My older son was born in October of 2018. I went to the hospital a few days past 40 weeks, with very minor contractions, but because I had contractions 1 minute in length, 5 minutes apart, for 3 hours, I figured it was time to go in. I was 2cm when I arrived, and the doctor immediately put me on Pitocin. As soon as the medicine set in, the contractions were brutal. I got an epidural at 4cm, and labored for over 30 hours in the hospital, before reaching 10cm and being told I can start “practice” pushing. Unbeknownst to me, I was still at -2 station and I ended up pushing for over 2 hours with little progress. My doctor came in and said she doesn’t like for patients to push for more than 2 hours, and a c-section was called.
Once they began to prep me for the c-section, they realized the epidural had fallen out, and told me the best option would be to do a spinal tap. I agreed. As soon as I was on the operating table, I felt the numbing come over my whole body. I tried to speak and couldn’t. I tried to get the attention of the anesthesiologist, but didn’t have the ability to move my arms and had no voice for him to hear me. Once he looked at me, I lipped to him that I couldn’t breathe. He told me that they had given me too much medicine, that I was in fact breathing, but just didn’t feel like I was. The spinal had numbed me too high, past my chest.
The surgery itself was a blur. I was focused on getting through this terrifying feeling of being suffocated, more than enjoying the miracle of my son’s birth. When my son was born he wasn’t immediately crying, and I physically wasn’t able to voice my questions and fears because of the state I was in. Once he was stabilized, they walked him next to me but I couldn’t take in the moment because I hardly felt capable of holding or taking care of my son in the state I was in. As soon as the surgery was done and the medicine wore off, it was the biggest relief in the world. The recovery of the surgery was easier than I imagined, but I knew pretty soon after his birth that I wanted to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) for my next child’s birth. I really didn’t want to go through another c-section.
My Second Pregnancy
When my son was 8 months old, we began trying to conceive and I found out I was pregnant again almost immediately, with a baby boy. My husband and I relocated to a new military base and in the new small town we lived in, there was only one local option for obgyn providers. When I went in for my first appointment, the midwife walked in, having glanced over my records, and one of the first things she told me was that my body was not ‘made to give birth’. That I would never be able to deliver a baby vaginally. Besides being upset that a doctor would tell me something that serious, without any empathy at all- it also confused me. I had never been told that by my last provider. I found out I had a note written in my records, that I had CPD (cephalopelvic disproportion, meaning your pelvis is too small to fit your baby). So that hospital refused to allow me to have a VBAC.
My previous obgyn that performed my c-section said I was a perfect VBAC candidate, so this midwife’s opinion that had just met me didn’t hold much weight. I knew that this was not the place for me to deliver my son though, and I switched providers that day to the next closest hospital, 1.5 hours away.
I soon hired an incredible doula, and throughout my pregnancy I tried to prepare myself in ways I wasn’t prepared with my first. I did Spinning Babies every night to make sure my son was in the perfect position. I watched birth videos all the time, I read every VBAC book I could find, I ate dates, I drank red raspberry leaf tea, I even got regular prenatal massages. I was determined that I would walk into this birth feeling physically and mentally prepared. My pregnancy was much easier than my first, I had hardly any symptoms, and towards the end it felt like everything was falling into place.
Then, at my 39 week appointment, I found out my son was frank breech. It was something I didn’t see coming and I was absolutely devastated. I had prepared in every way possible for a vaginal birth, and for this to be realized so late in my pregnancy was incredibly frustrating and mentally defeating. His positioning had been the same for months, I even pointed out every appointment what I thought was his butt bulging out on my right side- but come to find out, that was his head, breech, all along. Although I tried to remain hopeful, I also began to come to terms with having another c-section. But the doctor said we’ll give it a week to see if he flips. If not, we would discuss next steps at my 40 week appointment. Although I was devastated, I also was determined to not give up hope.
My husband took off work for the week and we made it our mission to get this baby to flip. I did handstands in the pool for an hour everyday, went to a Webster certified chiropractor sometimes twice a day, did the Pelvic tilt, forward leaning inversions, the hot/cold technique, played music on my belly, seriously you name it, I tried it. I wanted the peace of mind that I did all I could to get my son head down, and then I knew I wouldn’t have regrets agreeing to a c-section if he didn’t flip.
My Second Birth
Two days before the doctor appointment, I woke up feeling funny. It felt like my son had moved into a different position, which gave me some hope! I started having small contractions but I had been having prodromal labor on and off for two weeks prior so I thought it could just be more of the same. But they eventually became more consistent and uncomfortable, although I could still talk through them. I text my doula that I thought these were real contractions, and she began to get her things ready to come over. Our plan was to have her drive with us, so we waited on her to get to our house before we left for the hospital. She got to my house a few hours later and we left immediately.
I was pretty nervous leaving for the hospital again, after only having a few hours of contractions, but I needed the peace of mind of being at the hospital, especially with being unsure of my son’s positioning. I figured we would get to the hospital and they’d confirm if my son was breech or not, and then we’d go from there. If he was breech and I needed a c-section, I at least knew that I allowed my son as long as possible to flip. And if he was head down, I felt like I was probably around 4cm, at least enough to be admitted to the hospital.
Leaving our house, my contractions were all of a sudden very close together. But after my first birth was so long, I never imagined I would have a quick labor and I always believed I had a very low pain tolerance. Everyone in my life could attest to me being a complete wuss.
Once my husband started driving, I became really nauseous. I was sprawled across my doula in the backseat of our small car, questioning whether I could make the hour and a half drive. After the second contraction, five minutes into the car ride, my water broke and my body immediately began pushing on its own. My husband pulled over, as my son practically slid out of me feet first, followed by his entire body (including his shoulders, but with the exception of his head) in what felt like seconds. My doula held my son as I pushed on my hands and knees, with my hands in the car, and the rest of me out, pulled over on the side of the highway. Meanwhile, my husband is on the phone with 911 and eventually, the ambulance arrived. As much as I tried to stay calm and focus on breathing and pushing, I was mentally in another place. Afraid for our lives, afraid of what happens next, afraid of my son not surviving this. I pushed the whole ambulance ride with my doula next to me, encouraging me.
I was wheeled into the ER and most of what happened next is blurry in my memory. I remember chaos. I remember my doula telling me to stay with her. I remember three strong tugs of the most excruciating pain of my life, and the relief once they got my son out. And I remember the mass amount of people in that room all tending to my son. I remember repeatedly telling people to not let my son die.
Later that day, I found out that my son was born in cardiac arrest and required resuscitation because of the amount of time he was without oxygen with his head stuck inside of me. At some point, the umbilical cord stopped pulsing and stopped providing the oxygen and nutrients he needed. He was born completely blue, lifeless, no pulse, no heartbeat, with an APGAR score of 0, without the EMS or doctors believing he would survive. I later found out that it was his chin, stuck on my pubic bone, that made it hard to push him out myself. But he was delivered just with the assistance of an ER doctors hands, miraculously. I owe that doctor the world.
Hours later, I was finally able to go meet my son. He was stable, but uncontrollably crying and impossible to soothe. I wasn’t able to hold him and I felt incredibly guilty for putting him through this. You can’t help but guilt yourself when your baby was put through that kind of trauma, even if it was beyond your control.
He was airlifted that day to the hospital I had planned to deliver at, since it was the closest NICU. I was discharged after about 7 hours in the hospital, and my husband and I drove to be with him. Once we got to the NICU, they let me do skin-to-skin right away, and that was the first moment of the day that my anxiety and trembling went away. Finally the adrenaline stopped and time felt like it stood still. I can’t explain how incredible that moment felt!
The next day he was a totally different baby. The most calm, content and peaceful baby I’ve ever seen. We spent 10 days in the NICU, by his side all day, up until he was discharged. Doctors ran every test possible to determine brain damage, and miraculously, we left with the doctors confident that he doesn’t have any brain damage or serious lifelong complications due to his birth.
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Over a year later, not a second has gone by that I’m not amazed by the miracle of my son’s life. But also, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the day he was born. The feelings of fear, panic, anxiety. I’ll never get over it. But the miracles that happened that day, of everything lining up perfectly in order for my son to survive, help bring me peace.
About the Author:
Hi, I’m Megan! I was born and raised in Southern California and I’m now a proud military wife that follows my husband wherever he goes. I’m a graphic designer, avid home cook, and stay-at-home mama of two step children, two young boys, due with a baby girl in November!
My son’s birth story begins in Spring of 2017. My husband and I had been married for one year and had no real plans for having children. I went to my OBGYN for a check-up because I had been experiencing stomach pains during my monthly cycle, and while ultimately she did not find anything wrong, an ultrasound revealed I possibly had a cyst on one of my fallopian tubes or a hydrosalpinx (blocked fallopian tube). I was very nonchalantly told I may have trouble conceiving if that was the case, and to come back if we tried for a year with no success.
That Christmas, we decided that if our journey to children was potentially going to be difficult, we should start trying and see what happens! After 11 months and no pregnancies, in November of 2018 my doctor agreed to run some tests to see if we had any potential issues. Bloodwork, ultrasounds, HSG (Hysterosalpingogram), and semen analysis all came back normal. From there we were told to see a Fertility Specialist, which we did in May of 2019 after months of trying to find the right clinic and then waiting to get an appointment. It was certainly clear that so many families deal with infertility and are seeking help!
Luckily we found a practice and doctor we really liked, and we were excited to take some steps forward after 17 months of trying on our own. With no real answers or abnormal findings, we completed 6 IUI’s with no success. At this point our very relaxed view of having children “someday” became a much more urgent desire, so we moved forward with IVF as well as a diagnostic laparoscopy and hysteroscopy to finally determine if anything was wrong with my fallopian tube before attempting an embryo transfer. Luckily our IVF cycle went very smoothly and we had 5 genetically normal embryos frozen. Soon after, the surgery revealed I had Stage 2 Endometriosis, which may or may not have contributed to our troubles, but no blocked or damaged structures. We were cleared for a transfer!
We’re Pregnant! In a Global Pandemic….
In January of 2020 we transferred one embryo, and after 2 years of trying to conceive and many tests and procedures later, we were pregnant! And then, enter COVID. In March 2020 our world shut down and we faced the early weeks of pregnancy without family or friends, going to appointments alone, and navigating some initial worry over a slightly elevated nuchal translucency measurement at our 12-week genetic ultrasound. Once we felt confident that we were having a healthy pregnancy, we finally told our families and friends we were expecting at a socially distanced lunch and many ZOOM calls. Not quite what we pictured when planning this celebration of life!
Unlike our path to conceiving, my pregnancy went very smoothly, and I was so lucky to be able to truly enjoy being pregnant despite the circumstances. It went so smoothly in fact, my son had no intention of leaving his comfortable home, and we were still waiting on his arrival at 40 weeks and 5 days. Two days before our scheduled induction at 41 weeks, my doctor sent us to the hospital due to slightly elevated amniotic fluid levels, but with no real concerns. Before COVID, we had planned to have a doula with us for the birth, as well as family in tow for support. Instead, the two of us drove to the hospital facing our first birth alone.
Day of induction
Labor & Delivery
I was only 1 cm dilated upon arrival and was induced through medication and a CRIB (Cervical Ripening Balloon). I was given medication to help with the pain, which caused me to vomit violently, and we were told someone would come check on us in 4 hours (and they really meant it that NO ONE would come unless we called before the 4-hour mark). As we continued with the CRIB inflation and the pain worsened, I was given a direct injection of the pain medication instead of the IV drip to see if that would avoid the vomiting, and it definitely DID NOT. At this time, about 12 hours after our induction began and getting no sleep overnight, my blood pressure was spiking and my blood platelet count was dropping, and with nothing left in my stomach and severe pain ongoing I was given an epidural, had the CRIB removed, and had my water broken manually.
I was hopeful that things would really start to progress from here, and I remember just trying to sleep all day between the 4-hour check-ins. A bit before 8 pm, about 30 hours after our arrival at the hospital, I had not progressed past 5.5cm dilation, and the doctor on call determined that a C-section was the safest route for delivery. Her theory was that our son was too large for my pelvic outlet and because of my ongoing increased blood pressure and drop in platelet count we were immediately taken to the Operating Room to meet our son. To say I was devastated is an understatement. I knew going into childbirth that anything could happen, but I was so hopeful for a smooth, vaginal delivery. I really felt that in order to feel an instant bond with my son I would need that experience, which was now out of reach.
During the procedure I, unfortunately, experienced many of the common side effects; feeling cold, shaking uncontrollably, shoulder pain, severe dry mouth, and even more vomiting. I had seen so many photos of other women during and after their C-sections posted on social media. How could these women possibly be smiling?! After what seemed like forever, my son was born at 8:26p.m. weighing in at 9 lbs. 12 oz. and to quote one of the nurses, “he was HUGE!” As this moment arrived where I had pictured holding my baby and feeling the elation of labor ending, I turned to see a screaming infant being held and wrapped by the nurses while my procedure continued. After a brief moment of seeing him up close to give him a kiss, he was taken away and I began to go in and out of consciousness. I wasn’t sure what was happening in the moment, but I felt immense fear that I was not going to come back from this. I was told later that my uterus was so distended that the doctors were having trouble getting it to stop hemorrhaging and to shrink back down. I was prepped for a possible transfusion, but my veins were all so small from dehydration I ended up with a lot of extra holes and bruising for one little port. I lost 2-2.5 liters of blood (which in an average adult is about half of your blood supply) but very thankfully came through with my uterus in-tact.
Post-birth
I came to (partially) In the recovery room, and my desire to actually understand what caused my labor and birthing complications was put on hold as I could barely open one eye to listen to the doctor explain how they had to “stitch [my] uterus up like a roast” to stop the bleeding, and unless I could guarantee a 5 or 6 lb. baby, to never attempt a vaginal birth again. The next few hours in recovery were a complete blur of my husband doing skin to skin (we had discussed in our birth plan that he was to do this as soon as possible if I ended up having a C-section), and then trying to breastfeed while this little stranger cried in protest. When it was determined we were “ready” to move to our maternity room, I was told I had to hold our son during the transport. I was shaking, still could barely see, and was furiously eating ice chips since I still wasn’t allowed any water or food, and I pleaded that my husband take him. But, I was told it was mandatory that I held him.
As I now understand all mothers do, I tried to put my fears and physical pain aside, and held our son tightly and rubbed his back, hoping that he recognized me and felt safe, because I certainly did not recognize myself. As soon as we arrived to our room, I was asked if I wanted him to stay with us that night and I vehemently said, “NO!” The next time I opened my eyes was about 12 hours later, at 11 am the following day. I felt a mix of emotions when my husband went to request him from the nursery. Did I really want to see him? After so many hours alone was he really going to feel like mine? I can’t say I was thrilled to see our son after what we had just been through, but I did feel an overwhelming sense of guilt that I had already spent so much time away from him, still was not truly ready to hold him, and felt no magical bond that so many new mothers talk about. There was no instant love, just fear, remorse, and exhaustion.
(We didn’t take a single photo of just me and my son in the hospital. One of my many regrets!)
Moving Forward
The next days, weeks, and months between the hospital and home were hard, to say the least. Recovering from surgery and blood loss while trying to learn how to care for this tiny human with limited help and options due to COVID seemed like an impossible task. We struggled with breastfeeding and I ended up exclusively pumping around the clock, and our son proved to be a “challenging” sleeper from the start, so for quite awhile we were getting sleep in 30 minute spurts at most and experiencing levels of sleep-deprived rage I never thought possible. I cried (a lot) most days for a long time and struggled to find support when I reached out for help, with several doctors and organizations saying I did not have Postpartum Depression, so their help wasn’t “really for [me]”. And when I tried to speak about the trauma I had experienced, others would commonly say “well at least you’re both here, and that’s all that matters.” Really? That can’t be ALL that matters! I consider myself so lucky that we all survived this experience as so many others have experienced much worse, but what are the rules around how to feel about this?
Our son is almost 9 months old now, and while my bond with him has grown and we have slowly adjusted to being a family of three, I still wake up at night thinking about his birth, mourning the experience we did not get, and wondering about all of the “what-ifs”. When I see other new mothers posting updates and photos online as if their transition to motherhood was the easiest thing in the world, I still feel jealous and anxious, and that I am not doing enough as a mother. I fear another C-section if we decide to have another child and are able to conceive and have a live birth. And most of all I wish I had more professional guidance and heard more stories of traumatic births sooner so I knew I wasn’t alone in how I have been feeling. Weekly therapy is helping process everything we have been through in our journey, and as time goes on and I read others’ stories I feel hope that one day these feelings at least won’t be as raw. And that perhaps I’ll get some answers to all of the unexplained aspects of our infertility and birth experience. In the meantime, I am working hard to enjoy the little things as we watch our son grow and to share our story so others do not feel alone.
About the Author
My name is Leah and I live in Chicago, Illinois with my husband/high-school sweetheart, and our son. I work in Advertising, and enjoy baking, taking dance fitness classes, and having movie nights!
To begin, my first child’s birth in 2016 was very hard back labor and recovery. My husband and I waited 3 years to try again. We had conversations with our doctor to prepare and plan support. We researched a different hospital close to home. We prayed for a different birth story for our daughter. Unfortunately, that is not what happened.
I am an Event Planner at a local college and we had a small 6 family event Friday, November 6, 2020. I have had many sinus surgeries and issues. So when I woke up not feeling well I just thought I had a sinus infection which caused my headache and my pregnancy nausea to feel worse. I had dealt with nausea my entire pregnancy but that was worse. I remember the event was over and I came back to my office and messaged my boss on google hangouts “I am going to lay on my office floor for a little bit then head home. I am not feeling well and still have a 45 min drive home.”
COVID Diagnosis
I went through the weekend doing all my sinus remedies I knew. Saturday my husband took our son to his side job driving semi all day so I could rest. Monday I went to my OB check-up and we changed my nausea meds hoping that would help. Monday afternoon I got a text from someone they tested positive for COVID. I miserably went and waited 2 hours to get covid tested at Bremen, Indiana Hospital drive thru. They said it would be 2 to 3 days until I heard. The next morning right at 8:00am I got a phone call saying I was positive for COVID. Tuesday evening I was really not feeling well and my husband took me to the Bremen, Indiana ER. They gave me oxygen and IV and I was feeling a little better. They said come back if you get worse. I kept hoping things would get better but by Friday my husband was carrying me to and from the bathroom. I had been throwing up non stop for days, running a fever, and couldn’t breathe. I thought I was dying and I finally asked my husband to take me to the ER again and my parents watched my son even though they were sick. I was sure I would be home in a couple hours like last time. I made my son stay away from me so he wouldn’t get sick from the day I found out I was COVID positive. I was positive I would be back home soon. I didn’t hug him goodbye. One of my biggest regrets.
When I arrived at the ER my husband went in and got a wheelchair because I could not walk I was so weak. He lifted me out of the car and pushed me into the ER. They put me in a small waiting room by myself and shut the door and told my husband he would have to wait outside in the car. The minutes felt like hours as I sat there waiting for someone to save me. I grabbed the trash can in the room that was near my wheelchair wheel because I was not doing well. Finally someone came to get me. They hooked up a monitor for the baby, started IVS, put an oxygen mask on me and gave me nausea meds. As I sat in the ER trying to breathe I was trying to keep my husband updated through texts. After a while I hear nurses talking about transporting me. I text my husband “I think they are transporting me to Indy (2 hours away).” He was frantically texting me questions. Are you that bad you have to go? How is a baby? Am I driving you? No one has told me anything? Can I see you? Is there anything I can do? During this time my IV started to hurt. I looked down and I have a bubble on my arm. I asked the nurses if it was normal and they quickly put a new line in. When the transport team got to the hospital they said they had to get another line in. They needed two options.
Saying Goodbye
During all of this, my husband was trying to figure out what was happening. The nurse finally told me to tell him to meet me by the ambulance entrance and he could see me before I left from a distance. Tears rolled down my face as I waved goodbye. I felt like I had no voice at that moment that I needed my husband more than ever. I don’t blame the doctors they were just trying to keep everyone safe.
My son’s birthday was just a few days away and we had kept him away from me all week to keep him healthy. I was scared to die and I didn’t get to hug my son or husband before I left. In the ambulance I text my husband to get our son a gift. I text my sister to give him the best birthday ever. Since my husband could not come with me he went home to comfort our son.
In the ambulance two sweet, sweet ladies tried to comfort me. Asking what music I wanted to listen to and they were singing. It was such a good distraction. The whole ride down they had to wear hot suits and masks and I felt so bad for them. As we drove down they comforted me and helped me find little rest as silent tears rolled down my cheeks. I was headed to a hospital 2 hours from home, 32 weeks pregnant and all alone.
We arrived at the hospital in Indianapolis and the entrance was at a lower level of a parking garage. They wheeled me in and took me through doorways covered in plastic. It was like something out of a movie. I got into my room and another doc came in and asked me about doing an experimental covid drug / plasma? I was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. I had been puking nonstop for days and still was at this point and alone. Another nurse was monitoring the baby on this big machine and I recorded my baby’s heartbeat sound on my phone as I didn’t know if it would be the last time I would hear it. I read some paperwork they gave me about the drug/plasma and asked the doctor to explain which he did. I then said “Am I going to die”? I can’t make this decision for me and my baby.. They asked what I needed and I said “I need my husband with me”. My husband texted me “O my you don’t need me” then sent me a picture of my son that I had not hugged all week and said “He needs you”. Throughout the next couple hours my husband and I tried to text as much as possible. He tried to cheer me up and update me on my son. My heart broke every time my son would ask where I was. My husband was trying to keep me positive and jokingly texting me. I texted him I had to use a bedpan and he joked well at least you don’t have to get out of bed anymore. His last text to me was “I love you, be strong and come back to us” A couple days later he texted me “I love you and we miss you” a couple weeks later “Happy Birthday I love you so much”. I never responded to any of his texts until December 2 and responded “Ivtcyhdrir.iit.hetsd”. I was put on a ventilator right before his “Be strong” text.
As they took me to go on the ventilator I was crying. On the news all I knew was people died when they got to this point. Am I going to die? In this room full of people I lay there holding a nurse’s hand. This nurse was an angel from God. I held their hand asking if I was going to die. I begged them not to leave me. I held their hand so tight it wasn’t an option for them to leave. I was so sick and I laid my other hand on my big baby belly. Will my baby survive? Is this the end? I remember looking out their glass doors watching doctors talk. Asking them to hurry and save us. I remember asking someone if I will feel it, will I be awake. A Lot of beeping, people running around and here I was and a mask coming down on my face. I felt my body fading. From what I am told I had a seizure when they put the ventilator on.
My husband received a call and grabbed the closest thing he had… a paper plate. He wrote “Vent 100%, on my stomach now to allow lungs to expand, increased sedation, tried to pull out tubes, given plasma……All my family had to hold onto was a paper plate 2 hours from me.
The ICU: A Terrifying Place
All I remember the next few days/weeks are terrifying hallucinations. They call it ICU delirium. Hallucinations are not just bad dreams, they are HELL. They were real. They still haunt me. They may sound completely insane if you would ever read my detailed hallucinations but they were so real that my body physically and mentally felt everything. Even today my body holds these hallucinations and smells, colors, shapes, sounds trigger me. I begged to die in these moments. Please watch this video if you have time. It helped me finally explain to my loved ones what I was dealing with mentally. Because my hallucinations were so bad and I was pregnant and needed to keep calm they had to keep upping my meds which made these worse is what I understand. They also had to restrain my arms and legs because they told my husband I was being very aggressive. Just imagine tubes, wires, hallucinating, alone, pregnant, everyone is wearing suits, and masks, you are in isolation AND your hands and legs are restrained.
Baby’s Arrival
My husband says they called him one day and said “you need to be ready”. “We might be delivering your baby via c section.” He was told he needed to get a rapid COVID test in order to see the baby if they did take the baby via c section. My husband called his sister to come get a test with him because he assumed he would fail the COVID test and he didn’t want the baby to be alone. They had a terrible time trying to find a place to get a test but when they finally did and miraculously my husband’s COVID test was negative. While he was getting his test he got the call “Baby was here and get down here whenever you can.” “Baby and mom were both stable” and they hung up. Family scrambled to put a diaper bag together for my husband and get him packed and ready to go to Indianapolis. My husband spent a little time with our son before heading to be with our baby girl.
My husband arrived at the NICU hospital in the evening. He walked in and he did a COVID screening and found the NICU floor. The first two days our daughter was in an isolette in isolation until she passed 3 negative COVID tests. My husband had to put on a gown, facemask, gloves, and just look at her. It was 5 days until my husband actually held our daughter for the first time. My husband lived at the St Vincent house provided by hospital and hotels for weeks visiting our daughter for hours everyday in the NICU. He had to meet with nurses, doctors, and social workers. He did all the primary caregiver classes and videos on his own. He learned to feed, hold, and care for her all by himself. I can’t imagine everything my husband had to go through to hold our family together: wife on vent, baby in NICU, 4 year old at home with family. He is the silent, quiet type, and he had to take calls from not only his wife’s doctors and nurses, but his daughter’s NICU doctors and nurses and insurance companies and work through his work and my work’s FMLA paperwork to ensure we still had insurance for our family, our new baby, and a paycheck coming in.
I was still in ICU and trying to come off the ventilator while he was with our baby girl. I was not coming off the drugs very well and freaked out every time they tried. I was aggressive because I thought someone stole my baby and hallucinating. NICU babies do really well with breastmilk and my husband knew I had planned to breastfeed my daughter like I did my son. My primary doctor and talked many times about my wishes and wanting support when I gave birth so I didn’t have to exclusively pump this time and breastfeeding would work this time around. My doctor and husband discussed the possibility of pumping while I was on the vent to provide for our daughter. My primary doctor was in contact with my doctors in Indianapolis about this. They were unsure how my body would react but if they waited until I could make the decision it would probably be too late. Although this decision has been hard for me to wrap my head around mentally, physically, and emotionally. I am thankful I now have the option and ability to provide breastmilk for my daughter. Lactation nurses and my normal nurses pumped for me. I feel like this should be in my medical records somewhere but I can’t find information on it anywhere.
Fighting to Survive
When they finally weaned me off the vent I was moved out of ICU Isolation. I was still hallucinating and not sure who I was or where I was. In one of my previous hallucinations I was being held hostage. One day I thought I heard the voices again and dove out of my bed and army crawled (since I could not walk) to my bathroom and locked myself in there. Eventually the doctors and nurses got me out and got me back in the bed after CT & MRI scans which I thought was their attempt to kill me again (see video referred to early for reference). They put alarms on my bed that if I moved it would sound and I was put on 24/7 supervision. My husband was upset because he thought I was already being watched closely and this would have never happened if I was not alone. Time went on and I had to relearn to walk, talk, and eat after the feeding tube came out. I lost 40 lbs while in the hospital. Doctors and lactation nurses checked on me regularly. The lactation nurses would come get milk from me and take my milk to the NICU hospital and update my husband on me. At this point what bothers me looking back is why could they go to and from but not my husband? The lactation nurses were very sweet trying to keep me posted on my daughter and husband brining my pictures and foot prints from my daughter.
To speed the story forward, I finally was discharged on December 6, 2020. My husband was still not allowed inside to help me pack or anything and had to wait for me outside the hospital. This was the first time I saw him since I waved to him before getting in the ambulance. I had literally gone through hell, been cut open, a baby taken out, sewn back together and everyone just saw “me” as being back. But, as you can imagine I was not the same person as I was going in. My husband was waiting for me outside and I just collapsed into his arms soaking in the warmth of his hug. At this point I had not seen my son or daughter. I was utterly exhausted and weak and tapped out of any emotion or mental state BUT I wanted to meet my daughter and see my son. The NICU COVID rules were 1 person at a time and only 2 people totally allowed your child’s entire stay. My husband didn’t allow anyone else to see our baby girl because he never knew when I would be discharged and wanted to save the second slot for me. They made a special exemption to allow my husband to wheel my wheelchair up and lift our 5lb baby girl onto my lap since I was too weak before he had to leave and sit in the car until I was done. This moment was a lot for me. I didn’t know what to feel. I was happy, but no connection, I was triggered by all the sounds, but couldn’t comprehend the moment.
After 1 hour, I had no strength to be in the NICU anymore and my husband came to get me. He then took me to the St. Vincent house which is a house the hospital hosts families in. This is where I got to see and hug my son again. I was so weak and tired. The next couple days were a blur. I would see our baby girl a few more times in NICU, I would cry myself to sleep and only watch kids shows on hotel tv because everything triggered me, try to pump, and just try to figure out life while sitting in a strange St. Vincent house or hotel. The anxiety and depression got really bad while living out of the hospital but not at home. Finally, at the end of my 1st week out my husband decided I would heal better back home and took me home to my parents and son. He went back to living in a hotel until our baby girl finally came home December 17, 2021. Finally, our family was in 1 place together for the 1st time. It was a Christmas miracle.
My daughter is 7 months old now and life is still very very hard. My doctor has me on anxiety and depression drugs, I work with a health coach, I am in talk therapy and EMDR every week. Every minute of every day I have to decide to keep living, to keep pushing, to find joy, to be thankful, to do the work. Some days I am great and think I am through the hard work but other days I am crushed and don’t want to be a mom, wife, friend, coworker, or even myself.
My life is a mess, God broke me into a million pieces. I am still trying to figure out how to not cry everyday. I am not yet sure what to do with my story, who it will help, where to go from here, but all I do know is I am supposed to be unscripted, unedited, raw, and honest about my struggles and God will do the rest.
P.S. If you were one of my nurses or doctors at St Vincent Hospital in Indianapolis I would love to talk to you. I am desperately reading my medical records hoping to see myself in them but I can’t.
The Author
Hi, My name is Lacey Pfeiffer from rural Northern Indiana. I am an Event planner at a small private college. Momma of two beautiful blonde hair blue eyed babies Kruz & Lux and wife to my high school sweetheart Kevin.
