9 Minutes

It's been more than 2 weeks since the birth of Bubble Baby, but it's taken me this long to feel up to writing her birth story from my perspective.

I had sort of settled into a routine during those 49 days of hospital rest: injections, boring meals, NSTs (monitoring the baby's heartbeat and my contractions), naps, visits from Bubble Daddy and Bubble Girl. By August 31st, however, I'd begun to get a funny feeling that things were about to change. My OB asked me for a more specific explanation, but I just felt . . . my body was changing. It reminded me of the day before Bubble Girl was born. But by Sept 2nd, I felt myself settling back comfortably into the routine and set myself to make it through another month of hospital rest.

On Sept 2nd I was treated to a lunch visit from my sister, which brightened my day. She left shortly before I had to be hooked up to the monitors for my 2pm NST. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom before I had to get strapped in for at minimum 20 minutes, and possibly hours, depending on the readings. I was lucky this time, and only had to sit there for about 45 minutes, and everything looked great--the baby's heart rate was strong and steady; I didn't have any contractions. The nurse came in to free me from the monitor and we chatted, joking about how this baby better appreciate all I've had to go through for her.

I got up again to use the bathroom, and almost immediately knew something was wrong. I felt something falling; I couldn't tell exactly what, but thought it was possibly a large blood clot. I hopped back into bed and immediately called the nurse. She came in right away, I told her her what I thought was happening and she ran to get the resident on duty. I called Bubble Daddy to put him on alert that something might be about to happen. As the resident came in, I hung up the phone. After a few minutes searching for a flashlight and assembling equipment for a examination, the resident took a look and immediately sprang into action--the thing that had fallen out was the entire umbilical cord. They would have to deliver the baby immediately in order to save her life. I called Bubble Daddy back and frantically said, "I need you here now!" and the call dropped. He called me back and I insanely just repeated myself. About 10 people descended upon my room, one nurse holding the cord back up, another frantically inserting an IV in my wrist, another holding it down while the nurse yelled, "Hold it, there's no time for tape," others were pulling up the bed rails and everyone began to push my bed down the hall at a frantic pace to the operating room. I looked at the resident, and as I began to understand what was going to happen, I asked her if I was going to have general anesthesia. Before she could say anything, I could see the answer in her face--yes. General meant that I would be asleep when the baby was born; I wouldn't get to experience my baby's birth. I then asked if my husband would make it in time. No. Would my OB make it in time from his office only 4 blocks away? No. I remember feeling the breeze catch my hair as we raced down the hall throughout the conversation. As we went through the door of the OR, I yelled out that the baby was breech, and they needed to make a vertical incision. I made it into the room, and had to heave myself off my bed, onto the operating table, all the while, the nurse was holding the cord. The anesthesiologists asked me if I was allergic to any medications--I couldn't remember! But I said no, which was the right answer. I was scared to go under. Someone across the room saw my allergy band on my wrist and asked what I was allergic to. The anesthesia mask came down upon my face as I yelled out, "Latex, mangoes, shellfish." They told me to relax, so they could do what was best for my baby. I realized I was still clutching my cell phone--I handed it to someone, realizing I would have no use for it.

9 minutes after I'd hung up on Bubble Daddy, the baby was born. I awoke feeling sad and groggy, with Bubble Daddy and my OB nearby. My OB arrived after the delivery, in time only to finish the surgery. I made Bubble Daddy hold my hand for I don't know how long. Nurses who had cared fro me over the previous 7 weeks came by to see how I was doing--I'll never forget their kindness. I was eventually transferred to a post-partum room, where I would stay for the next 4 nights before finally going home. I had to wait more than 24 hours to make it upstairs to the NICU to meet Bubble Baby. I was so happy that she had made it, and that I finally had permission to get up and walk after so many weeks, that I actually walked my wheelchair the whole way instead of riding in it. Bubble Baby looked beautiful--she was a little chubby and rosy and seemed fairly healthy for being born so early. Over the course of the next few days she lost some of that baby fat (all newborns lose a little weight at first), and the rosiness turned into the oranginess of jaundice. But at the moment I met her, in a flash, I knew that it had all been worth it: the 7 weeks of confinement, the chaos of the delivery, having missed her birth--none of it mattered so much, now that I could see our beautiful, tiny baby.