The Arrival of Roux: Part Two
English teachers love a good cliffhanger. Actually, I think most people do. A cliffhanger fails when the outcome is already known – yes, I’m alive! Roux is thriving! Our emergency room visit becomes a mere plot twist in our original discharge from the hospital. However if you’re still curious how our first week with Roux turned out, read on…
Missed Part One? Read that first…
We will never forget that first night at home. Roux slept so peacefully during the nights at the hospital that we were fairly confident that our little miracle boy would gift us with the same peace at home. That night, however, was GRUELING. Finally rewarded with the comfort of my own bed, I can say that my bed and I made very little contact that night as our dear son wanted nothing else but constant movement. Every hour or two, Scott and I would trade on and off who was rocking and pacing. By 6 am I was completely depleted of energy and sanity, so when I awoke feeling slightly feverish in our air conditioned bedroom, I chalked the heat up to new hormones and sleep deprivation. There was no way to tell the difference between weakness from regular postpartum recovery, two transfusions, lack of sleep, or something else. I walked around that morning feeling just out-of-body, but having just had a baby, how is one supposed to feel?
I called the pediatrician first thing for Roux’s first appointment and they were able to squeeze us in at 12:30pm that day. I slowly got ready, losing steam with every step. By the time I climbed in the backseat with Roux, I began to feel a little lightheaded, still feverish. As our pediatrician is in Batavia, I had half of the ride to ponder whether or not I should voice my concern to Scott and make a call to the doctor. However, as we arrived in Batavia I started to feel that whatever was wrong was getting progressively worse by the minute and I was barely able to hold the phone to make the call. I was advised to head to the ER where they could check my vitals, thinking it had something to do with the blood loss. I didn’t want to miss Roux’s appointment, so we decided after his check-up we would head down the street to the hospital and get everything checked out. I sat in the office, tears in my eyes, unable to fill out any of his paperwork or answer any questions – I was simply too disorientated to comprehend. Our dear pediatrician only did what was absolutely necessary for Roux before rushing us out the door.
When we arrived at the ER, somewhere in my unmasked stay at the hospital and a negative Covid test, I must have forgotten that ERs are still scary places in a Covid world. I was admitted but was forced to leave my 3 day old child, who had not eaten since before we left for Batavia, in the waiting room with Scott. I left him there, crying for me, hungry and without his mother. If you want an ugly headspace, that is one way to induce the most severe postpartum anxiety that I can’t even explain. No part of Roux’s birth was as traumatic as sitting in the dark recesses of the emergency room, feeling too weak to stand yet raging with the maternal need to be with and feed my child.
I fought for hours, as every nurse and doctor poked and prodded in an attempt to find a vein able to procure enough blood for tests, crying uncontrollably for my baby. Not knowing why I was fevering and what was lingering in my system to produce the effect, they kept me there in purgatory not knowing what to do with me. I was told so many things that afternoon as I begged for Scott and Roux. I had no milk supply at home, Roux hadn’t eaten, and as my milk was coming in simultaneously I was left without a way to relieve any of the pressure and pain hooked up to a million monitors and machines. In an act of divine intervention, my sister messaged my dear friend (to whom I am eternally grateful) who willingly supplied her own milk for Roux when Scott and he arrived home. I could hear nurses in that ER talk outside my cube about why I just wasn’t formula feeding, what the big deal was, etc. In case you are wondering the same thing, all I can say is that the fears I had over the successful feeding of my child became very emotional for me after he was born, and I wanted nothing to impede the one thing that had gone completely right after his birth.
I just sat in that hospital bed, awash in pain, anxiety, and the intense disconnect knowing I was in an emergency room 40 minutes away from Scott, my unwavering source of strength and power, and Roux, my newborn child who up until then, was completely reliant on me.
The sense of failure, helplessness and devastation I will never forget in my entire life.
I was told that I might be in the hospital for days on a different floor, not the maternity floor which had proven to be my sanctuary. For hours they tried to determine the source of the fever, and presumably infection, which if contagious clearly meant that I could never be admitted to a floor with mamas and their babes. But if I was on a different floor, it meant that Scott and Roux would never be allowed to stay with me and they would be limited to visiting hours. I fought and fought and fought – I was adamant that if a room in the hospital could not be made available to the three of us, there was no way I was staying. It’s amazing the maternal instincts that kick in only days after you have a child. My child needed me just as much as I needed him, and I was not going to be separated.
Not knowing the outcome of whether I was going to be admitted, Scott left Roux in the hands of my sister and went back to the ER on the chance they would let him in to be with me even for a few minutes. Because of one nurse from Medina who knows us both, Scott was allowed to see me before anything was determined. I remember hearing his voice before seeing him step around the curtain, and his mere entrance shattered the remaining strength I had. Weak and exhausted, I dissolved into convulsive sobs in his arms knowing that it might be days before seeing our child. It was at that moment that one of the administrators of the hospital came in to give us the news that because of her intervention in the matter, we would be allowed to return (as a family) to the maternity floor. The infection was determined to be endometritis, an infection of the uterus due to the hemorrhage – not contagious.
I was admitted to the 4th floor a second time that week, back in a place of safety and security. Though I made my eternal gratitude for the staff on that floor known in the last post, seeing the familiar faces of the nurses who cared for us was truly a gift. Scott and I settled in until Scott’s mother arrived with Roux later that night. We are so grateful to her for delivering him to us, and words do not do justice to the feeling I had when reunited with Roux – how I ever was complete before him I’ll never know.
The goal of the stay was to get my fever down and the infection halted. The rule was that I would have to wait 24 hours from the last fever before discharge could occur. I spiked another fever the next day, so in the end I was in the hospital for an additional 3 days, making my entire length of stay about a week overall in Batavia. I left the hospital bruised and beaten and on a host of antibiotics, but thankful again for the level of care that I received on that floor. In some weird, twisted way, I am grateful for the solitude that accompanied those extra days together in the hospital. No revolving door of new greeters, no stairs to climb, no real clothes to wear – just time for us to stare at and bond with our baby boy. As it turns out, extra time was the impetus for us to decide to have a baby, and here we were getting it again as a gift to savor the newness of those first days despite the circumstances.
An interesting item to note: my doctor revealed to me before I left the hospital that due to my obstinate behavior in the emergency room and the rather loud impression I made, the hospital administration was already discussing plans to revise their policy never to seperate a new mother and baby. I am so hopeful that my experience and ability to advocate even on my worst and weakest day will prevent another mother from enduring the trauma that I did.
Additionally: My first fear was hemorrhaging, but my second greatest fear was postpartum depression. The doctor told me that due to my experience, the odds of suffering PPD was much greater. We were counseled on the signs and indicators of PPD, and while I have not experienced anything to that degree, I will forever be on the lookout for signs and symptoms in others. Birth trauma is very real, and writing this story did bring back painful memories and a few tears. Please help be on the lookout for friends and family members of your own and just offer whatever support you can in the days and months that follow delivery of a new baby. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for those that looked out for me <3
Scott, Roux and I returned home a second time, with a little less fanfare than the first. Roux slept well for us, perhaps as a means to keep the peace, and has since been sleeping like an angel. We have welcomed all of our family, I am climbing stairs all day every day, and yes, I am *sometimes* in real clothes. Sometimes.
Every birth story is unique, so they say. And after ours we know that Roux unfortunately will be our only one (even if I could convince Scott otherwise.) We were advised that the likelihood of hemorrhaging is almost certain after hemorrhaging once before, and coupled with my age and the fact that larger babies have a direct effect on that possibility, we know that tempting fate would not be wise after being given the perfect blessing that is Roux.
So there it is – the complete story of Roux’s arrival and the days thereafter. Despite the hardship, those days solidified the intense bond that Scott and I have with Roux and each other. This family of ours is our greatest joy and the accomplishment of which we are most proud. And today as we celebrate two whole months with Roux, we will look back and know that every moment was completely worth it.
