I remember I was wearing a red t-shirt when Isabella was born, not a hospital gown. There was not time for that. I remember a lot of details of the day of her birth. I remember waking up and feeling something was different, noticing in the bathroom I had bled a little and voicing my concerns to one of the nurses. I was scheduled for an ultrasound early that day so I remember them wheeling me through the hospital passing other patients. I remember the look on the tech's face and I knew something was wrong. She went and got the doctor and the doctor told me I was dilated to a 9, there was little fluid left, and the cord was prolapsed. I was having a C-section immediately. I remember as they wheeled me back through the hospital I did not cry I didn't want to do it in front of so many people, in front of strangers. I was taken back to labor and delivery to be greeted by my favorite nurses. I remember we made jokes and laughed, trying to cover up the seriousness of the situation. I still did not cry. I felt that if I started I would not be able to stop and I knew in that moment and the moments to follow, I needed to be strong. I remember being taken to the OR with my favorite nurse by my side, again continuing to joke and laugh and then when getting there being told I didn't have to be put under, that I would be able to stay awake for the procedure. I remember I felt such relief because one of my fears was not being able to be present for the birth, for missing that special moment. As they turned me over to my side to place the epidural, cold and shivering, I finally let a tear slip. I was scared. Not for myself but for my baby. My nurse grabbed my hand and didn't let go. During the procedure I remember a lot of pulling and tugging, pressure. She was out and the doctor said she looked good and pink but I didn't hear anything. I remember listening for her to cry but there was nothing. One of the NICU nurses piped up and said I couldn't hear her cry because they had to immediately place a breathing tube down her throat. I remember during the procedure I was trying to prepare myself for how small she was going to be, trying to envision it in my mind. When they brought her to my side all I saw was a blanket with the tiniest, most beautiful head poking out of it and I cried, not just one tear but many. She was in fact pink and breathing and alive. Nothing could have prepared me for that sight. Then she was gone. I remember being taken back to labor and delivery aching for my baby, to see her and hold her. And minutes later Daniel walking through the door oblivious to what had just happened and not realizing that his baby daughter had been born. Oh, and that red t-shirt, it had to be cut off. There were too many IVs and cords in place to maneuver it off. I ended up throwing it away. I wish I would have kept it. Me and that t-shirt went through a lot. I remember the excruciating minutes and even hours before I was able to be wheeled down to the NICU to see my tiny, 2 lb preemie baby. I remember being introduced to a world you know nothing about until you're part of the club. When I saw her I ached to hold her close to my chest, to smell her head and kiss her face. But all I could do was watch her through plated glass and place my hands in the isolette to gently touch her back and hold her hand with the tip of my finger. I remember I had to watch other people, doctors, nurses, specialists, and machines take care of her and keep her alive. I remember mourning for not being able to mother her in the natural way you want to. I remember a lot of the days, weeks, and months to follow but that is enough remembering for now. Today on her 3rd birthday I can't help, as tears have run down my face all morning, to feel how blessed I am to hold Bella close to my chest, to smell her head and to kiss her face, to be her mother. It truly is a miracle. She is my miracle.
