Time 8:27am, September 10, 2000.
The nurse smiled, I mean really smiled, then rubbed my arm with force, “she may arrive a little blue and floppy honey.”
I was 29 and completely inexperienced in labor and delivery. I thought the nurse meant my baby would be a touch tired after labor and have a slight discoloration.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
In complete retrospect, DH had a much better perspective of that moment:
DH was thinking;
“Okay it has been an hour and a half of pushing and it didn’t seem that we were all that much closer.
Kathleen continued pushing and the baby’s heart rate continued to drop.
The Doctor then arrives and the nurse whispers how long Kathleen has been working and that the baby was showing “variables”.
After a review of the chart, the Doc came over to Kathleen to say “I am going to give you just one more chance and then we need to prepare for a c-section”.
So with this cautionary warning in my ear I pushed from my soul.
Lauren was born. And I remember the silence.
Shouldn’t there be a little crying right about now from a newborn?
ALL OF THE SUDDEN the room filled up like a Frat party at USC with 5 open kegs of Stella.
10 ‘neonatal specialist’ in gowns and gloves where briskly moving around the room.
The nurse understood my confusion and said “they are here for resuscitation”.
To make a long story short. Lauren had a very short umbilical cord, only 18 inches. Every time I pushed, her body could not tolerate the force. The team of doctors and equipment crashed our delivery believing Lauren would need to be resuscitated. Yes, you read that correct, not living.
Then there was a cry. It was loud. I knew everything was going to be okay.
She was letting the team of specialist know that Momma’s last push was swift and life saving.
With an audience of medical personnel smiling in amazement, she arrived pink and perfect.
Smiles were abound and a sense of relief washed over everyone, doctors included.
Today, 12 years later.
Happy Birthday to you my dear.
We love you….