artificial insemination syringe
March 31, 2022
I was never someone who particularly enjoyed being pregnant. Instead of feeling that “glow,” I experienced nine months of relentless nausea, paired with coworkers asking, “Are you sure it’s not twins?” However, I surprisingly found joy in labor with my first child. Though it lasted twenty-seven hours, I mostly recall sharing laughter with my partner, Alex, as we awaited the moment our daughter, Lily, would arrive. The atmosphere was electric with magic when she finally made her entrance.
So, when I learned three months into my second pregnancy that I would need a C-section due to complications, I was heartbroken. What would that spark feel like in a cold, sterile operating room?
On the day of the procedure, Alex and I spent hours in the hospital, giggling at the absurdly small surgical attire he was given. I thought to myself that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Then the anesthesiologist entered. He resembled a grizzled football coach who had just come from a tough game. Instead of the reassuring conversation I expected, he dropped a bombshell: “I just reviewed your labs, and your white blood cell count is low, so we’ll need to use general anesthesia. You’ll be put under.”
The shock rendered me speechless for a moment. I nodded, but inside, I felt everything crashing down. I hadn’t wanted a C-section, but at least I expected to be awake for it. Now, my baby would enter the world surrounded by unfamiliar faces while I lay unconscious. As he started the IV, I was overwhelmed with emotion and began to cry. He stiffened slightly but didn’t meet my gaze, saying, “I’m a typical man; I hate crying.” He informed Alex that he would be called in once it was time, and then he wheeled me away.
When I woke up in a hospital room, I was groggy and disoriented. Alex was there, buzzing with anxiety. They hadn’t come to get him after all, leaving him in the waiting room without any news for over an hour. No baby’s cry, no proud dad moment—just worry. My midwife, Anna, was there too, apologizing for not being present at the birth. The baby was in the nursery, she told me. I felt nothing at that moment. It didn’t feel like my baby; I wasn’t there when she was born. Anna smiled and said, “She has red hair.” I hated that she knew my baby better than I did.
In my idealized version of this experience, they would bring in the baby, and I would be flooded with joy, cradling her and whispering that I was her mother. But that’s not how it happened. In reality, they wheeled in a tiny infant I didn’t recognize. When they asked if I wanted to hold her, I said yes, but inside I was terrified of hurting her. I was frustrated when the nurse demonstrated how to feed her from a bottle, knowing she was more familiar with her than I was. Soon after, another nurse checked my vitals and asked, “How long has she been breathing like that?” Before I knew it, the baby was whisked back to the nursery for observation. Deep down, I felt relief; I had no idea how to care for her, and the nurses seemed to know what they were doing.
Throughout the day, Alex visited her in the nursery and brought back pictures. The first time I saw her in her little clear box, attached to tubes and sensors, I was stunned. I felt awful knowing I couldn’t even get out of bed to see her. Then the doctor returned with more shocking news: they needed to transfer her to a different hospital with a better NICU. I felt numb—almost too sad to feel any worse.
Soon, a team of sturdy EMTs wheeled in the clear box containing my baby. I wondered why so many muscular individuals were necessary to move such a tiny being. They were kind and allowed me to say goodbye, but all I could do was cry and reassure her it was okay. We hadn’t even chosen a name for her yet—how could we, without knowing anything about her? Alex went with them, and I was left alone. Eventually, I was discharged and joined him at the new hospital, taking turns by the baby’s box and listening to the soothing beeps of the machines. The doctor suggested I reach in to touch her, but it startled her so much that the nurses had to come over and calm her down. So I kept my distance, staring at her and wishing to know her.
Five days later, she was finally cleared to come home. I was torn between relief and fear, suddenly handed a stranger I was supposed to care for. A nurse rushed through paperwork, and I felt an overwhelming urge to beg her not to leave. Couldn’t we stay just one more week? The baby had never even spent a single night with us in our room. I had never comforted her cries, never cradled her head, and she had never even held my finger. I had always thought I would feel a bond with her before leaving the hospital, and facing the reality of going home, I panicked knowing that connection still hadn’t formed. I longed for closeness with her.
After a quiet drive, we opened our front door to find our daughter Lily and my family waiting for us. As we placed the car seat down in the middle of the room, I felt exposed and uneasy, as if I were a fraud carrying the baby. I forced a smile, wondering if my family could sense the distance I felt from her.
Nobody moved, except for Lily. She approached the baby and knelt down, staring in awe. “I’m your sister,” she whispered, without hesitation or scanning the baby’s features as I had during those long hospital nights. She already knew her, and in that moment, it solidified the baby’s place in our family. That was the instant when she truly felt like ours.
If you’re interested in more about pregnancy or home insemination, consider checking out this excellent resource: NICHD on Pregnancy. For those exploring self insemination options, you can find valuable information at Make a Mom’s Cryobaby Home Kit.
Search Queries:
- How to bond with your newborn
- C-section recovery tips
- Understanding NICU procedures
- Emotional impacts of C-section births
- Home insemination success stories
In summary, the experience of missing my child’s birth was heart-wrenching and filled with unexpected challenges. From the shock of having to undergo general anesthesia to the struggles of bonding with my newborn, it was a journey that tested my emotions and left me feeling disconnected. However, witnessing my older daughter embrace her new sister brought the moment full circle, reminding me of the magic and love that ultimately forms a family.
Keyphrase: I missed my child’s birth
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