Lemme Tell Ya Bout A

In honor of Big Brother’s sixteenth birthday on the first of this month, I thought I’d tell ya a little more about our A.

If you’ve been here a minute, you probably already know that my oldest, Aiden, came into the world kicking a soccer ball and wise well beyond his years — a social butterfly who’s never met a stranger. A kid who read chapter books before kindergarten, held full conversations with grown-ups by six, discussing sports stats with any adult who would listen (mostly just data he memorized from ESPN, but most people didn’t know that — it was his little party trick 😉), and has always chased excellence with his whole entire being.

Not much has changed in those regards since he was born — he’s just finessed his skills. His party tricks have become more insightful, and while his wiseness has softened into more of a quiet calm in the background of everything he does, it’s still very much there, driving every decision, action, and opinion.

Both of my boys were preemies, Aiden more significantly than Eli. I started experiencing complications around 22 weeks with Aiden and landed on bedrest for a few weeks.

After that, I was considered high-risk for the remainder of my pregnancy.

On March 31st, I had planned to start packing hospital bags. I was a little over six weeks from my due date — and I’m a planner.

I. am. a. PLANNERRR.

So packing bags 6+ weeks out? Highest of priorities – DUH!

But, I was also pregnant tired AND pregnant hungry, so it took zero convincing when Husband suggested we go out to dinner for burgers and shakes instead. The burger gave me heartburn. The shake was absolutely everything I needed that evening.

A couple hours later, at 2(ish) am — 33 weeks and some days pregnant — I woke up to a feeling of a little wetness. It wasn’t like what I’d seen on TV when a pregnant character’s water breaks, or the version I had built up in my head where it would inevitably happen at work… and my coworkers would never be able to unsee my pregnant self looking as if I’d pee’d my pants.

Speaking of peeing my pants… at two in the morning… that’s I actually what I thought happened – just the result of a little lack-of-bladder-control fun I’d been warned about in the third trimester. After I changed and got back in bed, I couldn’t shake the thought… what if? So I woke up Husband.

Husband said call the doctor, so I picked up my phone and called my mom.

In my defense, I had NEVER had a baby before — and neither had Husband. RITA HAD FIVE!!

Mom said call the doctor, so I called the doctor.

Doctor said head to Labor & Delivery, so I freaked out — I HAD NOT PACKED A SINGLE BAG!

Literally, my first thought…🙄

Fast forward a few essential items tossed into a backpack and a 30-minute car ride later, we checked in and were quickly brought back to triage at 4:55 AM. After a couple of tests, it was confirmed that my water had, in fact, broken.

I’ll never forget the triage nurse’s response when I asked, “What now? How do we stop it?”

“Well, we don’t stop it, sweetheart — we have babies at 33 weeks.”

Ummmmm… come again?

I don’t know who this WE is she is speaking of because (again) I have NEVER had a baby — 33 weeks or otherwise. Panic really started to set in.

I’m not ready. HE’S NOT ready! I don’t have anything with me that I had planned!

The panic only amped up after she told me they would only allow me to labor for 12 hours before taking him by c-section. She explained that once my water broke, the barrier of protection around the baby was gone, so the chances of infection for both of us were increasing the longer he stayed in.

Essentially, they were going to give my body a chance to deliver him on its own — but they weren’t going to let things linger long enough for it to become unsafe.

Ok… so… I’m having a baby. Seven and a half weeks early. On April Fool’s Day, no less.

After twelve hours and absolutely no progress, they wheeled me to surgery.

If you’ve had a c-section before, maybe you can relate — but this was the wildest experience of sensations I have ever had, before or since. You’re awake, and you’re very obviously aware of what is happening.

I don’t remember the exact sequence of events, but once I was in the surgery room, they put up a giant sheet — from my waist up toward the ceiling — a privacy screen, if you will.

By that point, I was already numb from the chest down, and they placed a mask over my face to administer oxygen.

Everything felt fast and slightly disorienting — like things were happening around me more than with me. Once that mask snapped on, I started to hyperventilate.

I told the anesthesiologist I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t breathe! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF – NOW!

He quickly grabbed scissors and cut the top off the mask — the part pressing against my nose — and all of a sudden, I was able to relax.

I could breathe.

Then came this strange pressure and tugging sensation in my abdomen. It’s hard to explain — almost like that edge-of-sleep feeling where you’ve tuned everything out, but still aware of it at the same time. Like a hazy dream.

Even though I knew I was lying there on that table, it almost felt like I was sitting back watching it happen — like I wasn’t fully a part of what was happening in that surgical suite.

It wasn’t painful… just deeply odd and uncomfortable.

I felt immediately empty after they pulled him out. And then I waited… and listened…

Where was his cry? In the movies, the baby comes out screaming.

Why isn’t he crying?

I felt this urgent need for everyone in that room to be quiet so I could listen for my baby. I couldn’t see anything — the sheet was still up. I don’t know how much time actually passed, but it felt like minutes before I heard his first, tiny little cry.

My sweet Aiden Russell Walker, born on Thursday, April 1, 2010 at 4:55pm, weighing 4 lbs 11 oz and 21 inches long.

While still on the surgery table and being closed up by the surgeon, the L&D nurse gave me a quick glance at my boy before whisking him off to the NICU.

I was not prepared for this part — well, let’s be honest, I was not prepared for any of the happenings of that day, at least not as they unfolded. But there are no words for watching a stranger holding your brand new baby and walking out the door with him, not knowing when you’ll be able to see him again.

He stayed in that NICU for the next twoish weeks, but that story will have to wait for another time. 😉

Nickel for the jar: You can pack the bags, make the plans, and do everything “right”… and still find yourself completely unprepared for how it actually unfolds.

Susan