“We can’t guarantee lungs” is the line that played over in my head the morning of my c-section. When I had first heard it I thought it was such peculiar phrasing. As if someone was giving a slightly sketchy sales pitch of a get-rich-quick-scheme saying that they don’t guarantee a certain income level. But what it meant was that no one could tell us if our daughter would be able to breathe. I didn’t know if I’d hear her cry or not. If there was no cry it meant things very likely weren’t good in an already precarious situation. We knew she would be small, we knew her heart was compromised, and we knew that if she faced any other complications the typical 85% survival rate would plummet. All I hoped for was a cry.

Family was watching our son, my mom was waiting in the lobby, and my husband was by my side. We got to the hospital a couple hours prior to our scheduled time. With my first kiddo I had gone into labor naturally, I felt the buildup of contractions and worked to bring him into the world (read about it here). This time around, I was perfectly fine. It was just like any other day of being pregnant but I knew within a couple hours, our baby would be out of me and in the world. I had known for 20 weeks that this was going to happen but it still seemed a little foreign to know I’d be having my first major surgery even though there was nothing wrong with me. I didn’t mind though because it was the safest option for my baby and to be honest the idea of not having to labor for hours did sound nice.

My husband and I were brought back to a special bay room for mothers who were getting ready to have C-sections or those who had just had them. I was the only one in the room when we arrived but there were four or five beds there in case they needed them. Nurses came by to give me a gown and socks to change into, ask ten billion questions, sign forms, hook me up to some monitors, and start an IV. The IV fluids they started had been warmed up which was so so so nice! Normally when receiving IV fluids, I get freezing cold but by warming the fluids I didn’t have this unpleasant side effect. The nurses were being extra sweet to me and I think it’s because they knew we were having a heart baby. They already had a binder full of information about my daughter and myself that had been sent over from the perinatologist. Every once in a while an alarm would beep and they’d tell me to take a big breath. Apparently my oxygen saturation was dipping below 96% and setting off the alarm. They gave my husband a gown, cap, and mask to wear so that he could be in the OR with me. The anesthesiologist came by and explained that today he would be doing a spinal block. More time passed and more questions answered.

They said they were ready. The nurse took the brakes off my bed and slowly rolled me through a series of doors into the hall outside the OR I was to be in. Then she told me that I was to walk into the OR but my husband would need to stay outside for a couple minutes while they got things set up. I’m not entirely sure this is normal but we were going to have extra people and machines in the room to take care of our baby the moment she was born so I think they just didn’t want an extra body until everything was ready to go.

I walked in. It was cold. Operating table in the middle of the room with large, movable lights overhead. A jungle of equipment near the head of the table for anesthesia. A little bed and even more equipment near the door for baby. A long wall was lined with tables and a few nurses were laying out various scissors, blades, needles, hooks, and other sterile equipment for the C-section. I was asked to go sit on the table with my legs hanging over the edge. As I sat there the weight of what was about to happen came flooding over me. All the scary statistics, being cut open, not knowing if my daughter would survive outside the womb, not knowing if she had other complications, the frigid air of the unfamiliar and uncomfortable room. I knew I was going to either cry or throw up and I really didn’t want to do the latter. Every appointment leading up to this our doctors were amazed at how calm, accepting, and positive I had been. But this moment seemed like too much. I took a breath and reminded myself that it would be okay.

The anesthesiologist told me he was going to administer the spinal block. I would feel him clean the area, and then there would be two needles, one after the other. Nothing would be left in my back. He asked me to lean forward and I nearly laughed at the physics of his request. If I did try to round my back I would surely fall forward off the table because my pregnant belly was making me rather off balance. I asked for something to hold onto so my perinatologist walked over and held my shoulders and as he did so he gave me a little pat and told me I was doing good. I felt the anesthesiologist wipe my back off, then the prick of a first needle. He said the next one would hurt. Yep! Sure enough, when a medical professional tells you something is going to hurt, they aren’t lying. It was burning then I felt a warm fizziness go down my back and right leg all the way down to my toes, and less so on the left side too. The anesthesiologist asked me to tell him when I felt the warmth in my legs and was pleased to hear it had already happened. He said it was normal to feel it more in one side first but it should even out. They then asked me to turn and lay down on the bed. I tried to do so and realized I couldn’t lift my legs because the block was already working so well. The block meant that once it was in full effect I couldn’t really feel or control anything from my armpits down. There was no point in trying to do things by myself so I told them I needed help lifting my legs onto the table and laying down. They kindly obliged. There were long side tables for my arms to be flat out on and it felt a little odd to be laying on a cross shaped table. Heavy warm blankets were laid over my arms and upper body. More people came into the room and a few came over to my head to introduce themselves. At this point it’s a bit of a blur as to what things were being done in what order but I knew people were moving about doing their assigned jobs. At some point a catheter was placed and I was given air via a nasal cannula because I was complaining of the weird smell from the drape in front of me. Our OR was pretty full because in addition to the nurses for me, resident, my perinatologist, and anesthesiologist there was a whole team for our daughter. Nurses, respiratory therapists, and more doctors. We also had a student in the OR since we were at a teaching hospital. I know some people aren’t ok with students being around but we were fine with it. Students aren’t in charge of care, they are there to learn so that when they finally are working they have experience as well as knowledge to pull from. In this instance the student got to not only observe the c-section but they were really there to see what happens with a HLHS child when they are born. As far as “rare” conditions go, HLHS is pretty common so it was good for them to experience my daughter’s birth in preparation for caring for a HLHS kid in the future.

My husband was allowed in the room and came up to my head where they gave him a chair. Then the anesthesiologist asked me what music I wanted. I hadn’t really thought about it but I immediately knew which song I wanted on.  It’s called Nuvole Bianche and I think it’s beautiful. The anesthesiologist didn’t have that particular song on his iPod so my husband got it on his phone and hooked it up to the speakers. It came on as I felt them quickly work on getting me open. I didn’t feel any of the cuts or placing the retractors, I couldn’t tell if my insides were still inside me or not. I just felt general pressure and things moving around but I couldn’t tell specifics, that is until I felt my doctor press on my uterus to help get my baby out. It was uncomfortable but didn’t hurt. I breathed while they pressed and then I heard a cry.

My baby was crying. She was alive. Her lungs worked.

I smiled and tears rolled down my face.

She didn’t stop crying either. Turns out she was a feisty little thing. I could hear the teams moving around and my husband walked over to take some pictures of her.

I then became aware of the feeling of hands inside me. It’s wasn’t painful, it felt the same as someone placing their hand on your arm except it was on my organs. They were pushing my insides around to get my body put back together. Did you know that when you have a c-section they actually take your uterus out of your body? I mean, it’s still attached but it is a weird sort of concept to think that a part of you that is most definitely supposed to be INSIDE you is temporarily moved to the OUTSIDE. Click HERE for a link to a helpful YouTube video describing what happens during a c-section (it’s an animation so it shouldn’t make you queasy).

My husband came over to tell me all was well with our baby and then a nurse came and said she was doing well enough that they were going to bring her over to me for a moment before they went up to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). She brought my baby over. She was crying and bright red with a nasal cannula over her face. The nurse brought her face to mine so that we were cheek to cheek. Someone else snapped a couple pictures for us and then they all left. My husband went with my daughter’s team. It seemed to be such an empty room now despite there still being the team that was taking care of me.

Next I felt the retractors coming out, again not painful. I knew they had to be placing sutures at some point but I didn’t feel them. At last I heard the doctors and anesthesiologist talking about staples vs. sutures and they decided to use staples to close my skin. I couldn’t feel them either but I could hear the device they use to put them in. More cleaning and then they wheeled in the bed I had been brought down the hallway with. They moved me over to this bed and then the anesthesiologist, who seemed to be in quite a happy playful mood, said he wanted to show me something that he likes to show all of his c-section patients. He moved towards the end of my bed and picked up a leg from I have no idea where. At first I thought it was some Halloween decoration. Then, after a moment of processing, I realized he was showing me my own leg! Not only could I not feel his hand on my ankle but I couldn’t tell that my leg was in the air at all. My body wasn’t sending me any signals! We laughed about it and he set my leg back down and I realized I had no idea if my leg was on the bed or not, or how close it was to my other leg, or if it was bent, or if it was covered up. I quickly became appreciative of how much information my body typically relays without having to think about it.

I was wheeled back to the room I came from. They call it a recovery room. My mom came to be with me. There was another family who came back from surgery shortly after I did. I thought I’d be bothered by the fact that they had their baby with them while mine was on an entirely different floor of the hospital by now. But I didn’t mind, I was too happy for them. They were excited for their little baby boy and began calling family members, it was a sweet celebration and their joy radiated.

This happiness was interrupted by my mother pointing out that I was ripping my face off I was itching so bad. It was a side effect of the anesthesia so the nurse gave me some Benadryl. It’s a pretty common drug but one that I’ve never used before and my oh my did it have an effect. I couldn’t think straight and while my brain was trying to be awake I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t tell you what happened for the next few hours until was moved to a different floor of the hospital into a room I would be in for the remaining four days of my stay.

As scary as the whole thing had been going in, I felt (relatively) great, and my baby was stable. Overall I’d call that a success.