother who seemed to be hiding a worried look behind her eyes. Then I looked at my father who proceeded to make a joke about taking Ava to Euro Disney as soon as she gets out of the hospital to eradicate the awkwardness in the room. Leave it to him to ease any situation no matter the severity.
As soon as my body temperature was close enough to normal I was moved into my own private room. By now I had a steady stream of visitors entering my room all with hopes of finally being able to meet Ava. Once I told them she was in the NICU they didn’t dare ask me to explain. I’m not sure if it was because they didn’t quite know what that meant or if they were just afraid to ask.
As I sat and waited with my family & friends who I could tell felt like they were walking on eggshells around me I just kept thinking about how this was not how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to have been able to hold Ava right after she was born. Everything I read and everything I told was that those first 10 minutes are the most important moments for bonding with your child. I wanted that picture of Ava & me at the moment she was born. But there are no pictures of the delivery, just pictures of me without child in recovery. I don’t even know what she looks like, what color her hair is or her eyes. I want to see her tiny little feet and be able to say, “She is just perfect!”
Ironically as these thoughts are running through my head I find myself running my hand over my belly as if I were still pregnant and enjoying my little one so close to my heart. I don’t dare say any of these things to anyone, not even Melvin. I just want everyone to stay calm and happy in hopes that it will keep me calm and happy.
Moments later (about 7 hours from the time of the birth) a nurse from the NICU comes into my room and tells Mel that he is finally allowed to go see the baby for she is stable, asleep and successfully on the C-PAP (continuous positive airway pressure). I asked if I could go but she told me that I was on mandatory 24-hour bed rest as a result of my surgery. My heart sank and I couldn’t help but feel how unfair it was for Mel to see her without me. He excitedly gave me a kiss on the forehead, grabbed my camera and headed for the NICU with his mother in toe.
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