One beautiful sunny morning in July during the midst of winter, began my journey into Motherhood. Preparation to meet our little bean took place within one hour of being told she would enter the world 7 weeks earlier than we'd expected. They informed us that she would have to remain in NNICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for about 2-3 weeks where she would gain her strength and grow to a full-term 40 weeker. It hit me right then and there that I would have to be without my baby for a minimum of 2 weeks, but that wasn't enough to deprive me from my excitement.Yes, I was praying that all would go well and that baby would be safe, but most of all I couldn't wait to meet her and see the little face that had been growing inside of me for the past 33 weeks. It also didn't hit me that I would undergo major abdominal surgery before we would reach the moment of rejoicing at the sight of her. Surprisingly, the entire experience of undergoing a caesearean section was NOT as bad as people made it out to be. Yes, recovery was slightly painful for the first few days, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with a delicious shot of morphine every few hours. Like my doctor says, "it goes in like a banana, and then comes out like a pineapple", and that will remain true whether your choice of birthing is vaginal or via c-section. The thing about giving birth, is that people do not always realise that complications may arise which may result in an emergency c-section. Yes, it's easy to think that "it will never happen to me" when you hear stories of other women and their emergency experiences. And then it's often those women who end up having traumatic experiences in the operating theatre because they were so dead-set on giving birth naturally. My advice? Be open-minded. Do your research on all the available options - it's easy to picture what your ideal birth plan would be. But keep in mind that it could go any which way depending on circumstances. I know that for most pregnant women (especially first pregnancies) the idea of birth in general creates anxiety. I remember whilst doing my research and watching videos of women giving natural birth, I would sit at my desk at work with tears streaming down my face all in the name of fear and anxiety. Then I remember getting into a discussion with a group of women who felt that c-sections were a way of "cheating" the natural method of giving birth, and that c-sections "were so much less invasive" than vaginal birth - which I believe is a very simplistic and degrading way to judge a mother who had been sliced open through countless layers of tissue and muscle and then sacrificing several weeks of recovery too. But hey, that's a whole other topic of discussion which I'd like to get into later on in my blog, so I'll resist the temptation to have a debate about it now.
So 15-minutes into surgery, I asked my husband how far the doctor was and whether they have already proceeded to cut me open. To my surprise, he told me that they had already taken the baby out and that they were in the process of stitching up my soon-to-be battle scar. In disbelief, I looked over to the neonatologist (specialist who delivers premature babies) who was examining the baby before they gave my husband the honour of clamping the umbilical cord. She gave a few small cries that sounded like a little kitten sneezing, and the room was filled with laughter from the nurses and doctors on-board. And then, I got to kiss her and take a look at her tiny little face for a few seconds before they whisked her off to the NNICU. Only now that I am recollecting all the memories of my experience, I realise that her premature delivery deprived me from holding her against me which mothers who carry full-term often have the privilege to do. However, I was so full of morphine at the time from the epidural and anaesthesia that everything seemed blurry and all I wanted was to be left alone so I could sleep it off. Obviously, and due to the c-section, I was unable to walk around and as a result did not see my little angel as she was in NNICU down the hall from me. I think that subconsciously I didn't want to face the reality of her being tied up to wires and machines, so I didn't feel distraught that I could not see her. Luckily her dad spent all day with her standing next to her open-air incubator and he would show me photo's that he'd taken. The day after surgery the nurses (who were lovely by the way) helped me get on my feet again and I was on my way to see our baby girl in her little nest surrounded by a team of the best ICU nurses and doctors. I was so afraid to hold her, and it broke my heart to such a small baby being wired up to so many monitors - it's really overwhelming when you don't know what the monitos and machines are doing for your baby. But it's all routine and perfectly normal for the nurses to monitor these prem babies as they are so volatile in terms of breathing complications, especially when the lungs are not fully developed etc. So instead of picking her up, there I stood holding a tiny hand with the biggest lump in my throat. The only thing that kept me from breaking down was having to be strong for her while she was lying there away from the only thing that felt like home for her - me.
And then the day came when I finally held her - about 2 days after giving birth. It was absolutely amazing to be holding her for the first time. I got to hold her against me, skin-to-skin (aka Kangaroo Mothercare which is excellent for bonding and promoting weight gain). She was a tiny 1.77kg's and light as a feather. She was being fed through a nasogastric tube, (which is inserted through the nose and runs all the way down to the stomach) as most prem babies are (depending on how prem they are), due to the sucking reflex not being fully developed yet. So there I sat, her small body resting against my chest under my pajama shirt. Suddenly all the feelings of helpless guilt that had previosuly consumed me for not being able to sit by her side, had fallen away. She was off the oxygen machine that helped her to breathe on her own, and that in itself was the biggest relief. No more scary big mask on her small little face. She was beautiful, angelic. Looking down at her I found myself drowning in a pool of emotions, mostly for the fact that she was, and is, a miracle. After much googling what to expect week-by-week through my entire pregnancy trying to get an idea of what the fetus looked like at each passing week, she was finally right in front of me. It was difficult not having her with me after 8 whole months of filling my belly, but seeing her in the flesh made it all worth it. I remember a woman in the bed next to me in my room had asked me how I coped with not having my baby sleep with me like the other mothers. But the mere fact that my baby was alive and well, and that we would only be separated for 3 weeks as opposed to an indefinite amount of time, made me the happiest mother in the world. Little did I know the bumpy road that lay ahead...
*After much debate with myself whether to upload pics of her tiny being whilst she was in NNICU, I have decided against it merely because I feel that she should have a choice in the matter. I will however post some recent pics of her in posts to come :) * Please also note that I have made a conscious decision to share our challenging story for public viewing, simply for inspiration and not to gain any benefit for myself whatsoever.*
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