Tomorrow is Brooklyn's birthday. Holy smokes our baby turns one! But because of how the calendar year works, it was actually today - a Wednesday - that has me taking a trip down memory lane. Brooklyn was born on a Wednesday, bright and early at 1:48 am. I was awake last night until almost midnight reliving some of the memories of that Wednesday. Rog, unusually, was awake as well...my husband who would be asleep by 9:00 if he could, couldn't sleep either - I'm sure from my tossing and turning.
Some of that day I remember with perfect clarity, other parts of it are a blur. I'm sure the blurry moments were caused by a drug induced sleep, a side effect of an epidural that started wearing off while they stitched me back up, and some horrible nausea. I remember finding myself falling asleep sitting up in my bed whenever I was alone.
Did you know I puked as they wheeled Brooklyn's incubator into my room? Three times in fact. They had to wait for me to finish before opening the doors to let me touch her. Sad.
Did you know two of Roger's brothers spent that whole awful night with us? So did his parents, and my family. Our families were called at 11:00 at night, the news spread fast. Late night phone calls are never good news. I remember calling our moms the minute we found out we were delivering a baby...I broke down the minute my mom answered the phone. I'm sure she had flashbacks to her own nightmare 16 years ago when Callie was born at 27 1/2 weeks. I was the first day into my 28th week.
Megan and Devin sat at their kitchen table in Arizona, anxiously waiting for updates. They also looked up airfare for Meg to fly home, unsure if she would be visiting a baby or attending her funeral.
Did you know I called Meg when I was strapped to the operating table? I wanted her to call up to my unit and ask the charge nurse to warn the NICU charge nurse that one of their own was sending them their next patient. My unspoken plea was that they would keep her breathing until I could get out of my own hospital and come see her again.
Some of my own coworkers called Meg back at 4:00 in the morning for updates on myself and Baby Gardner. She laughed, knowing she had to get up 2 hours later to go to work herself. She cried all day at work.
My doctor lifted Brooklyn high enough for us to see her over the sheet when they did the c-section. I was shocked at how miniature she was. And how much she looked like her dad. She cried. I loved it, knowing her cries meant she was a fighter. Roger held my hand and put his head on mine in those first few minutes of her life, both of us unable to see her. But we could hear her.
The kind staff at Riverton hospital placed me in a recovery room at the very end of the hallway with a beautiful view of the mountains and the Salt Lake valley. I could see the basketball dome at the U of U and the glare of sunlight on the windows at Primary Childrens Hospital...knowing our little unnamed girl was on the 4th floor of that wonderful place. I was heartbroken.
There was a mom in the room next to me that sent her newborn baby to the nursery every night and every day, only wanting him/her for feeds. I wanted to resent her, to scream at her, to plead and cry and tell her how unfair it was that she had the choice to send her baby out of her room. But I didn't. I envied her. I wished I could have my baby in her little crib right next to my bed all day and all night. Instead we would spend the next 13 weeks at her bedside.
Roger and I coped very differently. I wouldn't cry, I couldn't. I plastered a smile on my face and welcomed all visitors, knowing I would have a total breakdown if I was left alone for too long. My first two nurses on the postpartum floor were coworkers of mine that had left CSU within the last two years. Akward, yes, but I loved it! I loved my nurses and techs, but no one stuck around too long to chat (with the exception of my two friends) - I think they were uncomfortable knowing I was in crisis mode. And could break down sobbing at any moment.
Roger had to stay busy. He needed to feel needed. Sitting in my room watching me sit there like a zombie was difficult for him. He went golfing with his brothers and dad the day she was born (with full approval from me)...I knew he needed an outlet. He was going crazy not being able to fix the women in his life. He golfed is best game all year that afternoon. He also put in our backyard over the next few weeks - it was a great way for him to work off his stress.
I remember feeling my stomach that day, stunned that it was all over. That my pregnancy was done. It was such a void. Despite my feelings of guilt over what I had done wrong over the last few weeks to possibly cause the preterm labor, I also felt so cheated. I wasn't done with the fun stage of pregnancy yet. I loved feeling her kick and move and wiggle. My stomach felt so flat, so empty.
I was restricted to a liquid diet that day. They brought me orange juice, and orange slush for breakfast. I hated it. I hate orange.
They had a fountain machine for the patients, with all the Diet Coke I could ask for. I didn't have any. But I would walk around and around the unit, pulling my IV pole along, my catheter hung on the bar. Hated the catheter, but it was convenient. I had a lot of fluid to get rid of after my c-section.
Today is a beautiful sunny day. So was that Wednesday. My moods are affected by the weather. The sun on the day gave me hope, despite the scary situation we found ourselves in. I love the sun.
What a crazy day that Wednesday was. So unbelievably stressful. So sad. So much grief.
I'm so glad it's past.
At this exact moment Brooklyn is sleeping the morning away in our bed. She slept with us for half the night last night. She kicked me all night. I loved it.
Tomorrow is her birthday, I cannot wait! We're having a party Saturday with all of the family members that supported us during our long road. We're celebrating her birth and her progress, but we're also saying thank you to those that love us and her!
Happy almost birthday Brooklyn, we love you!
