A birth story.

Trigger Warning/Content Warning: Birth Trauma, Medical Trauma, PTSD, Postpartum Depression, Postpartum Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal thoughts, NICU, NICU Trauma, Perinatal Mood + Anxiety Disorders, Emergency C-section

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I want to preface this post by saying that it’s taken a long time for me to get here. I was first instructed to write about my birth trauma experience + subsequent medical traumas by my therapist, and I found the writing to be very helpful in coping. I’m attempting to take my healing to the next level by sharing this story with others – both to help myself in my personal journey by sharing and “letting go” of this story in a way… AND I’m hoping that sharing my story might help another mother or parent out there to feel seen, to feel less alone, to help them realize that there are many others out there going through something similar – and to reassure them that there is help and hope out there.

So, here’s my story…

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The day she was born…

We walked into the hospital. I was anxious. It was very quiet and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that it was dark outside. We checked in and started to settle into our delivery room. It was big and seemed very nice but it just didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t feel comfortable. I changed into my nightgown and tried to relax a little bit…but then the nurse came in to get my IV hooked up and give me the medication to help me start dilating.

The IV didn’t go well, they had to bring in another nurse to get it in my arm – they had to stick me multiple times so that wasn’t fun… but they finally got it in and then they hooked me up to a monitor around my belly to monitor the baby. It was extremely uncomfortable and they said I’d have to sleep like that all night. The gave me the dilation medicine – cytotec – and then the nurse left and I tried again to get comfortable. I logged onto my computer to do some last-minute work as Mark looked over the hotel’s room service menu to order some food. Just a few minutes went by and the nurse came back into the room looking a little worried saying they need to adjust the monitor because it’s not picking up the baby’s heart beat. I was convinced that this was just due to the monitor moving as I had adjusted myself in the bed. The nurse moved it around and found her heartbeat again, set it and left the room.

When I looked up at the monitor’s screen display it showed that I was having some contractions but I didn’t really feel much pain or discomfort. I started to think that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I can actually make it through this whole birth unmedicated – which is what I had wanted.

Only a few more minutes went by and then the door to our room flung open and five or six nurses came rushing in toward me. They all looked worried. The “main” nurse said something about still not picking up the baby on the monitor as the other nurses started poking and prodding me – making me roll around and change positions – it was very uncomfortable and I just kept thinking that it was the stupid monitor – it’s not on properly or it’s slipping so that must be why it’s not picking her up…

But then one of the nurses tried to explain to me that we have to go now and that she had to come out. I didn’t understand. It was all so fast all the nurses were moving my body around and talking to each other and I felt completely helpless. I was shocked by what they were saying. I kept looking over at Mark – I think I was yelling “I WANT MY HUSBAND” over and over but they said “No – he can’t come you have to have an emergency c-section right now. Your baby is in distress.”

I felt dizzy – from the news and from thrashing back and forth to look at Mark and look the other way at the nurse all while being manhandled and maneuvered in ways I didn’t want to be positioned.

Then everything changed. It was like looking through a tunnel. They made me lay back on the bed and started wheeling me out of the room and down the hallway. They kept pushing me down but I didn’t want to lay down on my back – it was painful and I was so scared. The hallway was so bright. I was laying there looking up at the nurses surrounding me and wheeling me down the hall. I didn’t know where to look and I just remember it was so bright I felt blinded. I wanted Mark to be there with me. The anesthesiologist peered over me on my left and started talking to me. I could tell he was trying to distract me or keep me calm but I don’t really remember what he said. I know I just kept asking if my husband could come. I told him I was scared. All I could see were his eyes peering down over me – his face was masked and his hair was covered. it was so bright and I didn’t really want to keep looking around because it hurt. When we arrived to the operating room I tried to look around a little bit – there were a bunch of nurses and lots of equipment and trays with medical tools on them and monitors and it was still so bright and I was so terrified. I felt like none of it could be real, I tried to believe that it wasn’t real. The anesthesiologist kept trying to talk to me and I felt so suddenly overwhelmed with panic and fear – I yelled at him, I screamed at the top of my lungs “I DON’T WANT MY BABY TO DIE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

The doctor suddenly introduced herself to me, but I can’t remember her name. She wasn’t one of the doctors from my practice so I didn’t know her. I heard a clanging sound as she grabbed something off a medical tray in the room. She touched my belly but I couldn’t see what was going on because I was laying down on my back – my full pregnant belly blocked my view. I tried to sit up but someone pushed me back down. I heard the Doctor say that she was ready to start – but I was still wide awake. I could feel her touching me. I screamed again, “I’M STILL AWAKE! I’M STILL AWAKE! I CAN FEEL EVERYTHING!” I was terrified. The Doctor looked at me…the room went silent. I looked up at the anesthesiologist…and everything went black.

After…

I woke up in a different room. I was very groggy but I could see Mark and my doula, Jackie. I was so relieved and happy to see my husband. I looked around the room and panic started to set back in. “Where is my baby?” I asked. I was very drowsy but that didn’t take away my fear. Mark tried to explain to me that our baby was in the NICU…I’m sure he told me not to worry and that everything would be okay, but I can’t remember. It was like everything went fuzzy in my head again and I don’t really remember the next hour…or two…or three. I don’t remember being moved again to another room. I just remember these asking when I could see my baby…and no one giving me an answer.

I felt very weak and drowsy from all the medication. The nurse told me I had to be able to stand and walk on my own and be able to use the bathroom before they’d allow me to go see my daughter. I was determined. But I was so scared, too. I didn’t know what to expect. The hours in the hospital seemed to both fly and crawl by simultaneously. Every time I’d finally fall asleep someone was knocking at my door to give me medicine or take my temperature & blood pressure. It was exhausting.

Every time I’d lay the bed back to try to sleep I would tense up and get really scared. I’d start to panic and breathe heavily. I’d get so scared I’d start to cry hysterically. I kept having flashbacks to the bright operating room and I didn’t want to remember. Every night when it got dark outside I’d start to feel the panic set in again. I knew something terrible was going to happen, nighttime just felt doomed to me. Once it was dark outside it felt like there was a switch that went off in my head and I was so afraid. I didn’t want it to be dark out.

It was a little over a day later that I was told I could finally go see my daughter. I wanted to see her so badly but I was also terrified of how it might be. I was still feeling so weak physically, too. But we were finally able to go, so I got into a wheelchair and Mark wheeled me down the hall, through the double doors and down to the elevator bank. We went down to the NICU floor and went through the NICU double doors and signed in at the NICU reception desk. Then we went to wash our hands thoroughly before rolling down a few other hallways to “The Rainforest” – that was the name of the NICU wing where they were treating my daughter. I remember going through the doors and Mark pointing out her room to me. The first one on the left. I was excited to finally meet my baby girl – but when he rolled me into the room and I stood up and peered down at her I felt painfully empty. It felt like she wasn’t even mine. I didn’t recognize her. She was laying there in a plastic box attached to a bunch of monitors with different cords and wires and she had tubes all over her. It didn’t feel real. I stared at her and felt a deep sadness spreading further inside me. It was like I didn’t even know my own baby. We hadn’t even named her yet…I couldn’t hold her or touch her – the thing that had been most important to me in my “birth plan”. So there she was, like a stranger.

The rest of my hospital stay was a blur… Lots of nurses coming and going and giving me medication and checking my blood pressure. Trying to time everything out so I could take my medications on time and eat in between going to see Maeve in the NICU every chance we could. But I was not okay…

One of the doctors happened to come in to check on me while I was in the middle of a breakdown. I was sobbing. It was the day before we were supposed to leave the hospital and I didn’t want to go home without my baby. She tried to comfort me and told me she’d make a call to see if we could stay an extra night. Then she asked if I would speak to the hospital psych team… I agreed. It was weird and uncomfortable because there was a small group of residents observing, but I was so upset and knew I needed to talk to them so I just tried to ignore the fact that I was telling all these strangers how upset and traumatized I was…

We were able to stay the extra night. That made me feel a little better, but leaving the hospital without my baby was one of the worst feelings – one of the worst things I’ve ever had to experience. I sobbed the whole way home. I sobbed every time we’d go to visit and have to leave the hospital without her. I sobbed at the thought of having to leave, even when we’d just arrived each day.

I wasn’t sleeping well – even without a crying baby at home. I was having terrible night sweats…so bad it would soak our entire bed. I had to start sleeping on top of towels. My physical recovery was very slow and I was still in a lot of pain if I didn’t stay on top of my medication regimen. But every morning we’d get up and I’d try to rush to get us to the hospital to see Maeve. I would get so angry at Mark for taking forever to get ready or being slow to get us out of the house. I’d be furious. I felt like he didn’t understand. I wanted to shake him and scream in his face…but I don’t think he could understand. He didn’t get it. I felt comforted by his presence, but completely alone at the same time. I just wanted to get to Maeve every day… But every day we’d drive up to park in the parking garage. We’d take the elevator to the sky walk and walk across it. We’d go through the doors and walk toward the maternity ward and to the elevator bank. Every time we walked by I wanted to scream. Other people, happy people, “checking in” for their deliveries. Grandparents greeting the new fathers. I hated them. I felt so much jealousy and anger and sadness…and I hated walking by that area every day. Going down the elevator. Walking into the NICU and signing in. I hated it. It was this awful, sad routine. But when we finally got to Maeve, there was some relief.

Every day there were different doctors and nurses in and out. Some days there were updates and good news, and some days there was no news or just that we had to keep waiting. They wouldn’t tell us when she could come home – mostly because they didn’t want to give us hope when they really didn’t know. There were multiple medical issues that had to be sorted out before she could leave. So we just kept coming back and spending what time we could with her and waiting. We’d leave to go eat some lunch and take a break, but I’d cry leaving her every night.

I had flashbacks of the delivery room and the hallway and the operating room every night when I’d go to bed. When it got dark outside I knew it was coming. When I climbed into bed and laid down I cried every night. I couldn’t stop feeling afraid and overwhelmed and like everything was spinning all the time.

When Maeve was finally improving to the point where she could be moved to “The River” – the area/ward of the NICU where babies are sent before they get to go home – we were so excited.
We just had to wait a little longer to tick things off the list of her health concerns. We were so happy she was “moving up and out” – but we didn’t love the new room arrangement. We had to share a room with another family and even with the partition, they were very loud and always had more than the supposed allotted number of visitors with them. It definitely made us even more eager to leave.

After a few days (I honestly cant remember how many), we were told that Maeve could go home the next day! We were thrilled. I was so happy, I couldn’t wait. We started packing up her little things from her NICU room. She passed the car seat test and we were all ready to go. We scheduled the sleep apnea monitor technician to come meet us at the NICU the next day to teach us how to use the device and get everything all sorted out. We went home that night and made sure everything was set up and ready for her (again) and I barely slept that night – this time because I was so excited. We were finally going to take our baby home.

We get to the hospital that next day, ready to take our baby home…but the nurse on staff tells us she doesn’t think Maeve will be going home today after all. She looks confused when we talk about how excited we are to take her home. We’re immediately upset and confused and ask to speak with the doctor. The doctor comes in and tells us they are still concerned about Maeve’s liver and her blood work, and that she can’t come home yet after all. I started sobbing. I felt like someone has just ripped my heart out – again.

As I stand there crying and half-listening to the doctor explain to us why we still can’t take our daughter home, another doctor walks into the room. She explains that she’s the audiologist and that she’s done Maeve’s hearing tests – which I had no idea had even happened. She then starts to tell us that Maeve has failed her hearing test and has profound hearing loss in her left ear. At this point the room started spinning. I felt like my head was going to explode. It was like all these strangers were talking to me at once – and once again I wanted to scream. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I remember thinking that this had to be a nightmare – It couldn’t be real…

As all of this is happening, the apnea monitor technician arrives too…there were five of us standing in Maeve’s little NICU room and everyone else was talking while I stood there crying uncontrollably. The two doctors left a few minutes later…and at some point I told Mark I absolutely would not be able to pay attention to the technician – so he’s going to have to listen to her and the instructions. She started explaining how to use the apnea device…I don’t know how long she was there, I think maybe an hour. But I just sat there staring at the wall with tears running down my face, I had no sense of time.

Once again I had to go home without my baby… and I don’t really remember much of the next few days – until we got to bring her home at last. For a week…

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It didn’t even feel like a surprise when the pediatrician called me – only one week after Maeve had been home with us – to tell us that her calcium levels were too high and we needed to take her to the emergency room. Somehow I just went into auto-pilot and we packed up and left for the hospital.

We arrived at the emergency room, they were waiting for us so luckily we didn’t have to wait too long before we were seen. But they had to do a blood draw and that was so hard. It was hard to watch as multiple nurses tried to do draw blood from my little baby. She cried and screamed while they poked her and poked her and poked her. They even brought up NICU nurses to try… Once the blood test confirmed her hypercalcemia she was re-admitted to the hospital. This time in the PICU because she wasn’t allowed back in the NICU after being out in the world – she was “contaminated” now.

The following week was long and excruciating. Once again leaving my baby at the hospital and going home without her…just when I was starting to get to know her, to feel some sort of connection….Now we had to get back into the routine of going to and from the hospital every day. Except this time Mark decided he was going to go back to work…so I’d have to go to the hospital every day by myself. I hated it again. Hated walking by the maternity ward, hated living in that awful, sad routine again – but this time I was going to a different floor and entering different doors and walking down different hallways. It was the same but different…either way it was still terrible.

We talked to the doctors about a plan to get her better, but it was so exhausting to have the same conversation with different doctors each day…over and over and over again. I was so tired. I was still recovering, too.

It was such a struggle to get her IV in, they had to try both arms and have multiple teams try…again. They were able to finally get a line in but after a day or two it was collapsing and they wanted to do a PIC line…they had to bring up a team from the NICU again and they said they had to have a sterile environment while they did this procedure so I couldn’t be in the room. It was getting pretty dark outside, but I didn’t want to go home yet – not until I knew how it would go. So I went to the parents’ break room and sat there for what felt like forever. It had easily been at least an hour and a half. I got up and walked back by her room and saw the nurses all still in their with all their gear on…it was getting late and I knew it wasn’t going well. They weren’t able to get it in. That night was the worst night at the PICU.

We celebrated Maeve’s one month “birthday” in the PICU. I wanted to dress her up and take pictures and one of the nurses was really nice and helped me get her dressed and put a pink blanket behind her so I could take a few. I was still so afraid to touch her or move her much on my own. I didn’t want to pull out any of the new cords attached to her…

When they moved her out of the PICU and up to the “regular” children’s hospital I was relieved, but I was also really worried that all of this would happen again. Mark and I discussed it regularly – that at this point the last thing we want is for her to be sent home with us just to have to turn around and have her re-admitted again. We were very cautious every time we spoke with the doctors about her next potential discharge. Obviously, we wanted her to come home with us…but we just didn’t want to have our hopes dashed again. We couldn’t take another huge blow like that. So, we asked every question we could ask, we confirmed and re-confirmed and re- re- confirmed with the doctors that every detail was understood and went through each of the what seemed like 100 follow-up steps we would need to take.

Looking back on the second hospital stay everything is a little hazy because it felt like I had stepped into some sort of other skin. I wanted to feel numb so I just did… When they said she could come home again and we went through our million steps and questions and packed everything up again we were so happy and relieved, but also still worried. Scared that this would happen again and not feeling safe or comforted by the knowledge she was coming home. It was like we were just in for another waiting game, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maeve came home for good the day before Valentine’s day. We were able to celebrate and dress up, we tried to get into some sort of a normal routine. Mark and I were both tired – and though we didn’t say it to each other I think we were both worried we’d find ourselves right back in the hospital again. Every time we’d go in to take her back to the doctor for follow-up blood work I was waiting for another bad call. But more days went by and she started to seem a little more lively. I was beginning to notice her personality more. I was so happy to see her and be with her and play with her and hold her in my arms – without cords and wires or the fear of tugging on something I shouldn’t and hurting her.

Everything had been hard and painful and scary…but then it was like one day I finally woke up from the nightmare. Something changed – I don’t know if it was just the time passing by, the therapy, the medication, a mix of all…but I felt a big shift. I was starting to like a whole person again. I wanted to give all of myself to my daughter and I finally felt like I really could. I actually saw her for the first time with fresh eyes. It was sometime in March, I don’t remember the exact day…but I remember looking at her and I just finally felt that connection I didn’t feel before. The connection that had been missing from me and that I desperately wanted. I finally felt her in my heart. I knew she was mine.

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A few notes…

*I did not delve deeply into the particulars of my daughter’s medical conditions as a part of this exercise, and therefore did not include much on them here. To be honest, I believe there are still many pieces of that trauma that have been blocked or pushed out of my memory and I simply can not remember some of those details…I may decide to add more on that later, but this was more about my overall experience with a traumatic birth and subsequent NICU and hospital stays which led to diagnoses of PTSD, postpartum depression and anxiety.

**I also want to note that at the recommendation of multiple doctors, I started to see a therapist and psychiatrist once discharged from the hospital. I was reluctant to do so at first, but I owe a great deal of my healing to their help – and to the help of the women in my postpartum support group. I was suffering from severe postpartum depression and was struggling daily with thoughts that I no longer wanted to live. I had begun to believe that my husband and daughter would be better off without me. I know that’s not true, but the thoughts were there. I had terrible anxiety around everything relating to my daughter and her safety – I couldn’t perform daily tasks without feeling paralyzed in fear, worried something horrible would happen to her. I couldn’t lay down in my own bed at night without re-living the horror of my birth experience. I was having regular flash-backs that made it impossible to relax or get the proper rest I needed… I can not stress enough the importance of asking for and getting help when you need it. I know that for many it’s difficult to obtain mental health services due to cost. I am so thankful that our health insurance covered or at least lessened the cost of these therapies and am aware that this is not the case for many. Organizations like Postpartum Support International + Postpartum Support Virginia offer free mental health services including many professionally-run support groups. It’s so important to share this information as much as possible because these organizations could and have saved lives. My therapist, psychiatrist, and the other mothers in my support group saved my life. I was in such a dark place, but these amazing women helped me to find the light again…

***I also did not discuss the tremendous impact of the pandemic in this exercise for various reasons. Mostly, it’s unfortunately still a huge part of our lives and doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon. I have a lot to say about that…another time.

****The stories of my subsequent pregnancy losses are their own and were also not included here…maybe one day I’ll be able to share more about those experiences, too. But for now, this is enough.

xoxo, Miss Mariss

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