Willow's Birth Saga--Part Six

In the operating room they prepared me for surgery and Kevin put on a gown and cap and face mask, and I think even gloves. They hung a blue sheet in front of me somewhere at about my chest so I couldn’t see what was happening. I was calmly fighting grief as I tried to prepare myself to welcome my baby. I don’t know if the Anesthesiologist saw me struggling emotionally and wanted to help, but she kept reassuring me as if I was afraid of the knife. She would pat my hand and tell me it would be OK, everyone knows what they’re doing, it will be over soon, it won’t hurt, kind of thing. I’m sure she thought she was being helpful, but she was very obviously not actually paying any attention to me or what I was really going through. I wasn’t afraid of the surgery; I was crushed by the fact that I was having the surgery. It was as if she had just put on her “comforter” demeanor she keeps as a one-size-fits-all for her patients. It really was annoying, but I didn’t think blasting her for her attempt at kindness would make either of us feel better.
I had heard of people watching their own surgeries via mirrors, but had not ever seriously considered the possibility that I would be having an urgent Caesarean, so I had never discussed my desire with my OB, and now he was on the other side of the drape, and I couldn’t talk to him. I was desperate to feel in some way connected to the birth of my child, so I asked the only person besides Kevin on my side of the drape—the anesthesiologist—about the possibility of getting a mirror so I could watch. She simply said, “Oh, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” and ended the conversation. Kevin had been instructed that he was to stay close to me and make sure I was OK—that was his concern, not enjoying watching the birth of the baby for himself. He dutifully filled that office, and neither of us realized until afterward that I would have had a lot more comfort out of his presence if he had been where he could see the other side of the drape and give me a play-by-play of what was happening. The anesth. was sitting where she could see the other side of the drape and communicate with the surgeons as they operated on me while she monitored my drugs. I occasionally asked her what was happening, but she would only give a brief two or three word answer of what had just been done, “He’s testing for sensitivity,” or “He’s cutting,” that didn’t really let me know what was going on at all.
Once I was numb, the surgery was surprisingly quick. I didn’t even know my baby had been born yet until I heard a baby crying all the way across the room. I knew logically that there shouldn’t be any other babies in the room, but I had no basis for believing it was mine, because as far as I knew, my baby was still inside of me. Before closing up, the OB said he took out my uterus to examine it and then put it back in. He told me I have beautiful ovaries. Thank you very much. As they sewed me together, Kevin went to investigate the baby cry we heard and got a little video of the newborn baby being examined (she didn’t have a name yet).
After what seemed like forever and being informed by the anesth. that she had given me a shot of morphine (What?! Isn’t that, like, a major drug you should probably at least inform me of before administering? Maybe I didn’t want it.) I was presented with a tiny bundle entirely enveloped in a hospital blanket with a newborn cap pulled down to her eyebrows. All I could see of her was two enormous, nearly black, blue eyes and full red lips extending clear across her face. I have seen brand new born babies before. I was prepared for all of the awkwardness and gangly, slimy, pasty, wrinkleyness that they can be. Up until a few hours previous, I was entirely consumed with trying to wrap my brain around a new child about to enter my life. I was awash in a fantasy of my perfect birth. I was so confident in my resolve and ability to handle childbirth that I didn’t ever spend any time thinking through the possibility that circumstances outside of my control might take the experience in an entirely undesirable direction. And now I was trying really hard to come to terms with a very sudden major surgery that will permanently affect my body and very possibly my entire childbearing future, not to mention the entire disregardance of my carefully constructed and dearly held belief system of natural childbirth and all of the coping techniques I never had chance to use. And on top of all that, I had never even made it to 5 cm, so my mom, on whom I was counting to guide and mentor me through the whole process, never even came. I was devastated, but I still had this new child, and I was her only mother, and I needed to mother her, but all I could think when I first heard her was “Is that my baby? I have absolutely no way of knowing whether that is my baby. They could put up this sheet and bring me any baby and I would never know the difference. I have absolutely no evidence that they even took a baby out of me. For all I know it is still there. For all I know it was never there in the first place.” (I was getting a little hysterical in my own mind—when this thought came, I knew that I was being entirely irrational.) And then when I finally saw her, the only thought that I could think was, “This looks nothing like any baby I have ever seen, or even imagined.”
Being still flat on my back on the operating table, it was really awkward for me to try to look at her being held upright next to me. I wanted so much for this moment to be beautiful, but Kevin and I were both crying, and not out of happiness. Kevin hurt in ways he couldn’t express from seeing the emotional pain that I was in. Kevin brought our new daughter to me and laid her on my chest. I studied her tiny little face, with those enormous features. I discovered a teeny tiny nose hidden in the midst of them, and a dimpled chin, that I recognized. Then suddenly I recognized the huge blue eyes and the full, wide lips—the lips, the eyes, the chin, were all Kevin’s. This was Kevin’s baby, and it didn’t matter how much I didn’t see of her birth. This was Kevin’s baby, and Kevin’s baby was my baby. Even if I had been entirely passed out when she was born and I didn’t see her until the next day, I would have known it was Kevin’s baby, and my baby, too.