Real Life, I Had a Baby During a Global Pandemic…

Two weeks before delivery:

At this point we are at weekly OBGYN appointments (they’re every week for the last month of your pregnancy). Big changes are coming to our daily lives and you can definitely feel it in the doctor’s office. The office staff is on edge, everyone looks frazzled and uneasy, and we can hear whispers about future plans outside our exam room. My doctor advised me to walk next door to the pharmacy to get my TDAP shot so that I can avoid a large scale store and more people. After wrapping up and scheduling my next week’s appointment, I walk over to get my shot. I’m greeted with a locked door and a note on the door saying to call for curbside pickup or to speak to a pharmacist. After a lysol filled experience, I got my shot. 

One week before delivery:

Back at the OBGYN, but this time it’s just my husband and I (we’ve been bringing the boys with us to hear their sisters’ heartbeat). When the office staff called to remind me of my appointment they made it a point to say they were limiting the number of people attending appointments. Instead of being greeted by multiple staff members, the office had one nurse working the front desk and completing all patient-nurse tasks. My doctor finally came into the exam room to measure my basketball belly and make sure I was prepared for Thursday. She stated the hospital was no longer allowing multiple visitors and that it would just be my husband and I. Other hospital changes inmacluded all elective surgeries and procedures being postponed (no circumcisions for boys, no tube ties for mamas). Luckily for me, the hospital where we delivered is a surgical hospital and with all those canceled the hospital is mainly just women giving birth. 

Delivery day:

Hospital check in 5:30 am. C-section procedure scheduled for 7:30 am. My husband and I got up, as if we slept, at 4 am to pack up the car and head to the hospital. We are blessed to have family close by and his parents stayed with the boys while we were in the hospital. Not being with my boys for this time period gave me anxiety but I knew it was for the best during this time. We drove to the hospital, tried to maintain normal conversations, and yet we were both so nervous. Given that it was so early and nobody was working, the roads were super clear and it took us no time to get to the hospital. As we parked I noticed a large white SUV in my mirror with its lights on our car and a person standing beside it. I asked my husband if we were being pulled over or if that was security. Here I am super pregnant about to hide in a car (fight or flight, definitely flight at this point) because someone was outside our car waiting on us. After hearing my husband laugh I looked again and got out of the car, it was my family and bestie. They came to cheer us into the hospital, cue the tears here. They had handmade posters, air hugs, face masks, stood 6 feet apart and watched us walk into the hospital covered in their love and prayers knowing they couldn’t join. 

Walking into the hospital was surreal. We were greeted at the front doors by two employees scanning temperatures of every person and handing them a colored wrist band, face mask, and pair of gloves. Everyone in the hospital was to wear a mask at all times unless you were in your hospital room alone. We used our new gloves to press the elevator button to the second floor. The doors opened to an empty waiting room. A waiting room that should have been filled with my family and friends. My Dad would be reading the newspaper and have brought bagels for everyone. My Mom would be playing a game on her phone. My friends and family should have been crawling all over that waiting area, like they were for my other two deliveries. Instead it was quiet with a sign that said “CLOSED” in front of a moveable plastic wall blocking the chairs. 

Finally, situated in a Labor and Delivery room, we sat and waited for 7:30 to come. Until then I changed into a gown, had an IV put in, my blood drawn, filled out numerous papers, answered 100 questions, and met my anesthesiologist. Can I tell you how awkward and impersonal it is to only see someone’s eyes that are supposed to be caring for you. You don’t see that comforting smile or personality coming through as they share personal experiences with you to lessen the anxiety. 

7:30 am came and I walked myself back to the operating room with my husband by my side. I sat myself on the sterile operating table. “You’ll feel a bee sting in your back, try to relax.” Epidural time and definitely stronger than a bee sting. I laid down with my arms stretched out, oxygen tube under my mask, and listened to the conversations of my doctor and other nurses. Tugging, pulling, the smell of burning flesh, and out came a baby girl! She cried almost instantly! They dropped the curtain so I could see her for a second before they weighed, measured, and did footprints. My husband went and stood with her during this process, and I can only imagine how big his smile was under his mask. More pulling and tugging on my belly. 1 hour later and I’m in recovery.

Sitting in recovery was rougher this time than my first two babies. I vomited, in my mask. I’ll just leave it with that. 

We finally were given a room in postpartum which was another quiet and mask filled area that should have been filled with balloons, doors should have had wreaths announcing new babies, and smiling faces should have filled the halls. Our room was huge, it had a waiting area with chairs and a tv in addition to the space with the bed, couch and a second tv. Such a waste during this time. My boys should have been playing in the front sitting area of our room. Our family should have occupied all of the extra chairs. The nurses should have been annoyed with all of our family members crowding the room. Instead it was quiet with just my husband, myself, and our new baby girl. Everytime a nurse or hospital employee entered our room we had to put our masks on, I kept mine hanging on the arm rail of the bed so that I could access it quickly. I will say this.. Our nurses were amazing. We had some of the kindest, warm hearted nurses caring for us during our days in the hospital. We never saw their full faces, but their eyes showed they cared and their personalities came through with how they shared stories of their own families and how they too were making the best during this uncertain time. 

Each day my husband had to leave and re-enter the hospital to receive a new color wrist band and have his temperature checked. Our days in the hospital were quiet, no family, no friends. Our nurses kept us company with small talk. We had a lot of video chats with grandparents, family, and friends. We took photos to share our newest baby. I had to share the birth of my daughter with my family through a video chat. 

Women were asking to leave the hospital early, myself included. Why stay another day? Yes, I was a c-section and supposed to stay three days but if I could be home with my boys and safe in our house, that’s where I would rather be. We clicked the nurse button on the bed and said we were ready to go home, on the receiving end before the nurse turned off the speaker we heard her say “everyone wants to leave today”. Again, why would you stay, if you don’t “have” to?! I asked the nurse as she walked us out how many ladies they had on the floor. She shared there were 15 mamas and babies, I was the fourth to leave that day, and three more had called to leave in the meantime. 

Leaving the hospital, more anxiety came flooding in but quickly was rushed out when I saw my bestie and my parents waiting for us outside. They were there to cheer us on, again. Cue the tears. Our support system watched us enter the hospital and come out. It was like going on a trip but not going anywhere if that makes sense. 

I don’t have pictures of gushing grandparents holding their sixth grandbaby or aunts and uncles snuggling their newest niece. My boys didn’t meet their sister until she was 3 days old and at home. Everyone keeps saying “this will make for a story one day”. It’s not exactly the story I wanted to share (now or in 20 years). But it’s OUR story and that’s what matters.