[Diary of an Expat Bride] The birth

The anesthesiologist came and effortlessly inserted my spinal. This also wasn’t nearly as painful as expected. While it took effect, they eased me down and tied my arms down onto the cross-shaped table. Why was the table in the shape of a crucifix? I pondered this ridiculous question as the doctors asked me several questions to establish my alertness. With relief, I saw my obstetrician. He assured me that the baby’s heart rate was good, everything seemed fine, and I could expect to meet my son in a matter of minutes. Would it really be that fast?

They put a curtain up to hide my view from my chest downwards. While I was generally numb from the chest down, I could still feel pressure as my doctor made the incision. However, this did not feel unpleasant. It mostly felt like a rough massage. At that moment they allowed my husband in. I turned my head as he opened the door, and took in his shocked expression. The operation was already under way, and he probably had a perfect view of every gory thing. Allowing him in was up to my doctors, and unusual in some hospitals. If he showed any sign of faintness, or interfered in any way, they would escort him out. I couldn’t let that happen, I needed him by my side. He had to hold my hand through this. My family was back in my home state of Michigan, unable to come for the birth. More than at any other time in my life I needed someone next to me. I told my husband to not look anywhere else, just to look at my eyes. Thankfully he didn’t faint, and a nurse pushed a stool over to him so he could sit by my head, to also be shielded by the curtain.

He squeezed my hand and we giggled nervously. Surprisingly, some of the doctors or techs were casually discussing their weekend plans as they conducted our C-section. While some people might have been disturbed by this, I took it to mean that my surgery was going as expected, and there was nothing to worry about. Suddenly, I felt something different than the massage-like feeling of the previous few minutes. Without a doubt I knew that my doctor was at that moment taking my baby out. My husband looked at me in fright as I gasped and said: “He’s coming! I can feel him coming out!”

Sure enough, we then heard a short cry and lots of scurrying as the baby nurses rushed over. No amount of anesthesia could dull that feeling of being physically separated from my baby. Tears of joy seeped from my eyes as they brought a little blue bundle over to greet us within a matter of seconds. One of the nurses thoughtfully untied my right arm so that I could touch him, while another snapped pictures with our camera. Before our birth we had been approached by several “birth photographers” who, for a hefty fee, would photograph our birth. This was not something either my husband or myself wanted, despite how popular the trend currently is. Our operating room was already so crowded that the thought of another person present snapping pictures when maybe I didn’t feel like smiling made me unhesitatingly refuse. The nurse who had been by my side since wheeling me in did a wonderful job capturing our first, precious moments together as a new family.

In the pictures, my husband and I look a bit shell-shocked. Considering all of the problems during my pregnancy, we could hardly believe it when our son finally arrived without any complications. He squeezed our fingers, and we touched and kissed him before the baby nurses came to take him away. They assured me it would only be for a few minutes, and that my husband was welcome to accompany them to the baby room. This had also been a special request of ours, so that our baby wouldn’t be separated from us at any time if he was perfectly healthy. The nurses and doctors honored this part of our birth plan as well, and my husband and son left the operating room while my doctor finished stitching me up.

The whole surgery had lasted under half an hour. As I was being wheeled back to my room to be reunited with my husband and son, I was thankful that everything had gone well. Even though I hadn’t experienced the kind of birth I had hoped, I didn’t feel like I had been unable to establish a bond with my son. On the contrary, the minute I felt him being taken out of me, I felt a rush of hormones similar to what other women must experience during natural birth. From talking with my friends, we seemed to have experienced the same rush despite the different circumstances of our deliveries. The bond was there. Looking back, I must have been kind of funny to listen to as the nurses wheeled me back to my room. I loved everybody, and didn’t hesitate to tell them so in my lopsided Turkish. The doctor was great. The tech who watched the machine during the operation was wonderful. The nurse who stuck two IVs in my arm had been fantastic. And, by the way, wasn’t my baby the cutest baby this hospital had ever delivered? The funny thing was, I was not under the influence of any medication. This was the natural high after delivery, and I basked in it. Little did I know that I would need it for the first week postpartum. Things only got better when I got back to my room to rejoin my son.