A dear friend of ours offered to host a celebration of womanhood/labour/delivery for C and I. My family was attending from out of town, mutual friends, and friends of C as well. I drove in to the city the evening before the event so that I could do some shopping and stay with family as well as attend a meeting between C, myself and our doula, J.
I received some emails from C during the afternoon, while I was shopping, indicating that she was at the hospital having follow up completed regarding a cough she had had. She indicated that she might be late. I expressed my sympathies - no one likes to feel sick - and carried on my day. There was some conversation about whether or not to cancel our meeting, but J and I were both already in town and would meet when C was out of her appointment.
I have come to learn that when C asks to speak on the phone rather than text back and forth, it often means that there is something more serious to discuss. As I recall, she told me her phone was dying and she needed to talk. I was sitting in a restaurant, eating a mediocre meal on my own, believing all was right in my world. Then I spoke to C. Her voice was shaking, on the verge of crying, as she indicated that she was in triage in obstetrics being assessed. She said that they were concerned about her and the baby, as their heart rates were both elevated. She indicated that they were not allowing her to eat and seemed to be considering the possibility of an emergency cesarean section. In that moment we were both filled with fear as I ended my meal and headed to the hospital.
The drive to the hospital was an intense one. My emotions cycled as I went between near-immobilizing fear that something might happen to my baby, or C, and some smidgen of excitement that I might meet my baby today. I considered that at 35 weeks along, the baby may be okay or that I may be facing days and weeks in the NICU.
Returning to TOH's obstetrical unit is never easy for me, and this was no exception. I presented at the reception guest and identified myself as the mother of the baby C was carrying and they took me to the assessment room. There was C, in the room I was taken to when I went into labour with Patrick and Maggie. The same bed that they took my temperature, blood work, where I struggled to understand what was happening. And I sat beside C, in the seat my sister had occupied that awful October morning. C was teary and hungry and thirsty, and skeptical of the care she was receiving. In fact, the care we received as it related to evidence-based care, respect for alternative pre-natal care approaches, and communication were generally poor. One nurse seemed unable to change her vocabulary to demonstrate a respect for the surrogacy arrangement, calling C 'mother' and referring to her baby. They advised against midwifery and suggested a planned c-section, amongst other things.
Medically speaking, C was quite unwell. Her heart rate was elevated, especially when she moved. The baby's heart rate had also been high, but with treatment of C's fever, the baby settled. C was admitted for continued monitoring and to try to identify the source of illness. We were first put into labour & delivery, where we listened to a woman give birth in hysterics. We laughed nervously; it sounded like a hospital-based horror film. C was in severe pain due to coughing and it was late at night. They eventually provided her with medications to sleep and we each tried to rest - a challenge for both of us as I was also quite pregnant and sleeping on a hard pull-out chair!
It seemed like only moments after the medications began to take affect that a nurse came and said we would move rooms. So at 4am, we collected our things and walked to the post-L&D area. We walked down the long hall and as I followed I was certain that my luck could not be so bad, they would not admit us into the same room in which I had been admitted after giving birth to the twins. But, they did. I was silent. I felt nauseous. I could not manage the emotional over-load of watching C and that pregnancy in the hospital, while also processing all the memories that exist in that room. I could hear the crying. I could remember the conversations - the doctor telling us Patrick had a brain bleed, the failed IV attempts, EllaGrace climbing into the bed - where C now sat - and asking questions about my health and the babies. I sat in the chair and began to weep. I could not speak. I could not explained to C or the nurses what was happening. I believe I managed to finally utter something like "this is where I was" to C. I remember a nurse asking "what's wrong with that one?", as these two pregnant women seemed to be increasingly in disarray! Thankfully C told the nurses and they moved quickly to change our room.
The information flow was slow, conflicting, and frustrating while C was admitted. We could not decipher what was a potential problem compared to what was simply about doctor comfort zones vs. that of midwives. I stayed with her one night and C stayed a second night. The celebration planned took place nonetheless, save for guests who were attending for C. I took refuge in knowing my aunts were in town and that they would take care of us - and they did. Thank goodness for them, I have relied heavily on their emotional presence and general helpfulness a lot in the last few years. C was eventually diagnosed with a flu and discharged from the hospital where she rested for a few more days. The stress was intense but it ended well - thank goodness.
xx
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