“Congratulations! You’re pregnant!”
“You have severe bleeding, you probably lost the baby we’ll call you in a couple days!”
“Congratulations! You’re still pregnant!”
“You have severe bleeding, you probably actually lost the baby this time. Don’t worry you weren’t that far along, you can try again soon! Here is information on a D&C! We’ll call you in a couple days!”
“Congratulations! You’re still pregnant!”
Fast forward to my first prenatal appointment:
“It looks like your baby will be due in July. Make sure you take your prenatal vitamins, don’t eat ham and we will see you in a month.” I left not sure I’d make it to that appointment. I cried in the front of my boyfriend’s Honda Civic, sure I’d be returning to get that D&C they had mentioned a few weeks before. I cried, because I was really craving a ham sandwich. As hormones clouded my brain, I was sure I was never worthy of the name Mom.
No one asked, they kept saying congratulations.
My little poppy seed grew into an orange and into a mango, I named him Jackson. I went for my gender scan. Jackson flipped in my belly. I chugged water, my body desperately needing a cup of coffee. “There is something wrong with its heart. You’ll have to come back in a couple of weeks. Here is an envelope with the gender. Congratulations in advance! We’ll call you in a couple days to schedule!”
My heart sank. IT you said IT! Jackson is my boy. This is my son. I looked longingly at my boyfriend. What is wrong with my body? I can’t even grow HIM right. He lovingly grabbed my face and assured me everything would be fine. We set out for a baby moon and to find out our gender. It didn’t matter to me, I knew what my baby was. Jackson gave me a kick to let me know he was still there as we hit the highway set out for Niagara Falls.
No one asked, they kept saying congratulations.
We got there. We looked at the envelope. We stared at the envelope. Then we opened it! Congratulations! It’s a GIRL.
How will I raise a Girl? I don’t want a girl? For the longest time, I have wanted a boy. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I’m supposed to be a boy mom and get dirty and take him to sports and have a house that has an aroma of body odor and food. A girl? Ugh. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to figure out a name…none of them sounded right. I wanted my Jackson, my BOY back. We called our folks, our friends and family that were waiting and answered the phone within one ring. “Congratulations!” They all enamored. We called Monday to make the appointment for our repeat ultrasound. “Congratulations!” the MA said over the phone. “You must be so excited to be getting YOUR little girl first!” We went to the ultrasound. “Congratulations, your GIRL is completely healthy.”
No one asked, they kept saying congratulations.
Two weeks later, I went to the hospital. I was having sharp pains, I felt like I was going to pass out, my body ached. This petite doctor entered the room. “How far along are you?” as she shoved her hand in me without even introducing herself. 20 weeks and 3 days I responded without a beat…"Oh pre-viable.”
“I don’t think you’re in labor, but your baby wouldn’t make it right now. Don’t worry if that happens, you can try again.” And for the first time since losing my Jackson, I worried for my girl. I prayed for my girl. I named my girl: Sydney.
“You’re severely dehydrated. Here are some fluids. Again, congratulations.”
Ok, Faith, you need to schedule your breastfeeding classes, because you will breastfeed. You need to schedule your birthing class, to teach you how to birth your baby girl. We scheduled it. We learned about breastfeeding. How a breastfeeding baby cannot have pacifier. How a breastfeeding baby cannot have a bottle. How I’d get to have a special moment right after birth where she’d get to be skin to skin and THAT’s when I’d bond with this baby that was not my Jackson. I learned I’d “room in,” which honestly just sounded exhausting to me. What if I needed a break? What if I couldn’t do this? I toured the maternity ward of the hospital. I felt the blood run through my body as I entered the delivery room. This is where I’d show my womanhood. I’d push this baby out with supernatural strength. I’d listen to music, I’d go into the bathroom and sit in water, I wouldn’t get an epidural. We walked past the operating room, “Don’t worry you won’t need this ladies, you will get through your labor naturally” the teacher said. Sweat poured down my back like fire, what if I do need this? My body hasn’t worked this entire pregnancy. “Just follow the breathing techniques,” the lady said, “you will get through this, Congratulations!”
No one asked, they just said congratulations.
I went home and dreamed that night of how labor would start, we’d play a board game and watch something funny on Netflix to get me through the beginning. I’d be able to handle it. I was tough. And then hormones would flood my body and I’d cry.
There were some fun things between June and July… I opened pink clothes that came in pink bags. I decorated her room in pink and grey with gold accent. I researched the best baby products. Then July 28th came. I sat at work. Waiting for contractions to come. I hopped online to my due date support group. HOW DO YOU INDUCE LABOR? Sex, sex and more sex … oh and some raspberry leaf tea. SEX? You want me to have sex? I drank a gallon of raspberry leaf, more like gagged. And then July turned into August! I walked more than I had in my entire life. Then the second week of August came and I gave in. Make it quick, I looked at him. Let’s do elephant-y, you know the pregnant version of doggy. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I went to the doctor. “Your induction is set for Wednesday. Congratulations!” I cried. WHY WON’T MY BODY DO THIS!? We don’t know, but Congratulations.
I went to work on Tuesday. Hey boss man, I won’t be in tomorrow, I have some serious business to attend to. “Good luck, and Congratulations!”
I wasn’t ready. I was absolutely petrified, but no one asked, they just said congratulations.
I went home Tuesday. I looked at Kevin, let’s nap. We have a long night ahead of us. We were scheduled for midnight that Wednesday. I slept. I slept the deepest sleep I’ve ever gotten. I woke up thinking, I will be a mama in a couple hours but… not to Jackson, my mind wandered…
We entered the hospital and in a blur I signed paperwork and mild contractions started. I requested something to make me sleep. They gave it to me. Can I get up? “No, you’re on Pitocin.” The doctor told me I’d be allowed to get up. “Well the doctor isn’t here and you’re not getting up.” I fell back asleep. 6 AM hit and so did active labor… I screamed and begged can I please get up. “No, you can’t get up.” I couldn’t breathe anymore. I gave in. I got the epidural. “Don’t worry everyone gives up, you’re fine.” Like a flood my water broke. Can you please change my sheets? “No, they’re just going to continue to get dirty. You’ll be fine.” 7 AM, sweet 7 AM shift change. Can I please get new sheets? The nurse rolled her eyes, “sure.” Wait, pain, I feel pain. Why do I feel pain? I screamed. “You’re fine your epidural is fine. Here is a fentanyl drip.” No this isn’t working. I was dosed 9 more times, none of which worked. Doctor came in, “You’re at 8. It’s almost time.” I looked at the clock, 10 AM. Okay baby will be here by noon! I got this I can see the light. 1 PM came. “You’re at 9, it’s almost time, Congratulations.” 5 PM came, “The baby flipped, but you can try to push you’re at 10!” Push! I grunted, I dripped with sweat. I pushed the hardest I’ve ever pushed in my life. I stared at Olivia Benson’s face on the TV. Mariska Hargitay became my spirit animal that I unleashed. 7 PM came. “Faith, the baby’s heart beat is dropping. We have to take you into surgery!” No, I exclaimed. “We have to,” and they prepped me for surgery.
I shook. I flash backed to fishing with my mom. The fish out of water. I was sure I was going to die as they ripped my body open. I felt them tug and pull. I watched my blood being suctioned into a cylinder right beside my head. I vomited all over myself. And then I heard it: Sydney’s sweet cry. My worries, my Jackson, my pain, my sweat, the sterile aroma of the room disappeared.
“Congratulations,” the nurse cried, “be glad you didn’t birth that baby you’d have a vag-anus.”
We laugh, that’s funny but I was in mourning. I mourned that opportunity to birth my sweet baby.
No one asked they kept saying congratulations!
I made it through the night. I cried through the night and eventually fell asleep as the rhythm of the pulsating things on my legs rocked me to sleep.
The next day came. “Congratulations!” every person that walked into my room exclaimed. No one asked.
The next night came. Can you please take my baby to the nursery? I’m exhausted. “Get used to it, you’ll be exhausted for the rest of your life. Our policy says you have to keep your baby here.” 4 AM came. “Here’s your percocet, here’s the baby feed her, we’ll check back in a couple minutes.” A couple minutes came and went. My eyes shut. I fell asleep. My baby, my sweet Sydney, she rolled right onto the hospital floor. I screamed. I felt my C-Section incision rip as I tried to catch her. I screamed and nurses came running in. They swept her off the floor and whisked her off to the nursery. I wobbled my way down to the nursery. I called my boyfriend. He got there in minutes. I screamed. I cried. I begged. I prayed for my baby to be ok.
“There are no marks. The cat scan looks ok. She’s fine, but she’ll have to be monitored…someone get this girl an Ativan.” As if my reaction to their neglect was unwelcoming, as it made them uncomfortable. No one asked. In fact, no one asked the rest of my stay. They kept making funny stories, “Faith, my kid fell on the floor a million times.” “This is a part of motherhood.” “Congratulations! She’s beautiful.” No one screened me for post-partum depression. I considered death in those moments as I watched my baby be transferred to the NICU.
Then Dr. Phillips, the pediatrician, came to talk to me. She gave me a beacon of hope. That maybe I could change the language, I could help make sure this never happened again. That night, an old nurse walked into my room so sure of herself. Can I have a pump? I need to make sure there is milk for her when I am discharged and my milk hasn’t come in yet. “Your baby will be fine without breastmilk, you aren’t having a typical stay because of what you did. If she gets formula she will be fine.” NO! I couldn’t do anything right that stay, I was going to make sure my baby had breastmilk. Let me speak with your boss. “Oh no, she’s busy.” I wobbled my way down to the nurse’s station and demanded to speak with the charge nurse. Sweet Liz, she walked down to my room with her perfect eyebrows. She talked to me for what seemed like an hour. She reassured me. She got me a pump. Liz came to my room several times for the rest of my stay. She laughed with me, she cried with me. She was my saving grace.
I cringed as they handed her a binky. I cringed as they said, “Your baby is going to have to use a bottle.” Everything that I had been taught, that had been preached to me went out the window. No one told me of the alternative. Sydney spent a week in the NICU as she “de-sat’d” while she was there. “Your baby is a victim of technology, every baby would do this but yours is on a monitor so she has to stay two more days.” I was discharged that day. “Congrats! Your baby is beautiful.”
Still, no one asked. Still, they kept saying congratulations.
On day 7, I got to bring her home. I buckled her into her car seat, able to show I could keep her safe. I wouldn’t mess up again. We went to leave, “Congratulations” a mom said to me as we left. I looked at her, asked how she was. With tears in her eyes she said “Today’s a good day. Thank you for asking me.”
Sydney turned a month old. My post-partum depression engulfed my being. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go on. I cried at every turn. “Maybe you need medication” Chris chimed in. Breast feeding was a chore but I couldn’t quit, I couldn’t fail my baby again. I looked through some paperwork and found one with a support group. I’d get myself out of the house. I got to meet Karen. “How are you?” That was the first time someone had asked me that since this whole thing started. I’m good. I lied. If you don’t know Karen, she has this way about her that transforms a room. She knows when a woman is lying but she doesn’t push. She gives enough space without neglect. I left that room feeling refreshed but as soon as I left depression flooded my brain. I laid on my couch, sure I couldn’t go on. Then I got an email from Karen, “Great group ladies! We hope to see you next week.” Next week, I could go next week. For the rest of my maternity leave, I lived for Wednesdays.
Pregnancy and Antepartum life is the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced. But I’m alive. Because someone asked.
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