Maya’s Birth Story

Maya is one week old today. I am still in a haze (partially drug-induced) but if I don’t write this down, I will forget. I have already forgotten some details and need pictures to trigger my memory. I don’t know why it is so hard to remember the birth of a child. It’s like the memory of a dream that keeps slipping away when you focus on it.

The weekend before Maya’s birth I remember well. I was frantic. I actually started sobbing in the car for no particular reason on Saturday, purely because I was overwhelmed with the amount of stuff that needed to be done. I finally had to give up and let my house be dirty and let some things just go…so we wouldn’t have our room ready or the changing table put together. So what. Marti made me lie down and calm myself before I went to pick up Carrie, and then Carrie and I had fun shopping for some last minute items, like cute pajamas for the hospital. With Ben, I was totally unprepared and spent 5 days in a hospital gown, an experience I didn’t care to repeat. This time I packed, and even brought a hair dryer and make-up. I felt hard-core, like my college friend who wore lipstick to crew practice at 5 a.m.

Sunday we mostly lounged, ate breakfast at The Good Egg and spent a good bit of time at Mrs. Tiggywinkles Toy Store. Mostly we just wasted the day or ran more minor errands, and it felt good. We all tried to go to bed reasonably early, because we had to be at the hospital at 6:30 a.m. the next morning, but I just couldn’t sleep. I sat up talking to Carrie until after midnight, mostly because I was terrified.

As some of you know, we found out Maya would have a cleft lip at our 24-week ultrasound. I had a total of five ultrasounds this pregnancy, including a 3-D ultrasound. We also worried about a lot of other terms the doctors tossed around, like genetic abnormalities, trisome 13, kidney disfunction and down syndrome, in addition to the more obvious cleft palate possibility. I saw a young mentally disabled man with a cleft scar at my storytime the Wednesday before I was scheduled for the C-section, and it freaked me out because he was normal in all other ways, except that he was mentally about 6 years old. I was afraid I couldn’t love a disabled child — that I wouldn’t be strong enough. It’s hard to know.

I guess I won’t know, at least not this time. Maya came out perfect. She has a small cleft but no other signs of any problems.

When Marti brought her to me and I looked at her face, my very first thought was, “Oh God, she’s so beautiful.” I had prepared myself for a scary face or a gaping hole at the top of her mouth. I looked at a lot of newborn cleft pictures and either they all had much worse clefts or I just looked at them with different eyes, but regardless, I cried with happiness when I saw Maya’s sweet face.

The last few weeks before her birth I started to feel her spirit or personality — whatever you might call it. It was a peaceful, sweet spirit, and it comforted me. I knew she was there, a whole person, whatever problems or “defects” she might have. It was still overwhelming to finally see her face, though.

After she was born, it took forever for me to get to her. They had to sew me up. I threw up a few times. The doctor took my uterus out and looked at it (very weird). It felt like my lower abdomen was a construction site, what with all the tugging and pulling. The anesthesiologist was very accomodating, considering the fact that he accidentally hit my spinal cord during the spinal and caused my right side to explode in pain for a short time (and to twitch uncontrollably — it was another strange experience). But finally, finally, they took me to the recovery room and I got to hold her — my beautiful baby girl.

Ben was very excited, and we were happy to see Maya nursing just fine, despite her lip. She was 8 pounds 10 ounces and I couldn’t believe what a miracle she was. With Ben, I was so exhausted and drugged I couldn’t remember much of what happened, but this time was much easier. We stayed in the recovery room until I could move my legs and then they took me to my room.

I don’t remember a lot of the next few hours. We admired Maya, which we are still doing, and I itched all over, a reaction to the anesthesia. Marti took Ben to school and came back, and I think I dozed a lot, both from the anesthesia and the Benadryl they gave me for the itching. My nurse freaked a little about Maya’s cleft and it seemed like a parade of people showed up to watch me put my boob in her mouth, thus adding to the Large Numbers Of People Who Have Seen My Breasts. Carrie went to get Ben and the nurse and I went a round or two — she refused to leave Maya with me while Marti walked Carrie to the car. I argued with her for at least 5 minutes. She insisted I was too drugged, and I said, “Where will Maya go? Will she crawl out of her little crib in the next 10 minutes?” She finally won (my legs still wouldn’t move enough to let me tackle her) but barely got out the door before Marti returned, so basically, I won. Not that I care about Winning. Of course not.

The day nurse refused to give me any food because I had thrown up in surgery, so Carrie came to my rescue when she returned with Ben. She brought me a sandwich from Beyond Bread and some pasta salad as well as some hostess cupcakes, bless her. I had a couple cupcakes before I ate half a chicken sandwich, half a grilled cheese sandwich and the pasta salad. Nobody said anything and the night nurse came in, checked my vitals and such and left. Later, as I was finishing off the grilled cheese, one of the orderlies came in and asked where I had gotten the food. I said my family had brought it in, and she basically said, “Drop the sandwich.” She told me not to eat any more. The night nurse came back and was horrified — she hadn’t realized I was a C-section — and said I wasn’t to have solid foods yet. She asked what I ate, and I started listing things off, watching her eyes grow bigger and bigger. She finally cut me off and said, “Okay, so you’ve had a lot of food.” I said yes and she told me not to eat any more. I meekly said okay, and later that night, I only ate one more cupcake. After all, I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours and was starving.

I was fine that night, and the next day, and the next night, but the nurse did have her revenge. My body refused to digest that food, and I was in terrible pain by the end of the week. I took laxatives, stool softeners and anti-gas pills, but when I finally passed that food, I swear the sandwiches, the pasta salad and the Hostess cupcakes practically came out whole. At least it felt like it.

The evening of that first day Marti’s supervisor and some of his coworkers came to visit. I was totally and completely out of my mind on drugs, but I do remember making jokes. When they asked about Maya’s lip, I told them she was a “Hollywood baby, because she’s only a few hours old and already has her own plastic surgeon.” I also had to tell them about the nurse who, while I was prepping for surgery, opened the door part-way and said, “…rectal probe…” before closing the door again. I just about jumped out of my skin and Carrie just laughed and laughed. She swears they scripted it, it was timed so well. Of course, a rectal probe is NOT required for a routine C-section, thank heavens. I avoided one even after my unauthorized eating expedition.

That’s about it. Maya’s first night she slept so well we couldn’t even wake her to feed her. They pricked her foot to test her blood sugar and she slept through that as well. The night nurse, who was very nice despite my food rebellion, hung out and told me about her kids, since I had a hard time sleeping. I spent a lot of time just staring at Maya and petting her beautiful, soft head, which might be the softest thing I have ever touched. And the morning and the evening made it the first day.