"I'm okay, but I needed this."
by ML
My birth story is one that was hard and unfair in a variety of ways, but by far the most excruciating part of my birth story was not meeting my daughter the day she was born. After a failed induction and 30 hours of labor struggling through completely unexpected severe preeclampsia, I had an emergency c-section. My daughter was having breathing issues when she was born and was taken straight from the operating room to the NICU. I did not see her or touch her after she was born. Pre-eclampsia is treated with magnesium, and I was told that it had to be out of my system for 24 hours before I could move around. The combination of my daughter being in the NICU, and this rule meant that I was not able to meet my daughter for her first 24 hours of life. The trauma of the birth experience was one thing to process, but being separated from my baby was to this day the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced. The 24th hour passed, and I was permitted to go to the NICU to meet my daughter. I was still woozy from the magnesium, but I told the doctor I felt fine, got into a wheelchair and my husband wheeled me up to the NICU. My husband had been to the NICU to check on our daughter and he took some photos for me, but he had not yet held her. My sweet baby was not held by either of her parents for her first 24 hours earthside.
We arrived in the NICU, went through the washing ritual at the sink that all miserable and scared NICU parents go through, and I saw my daughter for the first time in her little box. She was so cute, and small, and her face was chapped from where the breathing support had been taped to her face. She had a sticker on her forehead related to blue light therapy, and she was hooked up to all kinds of cords.
Shelley, the NICU nurse on duty, had been really comforting to my husband earlier in the day, and I think she understood the magnitude of me being there for the first time. She picked my baby up, told me to open my shirt a little, and she put my baby onto my chest. The feeling of my daughter on my chest is definitely not something I’ll forget. She had her eyes open when being passed, looked at me, and then immediately fell asleep on me. It felt more like a reunion than a first meeting. I had this strong feeling that we were both silently communicating with each other. What we were both communicating to one another was, “I’m okay, but I really needed this.” There were still more days of separation that followed, and thankfully we were able to go home at the same time, but that first time meeting her is the part of my birth story where I remember things turning and feeling more hopeful.
When I joined the HEAL birth trauma support group, I shared my birth story with the group in a beautifully healing experience. One of the ways members of the group show support while people share is by adding reaction emojis to their little zoom squares. I remember specifically when I told this part of the story, every box illuminated with a heart emoji and I felt so seen. They had all been through their own birth trauma, but the silent language we all spoke included an understanding that holding your baby the first time after a traumatic birth is a really big deal.