Last Year as a Teen
My kid isn’t a kid anymore
Hubby is snoring in the bed next to me. Nineteen years ago at this time he was doing the same. Instead of being in the bed next to me, he was on a horrible pull-out sofa made for one while I sat watching TV in the hospital bed nearby. Every little while, I would wake him up to ask him to help me from the bed to the bathroom. I was connected to an IV and all they were pumping through it at the time were fluids.
It isn’t easy to sleep in a hospital bed, over eight months pregnant, being pumped full of fluids when you know that bright and early the next morning, they will start pumping Pitocin through that same IV to make you go into labor so that you can give birth to your first child. But, nothing had been very easy about the pregnancy. I threw up most days right until I went to the hospital. There was none of that “morning sickness subsides after the first trimester” for me. Then, the amniotic fluid began to slowly decrease. No one has ever explained to me why. They assured me it was NOT MY FAULT, but provided no answers.
Once the fluid started going, it meant we saw the midwife once a week and the perinatologist once a week. Also known as a “maternal-fetal specialist,” we would go into his office for an ultrasound. He would check the ultrasound to see what level the amniotic fluid was and decide if we could wait another week or not.
He had been warning us. He had specifically told Hubby to be sure to have the bags packed and in the car because one day we would come in and the fluid would be too low for baby to remain in the womb. When that happened, we knew they would put me in the hospital and induce labor because it would be safer for baby to be out rather than in.
We loved being able to see Kid #1 so often on the ultrasound. That was an upside to having a “difficult pregnancy.” And, we really should have been prepared, but how can you be prepared to have your first kid? The doctor checked the ultrasound. We heard the heartbeat. We couldn’t tell much difference, but the doctor said,
“Well, are you ready to go have a baby today?”
What the hell? No sir. No, we are not ready to have a baby today. In fact, we may have not thought this through completely. We aren’t sure we will be ready on ANY day.
What we really said, almost at the same time and while we looked at each other was,
“I don’t know!”
The doctor asked, “You’ve got your bags in the car, right?”
Uh, oh! We had one job.
He allowed us time to go pack our bags, but warned us not to dawdle. He called our midwife and the hospital to tell them we were on our way. Hubby drove us home and we were KIND OF FREAKING OUT. Excited, but, well, it is weird when you know your entire way of life is about to change and you have no idea how to imagine what it will be like.
While Hubby packed some things for us, I called my parents. They lived four hours away. I explained what was going on. My mother said,
“We are on our way.”
Once we were at the hospital, our midwife came and examined me. By this time, it was “quitting time.” She said,
“Well, there is no reason we can’t wait until tomorrow. We will start the Pitocin first thing in the morning. That way you can get a good night’s rest tonight.”
Of course, I thought it sounded like a good plan. Now I know that was a joke. What she really meant was that SHE would get a good night’s rest! By the time I called my parents to say, “Hold up. It will be tomorrow,” they had already been in the car almost an hour. They HAD THEIR bags packed. Mom said she had kept them by the door for weeks.
I was lucky. Though the pregnancy was hard, the giving birth was relatively easy. RELATIVELY. It wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it went quickly. Six hours or so after they started pumping me full of Pitocin, Kid #1 was born.
We knew there may be problems because he was early, but just like parenthood, there is nothing that can prepare you. I held him for just a moment then they took him to run all those quick tests they do when a baby is born. Soon they were telling us that he had to be taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. His breathing wasn’t great. He was just too little and his lungs weren’t quite ready. They told Hubby to bring him to the NICU. They all left. I was in the room alone. I’m almost certain that my mom was there, but I don’t have a memory of anyone being with me. I felt alone and afraid and angry.
In the grand scheme of things, we were incredibly lucky. Kid #1 spent one week in the NICU, came home, and hasn’t had any lingering physical issues since aside from a short bout of “exercise-induced asthma.” He still uses that as an excuse to not exercise!
That was the longest week of our lives, though. It was just horrible. I can’t imagine having to do that longer than a week. Some of the babies had been there for months and still had months to go. Mamas and Daddys would come and scrub their hands and arms, put on the gowns, and sit in the rocking chairs next to the incubator their child slept in. They would do this multiple times a day.
It was only a week, but we got into a routine too. Mom and Dad stayed. She cooked for us every day so that all we had to think about was driving to the hospital three or four times a day to sit with Kid #1 as long as they would let us. I would use the heavy-duty breast pump they had rented to me to pump as much as I could and take back to the hospital labeled with names and dates so that they could use it to feed him. The first time they let us give him a bottle felt like a miracle. When they decided he was well enough to try breast-feeding, I cried.
I cried a lot that week. There were lots of ups and downs, but the one thing that stands out to me as the worst moment was when they discharged me from the hospital. My midwife came in and she was very apologetic. She understood that this was an impossible thing to ask us to do — to leave our newborn baby and go home.
Then, the hospital required me to attend the “new moms” class that they made all the new moms go to before they were discharged. I sat in the corner, Hubby holding my hand, and wept while all the other parents were giddy with excitement because they were about to take their babies home. I hope they have gotten a clue in the last nineteen years and don’t make Mamas whose babies aren’t discharged too go to that class anymore. It felt like a form of torture.
Kid #1 had this amazing nurse in the NICU. Nurse Barbara. She was made for the work she did. Clearly she had a calling. Every time we would feel like we were about to break, she would say something encouraging. One day she saw the look of fear in our faces and said,
“He is going home. We just don’t know when. But, he IS going home.”
Until then, I really didn’t know. And when she said it, I believed her one hundred percent. My shoulders dropped. I exhaled. And, I looked at the days after that differently. Each day he got a little better, a little stronger. He had his first pop quiz. He failed.
Once he had gotten some better, there was this test they did where they strapped his tiny little body into the enormous carseat we had bought to transport him. They would test his oxygen levels while he was sitting in it. If his oxygen dropped below a certain percent, he failed. And, that meant he couldn’t come home that day. I think it was on the fourth try that he passed. Nurse Barbara came into the room where Hubby and I were waiting with Kid #1 in her arms and a huge smile on her face.
“You are taking him home!”
Kid #1 will be 19 tomorrow. At this time every year, I’m recalling all of these things and more. Yet another thing I don’t think I was quite prepared for — the ways in which you reflect on every part of your child’s life on their birthdays. I had learned that I become reflective on my own birthday. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed how reflective my own mother gets of each of her children on their birthdays. It is hard to pay attention when you are the kid.
Truly, when I reflect on Kid #1’s life, nothing has been easy. That isn’t true. One thing has been easy. It is cheesy. And, it is true. Loving him is easy. Living with him isn’t always easy, but loving him started before I ever even saw his face. Nineteen years of loving him has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
