I remember it well. 14 years ago this evening, I was checked into the hospital. The doctor said I was a week overdue and that it was in my best interest to be induced. I did not want that, but we had decided to go with the high risk specialist who my cardiologist recommended, and she said for the sake of my health and the baby’s health it was time. I cried. I of course wanted to give birth, I was ready for her to come, but I hated the thought of being induced. I knew too many horror stories about it going badly. I went home with Mom, waited for Nathan to get off of work, and together we all went to the hospital. We had a movie from the Redbox, a few card games, snacks, and of course everything we needed to bring baby home.
I was having mild contractions when we got there, and then when they started the Pitocin they got stronger and stronger through the night. I didn’t finish my movie!
I labored through the night without much progress, then later the next day my doctor came in and broke my water. WOW, that sure made everything feel one thousand times more intense. Labor is such HARD AND PAINFUL WORK.
Hours passed, but still baby would not come. We tried pushing for two hours, nothing. The doctor reluctantly tried the forceps, still nothing. She said baby was showing signs of distress, and so it was time to take the next step. My premonition was true. I knew I would be pressured to be induced (and I was) I knew it wouldn’t go well (and it didn’t), and I knew I would end up with a C-Section (which I did). I knew it, but I felt like I had no choice. I had to watch the chips fall where they may. I was in a dream that I couldn’t wake up out of. What I didn’t know is that somethings from that night were about to become more like a nightmare.
Once the decision was made, I had peace when going into the operating room. I made Mom and Donna take a picture of Nathan all dressed in the scrubs. I was trying to lighten the mood with a little humor. Donna’s face looked pale, but she obliged. I remember being in there. I remember the sheets and the lights and the team frantically moving. I remember feeling. It hurt. I could feel it. They gave me more meds and put me under. I woke up, this was it. She was coming, finally. I remember them tugging and pulling and then lifting her up over the sheet saying, “Let’s give Momma a look.”
That first quick glance-it only lasted a few seconds, but I remember feeling a surge of such excitement, it was like a big drop on a roller coaster. There was MY baby girl. She was healthy and she was born. Love at first sight; it is real friends! I saw her and I loved her. How thankful I was for that little glance. I didn’t know it then, but I would not be able to hold her until two days later.
I remember being groggy and someone asking me what kind of formula I wanted her to be on. I couldn’t open my eyes and I don’t know if any words came out, but I remember thinking, Why are they asking me this right now?
This sure wasn’t what we planned. I had wanted a natural birth with the opportunity to hold her, to nurse her, to bond with her, to relish the moment that I had waited for 9 months. I had taken the classes. I had a birth plan.
But here I was still on the operating table watching them wheel her away. They needed to take her to the NICU to make sure all was well from the stressful birth. Nathan went along with her, and I went back to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, my life was changed forever.
Nathan’s family had waited HOURS at the hospital, and they were going to just take her away without anyone getting to see her. Nathan asked the nurses, “Please, Nurse, can I show my family?” She said that he could give them one quick glance. He held her up to the paparazzi with their oo’s and ahh’s. As he lifted her up, suddenly he was overcome with emotion. We have a picture of him holding her and then just losing it. This wasn’t how we thought it would be. This wasn’t at all what we planned or what we wanted.
Claira got settled at the children’s hospital, most of Nathan’s family went home, and Mom and Dad stayed waiting on me to be settled. But when Nathan came back, the doctor was searching for him with a sick and serious look on her face.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “There have been some complications. I’ve done what I could, but it looks like I need to remove her ovary to stop the bleeding.”
He was shocked, but told the doctor to do what she needed to do. They lead him back to the room where I was before to wait, and all over the floor were towels of red blood. It was dark in there. He was all alone. He didn’t know what was happening. They kept him waiting and he couldn’t find anyone to update him on what was happening. The doctor finally came back out and said she needed to do a hysterectomy or I would bleed to death. Did he want to proceed? Well of course he did. We sure couldn’t have anymore children if I were dead. He went and found my parents. Everyone was shocked. They called back his parents, they got dressed again and came back. Phone calls were made and prayers went up all around the country for my life to be saved on the operating table once again.
You see I was born with a congenital heart condition, Tetralogy of Fallot, and I had to have two major open heart surgeries in the late 80’s. Without them I wouldn’t have lived to even ten years old. Thankfully the Lord spared my life then, and he was gracious enough to spare it again that night. He heard the prayers lifted up and finally the hemorrhaging stopped and I was stabilized.
Early the next morning, I opened my eyes slowly. There was a big digital clock on the wall in front of me, but I couldn’t make out the time. It was so blurry. My eyelids were so heavy. Where was I? Is it 4 am in the morning?
I felt different.
Something was wrong. Something was gone. Oh No! I thought. My legs are gone!
Ha…
I’m not sure why that was the first place that my brain went to, but before I could work it all out I felt the doctor tapping on my arm. I could see through blurry eyes my mom, my mother-in-law, and the Doctor all by my bed. This is bad.
“Carrie. I need to talk to you. Are you awake, Carrie?”
I moaned, “Is the baby okay?”
“Yes, she is fine and she is beautiful,” they replied. I saw a little phone screen stuck in my face.
“She looks like Aaron” was the first thing I said, and she did. My little nephew with his round face and pink cheeks. She was a Cox baby, that was for sure.
They laughed, and then the doctor proceeded to tell me about what happened the night before-how the complications escalated, how she tried this and how she tried that and how finally she had to operate, a removal, a hysterectomy.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Carrie?”
“Yes,” I weakly replied. “No more babies.”
I heard my family’s exhale, a noise between a short laugh and a catch in their throats that could almost become a cry. How easily I understood the severity of this moment instantly. It was crystal clear. No wonder I felt something was missing: it was all the plans I had made, our dreams, our future.
“Your brother is flying in….Dad and Donna left and came back….Maybe you can adopt someday……Oh she is such a beautiful baby….”
Words all around me.
Mom got to hold her. Her daddy got to hold her. When Uncle Danny got there, he got to hold her, but me? I could not.
I was still under watch. The doctor was worried about my kidneys and thought I may even need more surgery. They wouldn’t let me eat or drink anything just in case. After losing so much blood and without being able to drink I was consumed with thirst. They sent me down for a scan and I was begging for water. The attendant gave me some ice chips, and then got wise to the fact at I was an addict and wouldn’t give me any more water.
My kidneys were okay. I was moved to a new room. Finally, a glass of water. My animal thirst was quenched.
It was Wednesday night (she was born on Tuesday evening), and I remember my dad bringing his guitar up to my room to play for me there. Pete and Fran and baby Joseph were also visiting. She brought me a scrap book, the same thing we had worked on together when she lost her baby girl a few years before.
I remember Daddy playing and singing. The whole room was singing “The Great Physician”, but I literally didn’t have the strength to open my mouth and sing. The words were in my heart, but I couldn’t make them come out. All I could do was listen. I was so weak, so frail. I couldn’t even cry. I felt like a thin, delicate fine wine glass, one that would burst if anything even reached out and laid one finger on it.
I was in the post natal unit of the hospital, but still I didn’t have a baby. It was dark in our room. They said we had an awesome view of downtown, but from my bed I couldn’t see it. Claira was still in the NICU; although she was doing well, I still wasn’t strong enough to go and visit her.
Finally, the next day, the time had arrived. I have a little video of Nathan wheeling me to see her, to finally get to hold her. It was quite a long way from where I was in St. Luke’s Hospital through the connecting tunnel to Texas Children’s Hospital.
I remember feeling numb.
I felt guilty for feeling numb. I still feel guilty for feeling numb.
Finally I get to see her. My baby. There she is lying in a little clear box with machines all around. She has the tiniest cutest and most pitiful little IV in her foot and leg. They place her in my arms. I kiss her little head. I smell her. I smile. She is mine. She is here, and I am here, and finally I get to hold her. We are both alive and in each other’s arms. There was no fireworks of emotion, I was too weak. There were no tears to cry, I was too dry. But underneath my physical frailness and mental weakness was a deep love glowing and growing when I finally held her in my arms for the first time. We had weathered this storm together, she and I, and it wouldn’t be our last. I was determined that since this would be my only baby that I could give birth to, I did not want to miss a moment. I didn’t want to waste it being sad. I gave her back and Nathan wheeled me away again.
It was Thanksgiving Day.
Carrie Cox’s Corner 
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