When I checked in to the hospital I thought we would be stuck there for weeks, maybe months. The baby had been stable during my monitoring and I was feeling more movement everyday. I was looking forward to having another ultrasound because I was certain it would show marked improvement. I was caught completely off-guard when things deteriorated so quickly. When my nurse first put me on oxygen that night we didn’t imagine we would be having a baby before noon the next day.  The baby had been sleepy on the monitor a few nights before and some IV fluids seemed to fix the problem pretty quickly. I was certain it would be the same scenario, and at first it seemed like it was. After only about 20 minutes of oxygen and fluids the baby’s heart rate perked back up and I was allowed to take off my mask and get up to go to the bathroom.

Travis and I tried to continue watching the movie we had started but we didn’t make much progress. Just after midnight the charge nurse came running into my room. We knew her from previous nights. She was smart and kind but she was strict and didn’t mess around. I had secretly named her mean Jean a few nights earlier. She immediately told me I needed to roll on to my left side and put the oxygen mask back on my face. I was a little irritated at all the commotion. “Can I go to the bathroom first?” I asked her. She sternly told me, “no. The baby is too unstable.” I tried not to roll my eyes as I complied with her orders. The baby has been fine all day. She’s overreacting, I thought. She held the little discs of the monitor in place on my belly and turned the sound up on the machine in order to hear the baby’s heartbeat. She sat on the side of my bed and I looked at Travis who had now moved across the room. Seriously? We were both a little agitated that we couldn’t finish our movie thinking this was another false alarm.

Jean kept one hand on my belly holding the monitors in place for a few minutes before she fumbled with her phone in the other. “Yeah, I need help in here,” She said with urgency in her voice. A moment later another nurse arrived. “Baby’s been down about seven minutes,” she reported. “I witnessed it.” Next thing I knew all the lights were turned on and there was a frenzy of nurses going to work. No one was talking to us they were only taking to each other. I had suddenly disappeared behind my belly as the baby became the focus of everyone in the room, including me. I didn’t care that they weren’t keeping me informed, I knew they were trying to save my baby and that was enough for me.

One nurse came running in with bags of fluid and lines of IV tubing. She seemed panicked as she clumsily fumbled with all the plastic packaging. I could tell they had too much to do and not enough hands. Travis picked up on it too. He immediately jumped up and grabbed supplies and went to work hanging lines. I laid there watching almost in a daze, unable to process that this was actually happening. I don’t know how much time passed but just as quickly as they came rushing in, everyone seemed to shuffle out and there was calm again. It was just me, Travis and my night nurse.

I’m not really clear on what happened next. It all becomes sort of a haze of random memories mushed together. I think the OB hospitalist came and told me we were going in the direction of c-section. Baby had become too unstable and we couldn’t risk keeping me pregnant any longer than necessary. I told her that my dad was about an hour away and we wanted him here for the c-section. She told me to wait to call him. She still wanted me to have the magnesium sulfate, the IV medication that would help protect the baby’s premature brain from bleeding, so it would be at least a few hours. It was the middle of the night and he was certainly sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him too early. I knew whatever happened it was going to be a long day and I wanted everyone well rested. She assured me we would have time to call him and get him here, and she would let me know when I should call. It seemed logical so I waited. In the meantime the plan was IV drugs, sign surgical consents, meet the anesthesiologist, and of course, remain in bed. I’m sure at some point she assured me that I didn’t cause this and I did everything right, but it fell on deaf ears.

I didn’t, and still don’t, quite understand what happened to make things change so quickly. I had been so active that day going to the pool and walking and having visitors that even now I worry that I overdid it and stressed the baby. Or maybe all my activity, or hers, caused her cord to be compressed and her heart rate to drop. In reality it’s unlikely that anything I did that day had any effect on her well-being, but as any mother can tell you, irrationally blaming yourself for things that happen to your children is part of the definition of motherhood. I will never know what happened to her inside of me that day, and it doesn’t matter because as I know now, she never had a chance of living outside my womb. But because I am her mother I will spend the remainder of my days filled with needless and unproductive worry, looking for an answer that will never come.

Once the decision for delivery had been made there was much less commotion. I even started to feel strangely calm, perhaps because an end was in sight. There was no more wondering about how long I would be in the hospital or worrying that Travis would miss the delivery and I’d be alone while surgeons cut into me. He was here and I wasn’t alone, for that I was grateful. I had done everything I could for this baby and now all I could do was stay laying on my left side and leave the rest up to the surgeons, or God or the universe or whatever might be watching over us.

My nurse returned almost immediately after the doctor left and she got my medications started prior to delivery. She warned me that it might hurt a little and that it makes people feel kind of sick sometimes. She definitely downplayed it. I like to think I have a pretty high pain tolerance but the pain of the medication in my IV was almost unbearable. The muscles in my arm were cramping so intensely it felt like someone was repeatedly punching me. I didn’t expect it to hurt this much and it scared me. I thought something must be wrong with the IV but when I mentioned it to my nurse she confirmed that it was a normal side-effect. They wanted the first dose of the medication to run in to my IV quickly and she told me it would take about 20 minutes. “Ok,” I thought. “Hang in there. Just 20 more minutes.” I rolled further on to my left side, since I wasn’t allowed to move anywhere else, and clenched my jaw tightly just barely allowing the expletives to leave my mouth in a whisper. The pain was further intensified by my escalating fear. I didn’t know what to expect. This was not a pain I had anticipated and I didn’t know if it was going to get worse or if it was so bad because there was a problem. Labor was painful when I had Logan but at least I knew it was coming and it was normal, and I knew I would be rewarded with a baby when it was all done. I didn’t know anything about this pain and I didn’t know if it would bring anything more than heartbreak at the end.

I could slowly feel myself losing control of the pain and my emotions. I was imagining the relief I would feel if I just pulled my IV out. I wanted to give up, wave the white flag, cry uncle, anything to make it stop but then I remembered this wasn’t about me anymore. This was about her, about saving her. The thought of my tiny baby gave me the push I needed to fight the pain and put on a brave face. I had been looking forward to labor and giving birth to my baby. I wanted to be stronger this time around and not let labor pain take over like it did when I had Logan. I decided this was my chance. This was it. This wasn’t how I’d hoped it would happen, but this was my labor. I practiced the breathing techniques I taught to my patients in childbirth class. I picked a focal point. I visualized a place I’d rather be, and I continued to breathe. I don’t know if it worked or if my pain receptors ran out of steam but I started to feel relief for a moment until my nurse informed what was next…. a urinary catheter.

I knew my medication could make me feel sick but no one told me that it would make me unsteady on my feet. So unsteady, in fact, that they didn’t even want to let me try to get up. I was now restricted to my bed which meant I could no longer get up to use the bathroom. My nurse informed me that she was going to insert a urinary catheter now since I couldn’t get up, and besides I’d need one for my c-section anyway. It made sense. I was a little nervous since I’d never had one without an epidural. Of course, like most pregnant women, any mention of the bathroom made me feel like I had to pee so the urge hit me like a ton of bricks. I told myself it would be a moment of discomfort followed by the relief of emptying my bladder. I thought it would make the rest of the night more pleasant now that I wouldn’t need to pee every 5 minutes. I was wrong. So incredibly wrong. Well, not totally wrong, the discomfort was there, but there was no relief. The tube went in and then…..nothing. There was no relief. I still felt like my bladder was full and I still felt like I had to go to the bathroom. It was a new kind of misery I had not experienced before.

At this point I lost all track of time. The medicine continued to drip into my arm, the monitor was on my belly, my bladder felt full, and I was trapped on my left side, that damn left side! I used to love sleeping on my side before I got pregnant with Logan but now I can honestly say I hate it. When I’m on my left sometimes my heart beats so hard that I can actually feel it hitting my ribs and it feels like it slams the mattress underneath me. Even when that’s not happening, laying on my side is rough. For those that don’t know, I want you to envision what it’s like for pregnant women to try to get comfortable in bed. We don’t just lay down and shut our eyes. We toss, we turn, then we toss again. In preparation for childbirth our hips spread out and sometimes our pubic bones hurt. Mine felt like I had been kicked in the crotch since week 14. Then we put 20+ pounds on to that already sore frame of bones and try not to suffocate under the massive boobs that are creeping up near our faces. Simply put, I was uncomfortable. I wanted to toss and turn. I also wanted to eat. And drink.

Surgery would be happening soon and I was no longer allowed to eat or drink anything. I had my usual pregnancy thirst but the medication amplified it to a whole new level. I had never been thirsty like that before. It was all I could think about. I nearly cried tears of joy sucking on the few ice chips the doctors allowed me to have after some begging. The bacon smell was starting to tempt me too as it came floating through the vents and in to my nostrils but I knew better than to ask for food. The last thing I ate was my dinner the night before. I wished I had eaten something tastier and more of it. It would be over 24 hours before the next time I would eat solid food.

Travis distracted me by reviewing our list of names and getting us to narrow it down to just a few. We also composed an e-mail update to send to our friends and family. We figured there would be a lot of commotion following delivery and we wanted to be prepared with a pre-written update of the nights events and the need for delivery. We would write the ending and send it out after the baby was born.

More distraction came in the form of teams of doctors and anesthesiologists and nurses. I signed consents, asked questions and nodded my head a lot. I looked at the clock and it was almost 6, but still no one had told me to call my dad. I didn’t want to wait any longer. I picked up the phone and made the call. He would be in the car in a few minutes. My mom and Logan would wait at home.

The OB team came in to talk one last time before surgery and to let me know that there was a chance I would need a classical incision. I couldn’t hold it together any longer and sobbed into my oxygen mask. A c-section was bad enough but I had come to terms with it. A giant scar down my abdomen was a whole different story. That wasn’t even on my radar. I didn’t want to be maimed and scarred. I didn’t want my baby to be born this way. I didn’t want this baby born at all yet, it was too soon. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go!

My head was spinning in a swirling sea of self-pity until I was overtaken by my guilt. My baby was about to be born and all I could think about was myself. Even worse, when I did think about the baby I still couldn’t decide what I was hoping for. I wanted a heathy, full-term baby and that was no longer an option. The future held a handful of possibilities that were all horrible and equally as terrifying. What could I possibly hope for in this scenario where my baby was about to be born at 26 weeks? There was no happy ending. I thought about praying but I didn’t know what it was I wanted God to do for me, or if I even deserved an answer.

Travis changed into his scrubs for surgery and I texted my sister at 7 AM on Monday, May 16. “And time is up,” I wrote. “Dad is on his way. Baby is coming out soon. And I feel like a fucking asshole because I still don’t know what I want the outcome to be…”