May 20, 2009

By now I know that my beautiful little miracle is, well somehow "flawed," and all I can think is, 'am I going to love her the way she deserves to be loved.' Maybe it sounds as awful as it makes me feel to know that I thought that, but walk a mile in my shoes and you will understand. I spent an entire week worried about my upcoming labor and delivery. Who knew how it was going to unravel? Would she be born naturally, or would they have to opt for a cesarean? Would she be ok, she would be early, could she handle it? I felt helpless, and alone. I felt like the only person in the world. I went about my days as normal, but everything was a blur. I didn't see faces, I couldn't hear anything that was going on around me...just the desperate voice in my head pleading with god. Pleading and begging him to make everything right, to fix things, to make it seem as though the doctors had it wrong the whole time. I was trying to trick myself into believing that she was "normal." That I was never given the bad news. But all the while I knew, I could feel it in my heart. She would be different. I can remember the day I found out I was pregnant, I told my husband something didn't feel right. It went on, every day, week, month, I could tell something was wrong. I would go to bed and worry for no reason at all, or at least that's what I thought and what I had been told. Everyone said it was because she was my second child, that I was struggling with how I was going to share the love I have with two children. But I knew better. The morning of May 20th, I woke, showered, and ate a small meal, hands shaking all the while. I could barely speak and I broke down in tears once or twice. When we reached the hospital I was calm, it was very strange...I never felt such a powerful calm wash over me. It was like I could stand up against a hurricane and it couldn't touch me. I was given an IV with Pitocin and shortly there after the doctor came in and broke my water. My nurse and husband were my cheerleaders when the pain became too much. They believed in me! They made light of the situation and everyday things to help me stay calm, and I cracked a smile, and even laughed once or twice. When the contractions got to be to much, my mother took my oldest daughter down to the cafeteria until I had my epidural. It wasn't long after I received my epidural that I was ready to push. I gave it my everything, yelling out to god for the strength to get through. After what seemed like hours, when in reality it was only a couple of minutes, my beautiful baby girl was born. All I saw before they took her away was a full head of black hair. It was the most amazing thing I had seen since my first daughter was born. My body went limp, but my eyes were searching for her, finally I was able to concentrate again. I listened for her, listened to the muffled sounds of the nurses voices. Then I saw it, her pink hat that I watched a nurse dig out for her was gone, replaced by a blue one. My heart stopped, I felt tears well up in my eyes but refused to cry. Did they have it wrong, was my little girl, a boy? They brought "him" over to me and I looked deep into my babies eyes, but it seemed as though there was nothing there. Did this child belong to me? Did it know who I was, were we ever so close? Soon the nurse announced that my baby needed to be taken to the nursery right away for oxygen, "he" wasn't breathing well on "his" own. And just like that, everything I had worked for was gone. Hours passed before I was able to see my baby again, just for a moment though, and I couldn't see "his" face. They had it covered with an oxygen hood. The calm was gone, I melted right there. I began to sob, and felt helpless again, maybe more than before. All I could do was wait.