“As long as McKenna agrees to have you in the OR, and she remains stable, you may be her support person during the procedure.”
Poor Carson. He came to visit me earlier, just like he has every day since I was hospitalized a week ago. When my contractions started to pick up, they declared me in labor after checking my cervix.
Due to the placenta previa, a vaginal birth isn’t an option, so a C-section is the safest option for both the baby and me.
Things have moved quickly since then. So quickly, that it looks like Carson will be in the OR with me instead of my mom.
“Alright, sir. I’m going to need you to change into these scrubs and put this fashionable scrub hat and shoe covers on,” the nurse says as she hands the items to Carson.
He swallows hard. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“It is. We need to get moving to keep both baby and mama safe,” she says.
With that, Carson goes into the ensuite and changes. Meanwhile, another contraction hits me. This one pulls at both my stomach and back, feeling like I’m being squeezed to death.
After another thirty seconds, the contraction begins to subside. I take a deep breath and ask the nurse, “I’m feeling a lot of pressure down there. Is that normal? I also might have peed on the bed a little bit with that last contraction.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. The discomfortof having multiple people checking my cervix and taking a peek under my blankets the past week has been a humbling experience.
“Let me take a look,” Jaqueline says as she lifts up the blanket. “I don’t believe that is urine. Your water may have partially broken. I’m going to go get Dr. Bahati.”
Before she can leave the room, the bathroom door swings open. Carson comes out and asks, “Hey, Nurse Jackie, am I more of a McSteamy or McDreamy?”
She takes him in, then declares, “McSteamy. No doubt about it.” Then she swiftly leaves the room.
I barely get out a chuckle before another contraction clenches my abdomen in a vice grip. This one is stronger than the others, and tears stream down my face from the pain.
Moments later, Nurse Jackie, as Carson calls her, comes back into the room with Dr. Bahati and a few others.
“Good evening, McKenna. The team is going to be wheeling you to the operating room, and I’ll be completing your C-section. Once the baby is delivered, the NICU team will take over care of the baby while I close you up. Do you have any questions for me?”
Before I can get anything out, Carson intercepts. “Will the baby be okay? Will Mack have to be put under since this is an emergency C-section?”
Dr. Bahati gives Carson a small smile. She’s familiar with him and his inquisitive nature by now—if my mom couldn’t make it to an appointment, he was usually there with me. It’s only fitting that he be by my side tonight as I bring my baby into the world.
“Hello, Mr. Wilder. McKenna will be able to stay awake as long as she remains stable. McKenna, you will be receiving a spinal block when you get into the OR. As far as the baby goes, we really won’t know more until he or she is with the NICU team. But I assure you, the baby will bein the best hands. Our hospital has a level four NICU, which is the best of them. I would anticipate that the baby will need breathing assistance at this point in the incubator. You did receive two rounds of steroids to help the baby’s lung development progress, but each day the baby can get closer to term helps their odds drastically. The baby is very lucky to have been able to continue developing for the past week. McKenna, do you have any other questions before we wheel you down?”
Feeling another contraction starting up, I quickly shake my head and ask the nurses how quickly they can get me to the anesthesiologist.
The operating room’s sterility is stifling. Sounds of equipment reverberate off the walls.
A blue medical curtain blocks my view of my abdomen, but I’m not in pain anymore. They were right about the spinal block working like magic. However, I do feel some slight pressure.It’s the strangest feeling.
As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I feel a large bout of pressure and then immense emptiness.
“It’s a girl!” I hear from the other side of the curtain.
A girl? Oh my god. A girl!
I don’t hear any cries.
“She’s not crying. Why isn’t she crying?” I frantically ask. Turning my head, I see the NICU team gathered around the baby off to the side of the OR that is barely visible to me.
“We need to help baby girl breathe. Until we know how her lungs will do on their own, we are going to intubate her to ease the burden on her lungs. We’re going to take her to the NICU now, mama,” I hear someone say, though I’m not sure who says it.
Mama.I’m someone’s mama. A babygirl’smama.
I wish Katie were here. I wish Griff were here. I wish I didn’t have to feel this unbearable pain that comes with this joyous moment.
Dr. Bahati tells me she’s going to start stitching me up, and that after I’m out of recovery, I can be escorted to the NICU to see my baby girl.
