As many of you know who have read my book, Web of Destruction on Amazon, there is a scene where the protagonist has her baby in an ambulance. This blog will be moving away from my book and into real life—to what my family experienced a week ago.
My fifth grandson was born to one of my daughters who has extreme anxiety problems, panic attacks, and even suffered in the past from agoraphobia. Due to her pregnancy, she had to go off her main medication that allowed her to be more independent and have less attacks. When the doctors decided she had to deliver her son three weeks early due to the preeclampsia, ‘our’ hospital experience began.
We all packed our bags, including my daughter’s seven-year-old daughter who had to stay at her aunt’s home for a few days. Well, a few days turned into a full week of emotional turmoil. You see, we were told my ‘little’ grandson was quite big in the ultrasounds. These wonderful nurses and aides worked tirelessly and patiently for the first four days my grandson fought to stay in the womb. They had to induce my daughter twice, and were considering a third attempt when the birth process finally started, which is a long journey when it is your own body poked and prodded, pinched and stuck with needles, rolled and turned all hours of the day and night. Needless to say, neither one of us got much sleep. As I sat patiently by, witnessing my daughter’s heightened anxiety and fear and trying to reduce it, I felt helpless, so turned to prayer as I had for months.
The accommodations on the labor and delivery unit were wonderful. Of course, the attention was on my daughter, as it should be. But knowing I was her coach because of her anxiety and had to stay the week, we couldn’t have had a better group of medical staff taking care of her. They brought into the room a very comfortable chair that pushed back so I could sleep in the room. I tried to help with some things, but the staff wouldn’t hear of it. They really took care of everything and never complained or showed impatience, no matter how many times we had to convince my daughter to do something that would help her baby arrive, her fear and anxiety rising.
My grandson was finally ready overnight that fourth day. My other daughter had arrived for support, and the wonderful doctor delivering had been awakened from a much -needed nap at twelve-fifteen in the morning. It’s the most amazing sight to see one’s grandchild coming into the world, head first, next his body, then the cry. Tears were everywhere. It had been a long, harrowing journey, but what a blessing at the end. Mother and son made it through.
This is my third grandchild I have been blessed to witness entering our world. I would suggest witnessing a birth to anyone who feels there is not some kind of higher power in our world, no matter what you want to call it, or how you choose to honor. My higher power I call God/Jesus. As I sat feeding my grandson shortly after his birth, I realized my protagonist having her baby in an ambulance with a few short pushes was a piece of cake. But, either way, a new life was born.