Only parents who have gone through this really understand, but after he was born, it was quiet, too quiet. After an eternity of a few seconds, he finally made a cry, then a cough, then another cry and then some more coughs.
I was only 36 weeks pregnant when my blood pressure started to go up, I was ordered to rest over the next 5 days, and I did, but I was ordered back to the hospital for monitoring. My blood pressure didn't go down very much, so my dr. told me when he came by at lunch time, I wasn't leaving without my baby. Well, I did.
See, he was born at 36 1/2 weeks which is when most baby boy lungs start to develop in utero and my little Nathan's lungs weren't quite ready. Guess my body knew what it was doing since during 21 hours of pitocin induced labor, I only dilated to a 1. That's why he didn't have the lusty cry that most healthy newborns have, he was having trouble breathing.
So, after the delivery nurse allowed me a quick look at my newborn son, off they went to the nursery and I spent the next 45 minutes surrounded by the surgical staff, anaesthesiologist, and my dr. and his associate, all working on me, but I felt totally alone, wondering what was going on with my baby. My hubby couldn't be with me because of his hospital phobia, but at least he was able to be outside the nursery, because he got to tell me what happened later.
I had been in the recovery room, my body tilted head up at about a 30 degree angle, when my hubby and a dr. came in. William held my hand while the pediatrician told me my son was having trouble breathing and they were going to have to put him on a ventilator and Teddy Bear Air (otherwise known as CareFlight) my newborn son to another hospital because the hospital I was at didn't have an NICU ward.
My little 7 lbs. 12 oz. boy didn't want to have the ventilator tube shoved down his esophagus, so he proceeded to yank it out 2 times before they came to me and asked for permission to tranquilize him. Of course I said yes and off they went to get back to work on my son.
After a few more hours, I was finally put into a room and my husband kept going back and forth giving me updates on how our son was doing. Finally, after another eternity it seems, the flight crew brought my son into my room. He had a tube coming out of the umbilical cord stump, band-aids on his heals where they drew blood for the pku(?) test, a ventilator coming out of his mouth and taped to his face, and he was still, just so still for a newborn, and only wearing a diaper, spread eagle in a rolling incubator.
They explained that he was going to be fine. He was going to a hospital about 30 minutes away, by car, faster of course by helicopter, and they were associated with Cooks Children's Hospital. They said that Cooks had been full but the hospital he was going to only had a few intensive care babies, so my son would get lots of attention which was better then an overloaded NICU.
I didn't say much, I really couldn't because I was just staring at my poor little boy and I started getting all choked up and silent tears started to fall. The lady in the flight crew noticed and asked if I had even had a chance to hold my son yet. I shook my head no and they decided they had to figure out a way for me to at least touch Nathan.
After fiddling with the hospital bed and maneuvering me as best they could, since I had just had major surgery, they lowered one side of the incubator and I was finally able to put my finger in his little hand and feel my son's fingers close around mine.
Needless to say, today is a wonderful, yet bittersweet day for me. Joyous that my son was born and that he ended up being just fine, yet bittersweet remembering how difficult the rest of the day, and the next several days were until I was finally out of the hospital and could go see my son at the other hospital.
Nine days after my son was born, he was able to come home, on the 4th of July. That's the day I truly celebrate, the day my little boy came finally came home!