When I was pregnant with my first son, I took classes on newborn care, breastfeeding and what to expect during labor. I was not prepared for the possibility that my baby would be whisked away from me shortly after birth and taken two floors above my room to the Intensive Care Unit.
After nearly ten months of waiting, my eight pound, fourteen ounce son had arrived. After giving birth in the afternoon, I was tired but had so much excitement that I felt energized. I spend every second holding my son’s tiny body close to my own and staring with amazement at his perfect little face. It wasn’t until a few hours later when I was moved to a different room that the trouble began.
Once I was moved from my birthing room the room that that I would recover in for the next few days, my new nurse took notice to my son’s breathing and believed it to be faster than normal. As I got situated in my new room, I thought nothing out of the ordinary when my baby was taken away for more testing. When the nurse returned with him, we had a room full of visitors, all buzzing with excitement of the addition to our family. The nurse pulled my husband aside to explain what was going on with our son.
Apparently, his rapid breathing was caused by some excess fluid in his lungs. It was not clear if he had taken in some amniotic fluid during birth or if his lungs were developing an infection. The hospital was not willing to take any chances and was moving him up two floors to stay in the ICU. My husband looked at his happy and bright eyed wife as she chatted with the room full of visitors. He now had to break the news to the new Mom that she would be separated from her baby.
I did not take the news well. Not satisfied with what my nurses were telling me, I called our pediatrician and she agreed. I couldn’t stop it; our baby was going to ICU. I became emotional and the room quickly cleared of guests. As I cried by myself, my husband followed our son. I couldn’t bear to watch my seven-hour-old baby have an IV stuck into his tender little hand. Thankfully, my husband was the strong one and he never left our baby boy’s side. I lay exhausted in the hospital bed, my body sore from labor and my face raw and swollen from crying, but mostly I was painfully aware that I no longer felt my baby kicking from the inside and the room was silent in the absence of a newborn’s cries.