Josiah's Birth Story (born 9/24/2004)
It was September 24, 2004, when my life changed. I laid there on the metal hospital bed staring at the ceiling. The lights blazed deep into my soul as if they were interrogating me. Why did I agree to this? And why didn't we go back to the states instead of staying here?
You see, my husband and I had spent a couple of years trying to conceive a child. But receiving disappointing results month after month, led us to an infertility doctor. At this time, we were living right outside of Mexico City & my Spanish skills, well, they were pretty lame. I knew how to ask "cuanta cuesta por la coca lite" how much for a diet coke and "donde esta el bano" where is the bathroom. I knew a tad more, but it was still pretty lame.
And in my desperation, we found ourselves a local fertility doctor. We sat in her office while I tried to explain our situtation. I'm sure my words were translated into something like this: me want baby. i have problems. give me pills. i pay you good.
I'm not quite sure that she knew what to do with me. She quickly signed over a prescription of infertility pills and we immediately went to the drug store. I can't tell you what she prescribed to me. If they were magic pills, I wanted them all. I faithfully took each and every horse size pill for months.
Until one day, I threw up after eating Mole. If you've never had it before, it is a complex, smooth sauce with just a hint of spice and chocolate at the end. It is a deliciously, acquired taste. Like a type of gravy over chicken. But this night, it made me want to die.
This was unusual because I rarely get sick. I remember looking at my husband with wishful eyes. To me, this could only mean one of two things. I was either pregnant or had a bad case of food poisioning.
Feeling as though I was a professional, pregnancy tester with a high percentage rate of disappointment, I was hesitant to take the test the following morning. I didn't want to see just one freaking blue line. I want two. Two strong & tall blue lines standing straight up as if they were proudly applauding my high levels of HCG, the pregnancy hormone.
As I watched my urine drip slowly down the stick, I saw two faint lines. Not bright as the sky blue, more like a barely even there blue. I shook my head. So, am I pregnant or not? Faint lines are cruel jokes.
We called the local doctor on staff where we work. He had me take another test. When he reviewed the results, he quieted his voice and said these words, "Listen. I don't want you to get your hopes up. I have seen many false positive tests. Maybe you have something in your system that has set it off."
(grossly sigh)
That gross Mole. I thought.
He sent us to a local clinic for blood work. I went in, had no idea what the nurse was saying to me, but trusted her enough to let her stick a large needle into my arm. She could see right through my nods. I clearly did not speak Spanish. She turned to my husband and told us to come back for our results the next morning. She gave me a pathetic goodbye and sent us out the door.
It was a long night. I think we played a game of poker with American money on our bed as we dreamed what it would be like to have a child. I don't think it helped me. I don't remember sleeping that night. I was like a child waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.
The next morning we were up & out early. We didn't have a car, so we rode the local "do you want to die" bus to the clinic. We rushed through the doors like two, crazy Americans who lacked tacked & patience. The lady behind the counter tossed an envelope as we handed over 70 pesos. I looked around and saw that every single person in that waiting room was watching us. We obviously didn't belong.
I'm not sure that I wanted these strangers to see my disappointed and tears. So, we walked outside and stood on the corner. My husband slowly opened the envelope and read the words, "embarazada".
What in the heck does "embarazada" mean?! I demanded to know.
At this point, I'm so frustrated with having to go through this in a language that I didn't quite know yet.
My husband's smile seem to catch the rays of the sun at that moment. He is the one who had that pregnancy glow. I remember his words, "Jackie, you are pregnant. We're having a baby!"
We screamed. We jumped. We hugged. We cried. And then we realized that we were standing on the corner of one of the busiest streets.
Holy crap! I thought as we walked away. We're having a baby.
Or it could be a horse. Those pills were insane.
Overall, the pregnancy went well. We found a wonderful OBGYN who spoke slowly to Sergio making sure that he understood everything that was happening. I had absolutely no clue what was going on in my dr appointments. He would talk and my eyes would go cross eyed. I would leave crying. I had the stupid book "what to expect when you are expecting", but it didn't have a chapter titled, "what to expect when you are expecting your first child in a foreign country & can't speak the language"!
At around 5 months, we traveled back to the states to purchase a car. We had spent one day after work one the local "death" bus where Sergio was literally hanging out the door holding on for dear life as we traveled down the highway. I watched him as I sat on the dashboard. I could barely breathe. It was at that point that we decided to buy a car.
At around 36 weeks, I noticed that the baby wasn't moving. I hadn't felt a kick in over 24 hrs. We rushed up to the doctors office and immediately began testing.
The doppler result showed the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby's neck 3 times. He was shrinking in size rather than growing. It was a devastating result. We could only pray that the cord would unravel itself.
Another day past and I still didn't feel him move. We rushed back up to the doctor's office and were told that it was too early to do a cesearen. We'd have to wait a week.
A week?!
For this hormonal lady, that wasn't going to cut it. Our friends drove us up to the American Hospital located in the heart of Mexico City. At the stoplight, we were pulled over by a policeman. Our friend starts yelling at him, "There's a baby back there who is about to die! You have to move and let us get to the hospital!" He was a lunatic.
And he scared the crap out of me. "Was my baby really about to die?"
Shortly after checking into the hospital, we were told the same thing. Wait one more week. The baby isn't ready yet.
I felt helpless. I felt like no one in the hospital cared about my child. Sergio looked over at me and said, "there are over 9 million people in this city alone! Surely they know what they are talking about."
I think this was suppose to comfort me, but it didn't.
I couldn't get on a plane or drive to the states. I was too far along and it posed too many threats. So, I was stuck. Stuck in one of the biggest cities in the world waiting.
Stuck for one long week.
The day came when the cesearen was scheduled and I still hadn't felt our baby move. We parked our car at a grocery store and walked down an alley (an alley!) to where the dr office was located. We checked in, got into the room, and I was led alone into a small closet size area. The nurse pointed & said, "siente. mesa." Sit. Table. Someone must've informed her about me. I appreciated her simple gesture.
That is, until she whipped out one of those cheap yellow, BIC razors to shave my goods.
What in the heck?
All my modesty boundaries went out of the door. I painfully gave this woman full control over my body.
I became numb & violated.
She then directed me into the operating room & onto the bed. A man leaned in from behind me and touched my shoulder. He said nothing. He simply pointed to himself, pointed to a 3ft needle, & then touched my spine.
Ok. I get it. You are going to stab me in the back while the others cut me wide open.
Deep breath. Let's get this over with, I thought.
But then this lady stood in front of me. She grabbed my head and pushed it down towards my knees. She wasn't getting me down far enough because my massive belly kept bopping my head back up. The anesthesiologist spoke firmly to her and before I knew it, her whole body weight was pressing my head between my legs. As she held me there, I painfully thought that I was going to die. I no longer wanted to be here.
I felt my gown open up in the back. My backside was fully exposed, iodine spread over me, and the needle pinched through my skin.
Please Lord, I don't want to be paralyzed.
I closed my eyes as the tears rolled down my face.
I was terrified.
I was cold.
I was alone.
The nurse finally got off of my head and I could breath. I was told to lay down. I looked over and saw a familiar face. Our doctor on staff was standing near me. As the nurses strapped my arms to the bed, reassured me that I was going to be okay.
I kept my eyes fixed upon his face until the curtain blocked my view of the surgery. I looked down to notice my gown pushed all the way up to my chest. Here I lay, completely exposed and fully trusting people that I could not understand.
A few minutes passed and they allowed Sergio to walk in. The first thing he sees is my stomach cut wide open and the top layer flapped over.
I'm surprised that he didn't pass out. Instead, he walked over to me and gently carrassed my face.
I was no longer alone.
I was no longer terrified.
I don't remember hearing the sounds of our son's first cries. But I remember Sergio's face. He looked over the curtain and with tears in his eyes, he looked back at me. His smile was that of a proud daddy.
The pediatrician brought our boy over to me. One arm was now unstrapped. Instead of reaching up to touch our child, I began stroking the arm of the pediatrician. I'm going to blame that one on the medicine.
The anesthesiologist said something to me about putting me to sleep in order to close me up again.
Before I could ask any questions, I was knocked out.
I woke up in an empty, damp hallway. I laid there waiting & wondering if our baby was going to be okay.
Later, I found out that his lungs weren't fully developed and he was placed in an incubator.
Three days passed until I was able to hold him in my arms. All that I had experienced didn't matter anymore. We had our baby. And he was perfect.
You see, my husband and I had spent a couple of years trying to conceive a child. But receiving disappointing results month after month, led us to an infertility doctor. At this time, we were living right outside of Mexico City & my Spanish skills, well, they were pretty lame. I knew how to ask "cuanta cuesta por la coca lite" how much for a diet coke and "donde esta el bano" where is the bathroom. I knew a tad more, but it was still pretty lame.
And in my desperation, we found ourselves a local fertility doctor. We sat in her office while I tried to explain our situtation. I'm sure my words were translated into something like this: me want baby. i have problems. give me pills. i pay you good.
I'm not quite sure that she knew what to do with me. She quickly signed over a prescription of infertility pills and we immediately went to the drug store. I can't tell you what she prescribed to me. If they were magic pills, I wanted them all. I faithfully took each and every horse size pill for months.
Until one day, I threw up after eating Mole. If you've never had it before, it is a complex, smooth sauce with just a hint of spice and chocolate at the end. It is a deliciously, acquired taste. Like a type of gravy over chicken. But this night, it made me want to die.
This was unusual because I rarely get sick. I remember looking at my husband with wishful eyes. To me, this could only mean one of two things. I was either pregnant or had a bad case of food poisioning.
Feeling as though I was a professional, pregnancy tester with a high percentage rate of disappointment, I was hesitant to take the test the following morning. I didn't want to see just one freaking blue line. I want two. Two strong & tall blue lines standing straight up as if they were proudly applauding my high levels of HCG, the pregnancy hormone.
As I watched my urine drip slowly down the stick, I saw two faint lines. Not bright as the sky blue, more like a barely even there blue. I shook my head. So, am I pregnant or not? Faint lines are cruel jokes.
We called the local doctor on staff where we work. He had me take another test. When he reviewed the results, he quieted his voice and said these words, "Listen. I don't want you to get your hopes up. I have seen many false positive tests. Maybe you have something in your system that has set it off."
(grossly sigh)
That gross Mole. I thought.
He sent us to a local clinic for blood work. I went in, had no idea what the nurse was saying to me, but trusted her enough to let her stick a large needle into my arm. She could see right through my nods. I clearly did not speak Spanish. She turned to my husband and told us to come back for our results the next morning. She gave me a pathetic goodbye and sent us out the door.
It was a long night. I think we played a game of poker with American money on our bed as we dreamed what it would be like to have a child. I don't think it helped me. I don't remember sleeping that night. I was like a child waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.
The next morning we were up & out early. We didn't have a car, so we rode the local "do you want to die" bus to the clinic. We rushed through the doors like two, crazy Americans who lacked tacked & patience. The lady behind the counter tossed an envelope as we handed over 70 pesos. I looked around and saw that every single person in that waiting room was watching us. We obviously didn't belong.
I'm not sure that I wanted these strangers to see my disappointed and tears. So, we walked outside and stood on the corner. My husband slowly opened the envelope and read the words, "embarazada".
What in the heck does "embarazada" mean?! I demanded to know.
At this point, I'm so frustrated with having to go through this in a language that I didn't quite know yet.
My husband's smile seem to catch the rays of the sun at that moment. He is the one who had that pregnancy glow. I remember his words, "Jackie, you are pregnant. We're having a baby!"
We screamed. We jumped. We hugged. We cried. And then we realized that we were standing on the corner of one of the busiest streets.
Holy crap! I thought as we walked away. We're having a baby.
Or it could be a horse. Those pills were insane.
Overall, the pregnancy went well. We found a wonderful OBGYN who spoke slowly to Sergio making sure that he understood everything that was happening. I had absolutely no clue what was going on in my dr appointments. He would talk and my eyes would go cross eyed. I would leave crying. I had the stupid book "what to expect when you are expecting", but it didn't have a chapter titled, "what to expect when you are expecting your first child in a foreign country & can't speak the language"!
At around 5 months, we traveled back to the states to purchase a car. We had spent one day after work one the local "death" bus where Sergio was literally hanging out the door holding on for dear life as we traveled down the highway. I watched him as I sat on the dashboard. I could barely breathe. It was at that point that we decided to buy a car.
At around 36 weeks, I noticed that the baby wasn't moving. I hadn't felt a kick in over 24 hrs. We rushed up to the doctors office and immediately began testing.
The doppler result showed the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby's neck 3 times. He was shrinking in size rather than growing. It was a devastating result. We could only pray that the cord would unravel itself.
Another day past and I still didn't feel him move. We rushed back up to the doctor's office and were told that it was too early to do a cesearen. We'd have to wait a week.
A week?!
For this hormonal lady, that wasn't going to cut it. Our friends drove us up to the American Hospital located in the heart of Mexico City. At the stoplight, we were pulled over by a policeman. Our friend starts yelling at him, "There's a baby back there who is about to die! You have to move and let us get to the hospital!" He was a lunatic.
And he scared the crap out of me. "Was my baby really about to die?"
Shortly after checking into the hospital, we were told the same thing. Wait one more week. The baby isn't ready yet.
I felt helpless. I felt like no one in the hospital cared about my child. Sergio looked over at me and said, "there are over 9 million people in this city alone! Surely they know what they are talking about."
I think this was suppose to comfort me, but it didn't.
I couldn't get on a plane or drive to the states. I was too far along and it posed too many threats. So, I was stuck. Stuck in one of the biggest cities in the world waiting.
Stuck for one long week.
The day came when the cesearen was scheduled and I still hadn't felt our baby move. We parked our car at a grocery store and walked down an alley (an alley!) to where the dr office was located. We checked in, got into the room, and I was led alone into a small closet size area. The nurse pointed & said, "siente. mesa." Sit. Table. Someone must've informed her about me. I appreciated her simple gesture.
That is, until she whipped out one of those cheap yellow, BIC razors to shave my goods.
What in the heck?
All my modesty boundaries went out of the door. I painfully gave this woman full control over my body.
I became numb & violated.
She then directed me into the operating room & onto the bed. A man leaned in from behind me and touched my shoulder. He said nothing. He simply pointed to himself, pointed to a 3ft needle, & then touched my spine.
Ok. I get it. You are going to stab me in the back while the others cut me wide open.
Deep breath. Let's get this over with, I thought.
But then this lady stood in front of me. She grabbed my head and pushed it down towards my knees. She wasn't getting me down far enough because my massive belly kept bopping my head back up. The anesthesiologist spoke firmly to her and before I knew it, her whole body weight was pressing my head between my legs. As she held me there, I painfully thought that I was going to die. I no longer wanted to be here.
I felt my gown open up in the back. My backside was fully exposed, iodine spread over me, and the needle pinched through my skin.
Please Lord, I don't want to be paralyzed.
I closed my eyes as the tears rolled down my face.
I was terrified.
I was cold.
I was alone.
The nurse finally got off of my head and I could breath. I was told to lay down. I looked over and saw a familiar face. Our doctor on staff was standing near me. As the nurses strapped my arms to the bed, reassured me that I was going to be okay.
I kept my eyes fixed upon his face until the curtain blocked my view of the surgery. I looked down to notice my gown pushed all the way up to my chest. Here I lay, completely exposed and fully trusting people that I could not understand.
A few minutes passed and they allowed Sergio to walk in. The first thing he sees is my stomach cut wide open and the top layer flapped over.
I'm surprised that he didn't pass out. Instead, he walked over to me and gently carrassed my face.
I was no longer alone.
I was no longer terrified.
I don't remember hearing the sounds of our son's first cries. But I remember Sergio's face. He looked over the curtain and with tears in his eyes, he looked back at me. His smile was that of a proud daddy.
The pediatrician brought our boy over to me. One arm was now unstrapped. Instead of reaching up to touch our child, I began stroking the arm of the pediatrician. I'm going to blame that one on the medicine.
The anesthesiologist said something to me about putting me to sleep in order to close me up again.
Before I could ask any questions, I was knocked out.
I woke up in an empty, damp hallway. I laid there waiting & wondering if our baby was going to be okay.
Later, I found out that his lungs weren't fully developed and he was placed in an incubator.
Three days passed until I was able to hold him in my arms. All that I had experienced didn't matter anymore. We had our baby. And he was perfect.
 |
| Josiah (3 days old) |
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