It’s hard to believe that it was half a year ago today that Jack was born.
This morning as I laid in bed thinking of that morning, my thoughts turned to the happenings before he was born.
So many precious memories happened before we even arrived at the hospital, but this would be far too long a blog post if I included every detail of that day. Today my thoughts are mostly on the hospital part of labor and the delivery.
After we arrived at the hospital, things seemed to be moving along at a pretty good pace. I was at a five upon arriving, and before too long I was already at a seven. Yes the contractions were painful, but not at all as bad as I expected. When the midwife told me I was at a seven and that it was time to get an epidural if I wanted one, I told her I didn’t want one. I was induced with Megan, and I remember the pain being more intense then I could ever describe. With Jack, it was endurable. Perhaps my body was just used to being in pain, after all, I had suffered through a pretty miserable pregnancy. Well, whatever it was, I felt strong.
It was merely minutes later when the doctor arrived and said we needed to get Jack out: and it had to happen NOW. He recommended an emergency c-section. I was deflated because we had come so far and we were so close. However, we weren’t close enough and nothing more mattered at that point except getting little Jack out, and getting him out alive.
That was the point when the nightmare REALLY began. The prepping for the c-section ranks right up there with the worst experiences of my life and it all went downhill from there.
Words can’t even describe the range of emotions that were experienced from the moment we left our apartment, to the moment our baby was born silently. Perhaps these pictures will be worth a thousand words:
While I regret that I wasn’t able to have a natural delivery, and that I had to have major surgery, I would never change a thing because obviously that’s what needed to happen in order to give little Jack a chance. And while my body is forever scarred; I love my scar. I love the physical reminder that Jack was indeed a part of my flesh, especially now that he is gone. Jack is gone, and so also is my pregnancy figure. Sometimes I feel like all I have left is that scar. And I am grateful for it.
Tomorrow I will probably cry when I think of that morning six months ago. But today, for some reason, I can smile. I am holding tight to the many sacred memories I have and I am thinking upon those memories with fondness. I miss Jack and I want my six month old boy in my home, but today I am doing “okay”.