Sitting in the waiting room, I told myself, enough with the sulking. My daughter was in the process of giving birth to my grandson, while I sat stewing over not being able to witness it.
After hearing stories of my cheering and uncontrollable sobbing when the other daughter gave birth just three short months ago, I can’t say I blame them. My son-in-law’s mom was in there, and sure, she’s a neo-natal nurse, but who doesn’t want their own personal cheering section?
Throughout this daughter’s pregnancy, with all of their fancy-dancy equipment and electronic charting, they were told he’d be a very small baby. That wasn’t all bad since she’s a small woman, seemed like a good fit.
As the hours passed my anxiety level grew from not knowing what was going on. The waiting room was filling up with family and we hung onto every text his mom would send, giving us updates. “Still pushing,” was all we received for several hours. Then “baby is stuck, going to try a vacuum.” A vacuum, really? At this point I’m wondering if I’ll have another grandson before I have a heart attack.
The waiting room chatter was over as we all sat in anxiousness, wondering what is happening, when his mom burst through the doors, sobbing, and all we heard was “code blue.”
The hallway leading to her room was chaos, nurses scrambling, something was terribly wrong. I grabbed a nurse, “Code blue? Is it my daughter or grandson?” She grabbed my hands and said “I’m sorry, there are complications, I can’t give you any other information.”
I fell back into a chair, sobbing. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I was frozen with grief. I don’t know how long I would have stayed that way, when I felt someone lifting me to my feet. His stepmom, who’s a far cry from being the wicked stepmother, looked me in the eyes and said, “you’re the mother, get back there.”
I headed that way. The nurse stopped me. “I’m the mom, I’m going,” I shouted and wiggled out of her grip. The room was in mass hysteria, full of doctors and nurses. I heard the baby crying and locked eyes with the other grandma, the neo-natal nurse, who, thank goodness was in there. She mouthed, “he’ll be OK.”
My son-in-law was on the floor, crying, emotionally drained after witnessing a tough delivery of his baby and so overcome with joy he was alive. The baby’s shoulders were wider than the pelvis and he coded before they could get him out. My grandson wasn’t having any part of that and responded quickly to being revived.
Page 2 of 2 - He weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces, and my petite daughter just experienced birthing a child in all the wrong ways. I went straight to her, didn’t say a word and held her hand. The doctor was still trying to repair the damage that had been done. My strong, independent daughter, simply took my hand and put it to her cheek. She wasn’t crying but I was doing enough for both of us.
The grandson spent the next four hours in ICU, passing every test with flying colors and basically insisting he wanted to be fed. My daughter will heal and looks so beautiful holding her miracle baby.
I have another grandson!
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at email@example.com