After my son was born, Michael was allowed to hold him for a brief minute after he had been cleaned and swaddled. I was still not allowed to touch him (not that I could if I wanted to since my arms were tied down to the OR table) but Mike did the best he could in bringing him close to my face. My heart ached having him so close but not being able to hold him.
|Holding his son for the first time|
|Our first family picture|
Before I had a chance to memorize his face, my son was taken to the nursery while I was being closed up. Mike was told to get out of the scrubs and meet me in the recovery room. The recovery room is just as cold and uninviting (and crowded) as an ER waiting room. I was told that I would be there for no more than 2 hours as they had to make sure I had no adverse effects from surgery and they needed time to get a room ready for me. I would not be able to see my son until I was transferred to said room.
Those 2 hours I was in and out of sleep, munching on a lot of ice chips and crying for my mom because I was in so much pain. It didn't help that the nurses kept coming to check on me. They kept poking my legs to see if I could feel them again. The really fun part though was them checking my uterus. Labor was nothing in comparison to what I was feeling now. I kept looking at the huge clock directly in front of my bed (how convenient). Almost two hours had passed by, soon I would see my son.
Except I wouldn't. Not before more social workers came to ask us questions. Questions about our planned home birth, our choice to not vaccinate, our resistance to interventions. Looking back now, I am honestly amazed that I didn't make a scene. I guess it was a combination of the drugs I was under and the pure exhaustion of the days I had just experienced. It took them SIX HOURS to transfer me to a room and that was only after I agreed to home visits from a nurse the days following my hospital release.
Time slowed to a crawl once I had been taken to my room, which I wound up sharing with two different women. (More on my roommates another time). I'm not sure how long it took them to finally bring me my son after that, but once they did, I couldn't take him any faster from the nurse's arms. I lowered my hospital gown and immediately put him on my breast for his first meal. I hadn't given much thought to what breast feeding would feel like, but as soon as he latched on everything just made sense.
|Trying to latch on|
I soaked in every second of my baby, my beautiful baby boy who did not deserve to enter the world in the violent way that he had. The following hours are a blur. My mom's flight was delayed but she eventually made her way to see us that same night. She was already overwhelmed but when she saw her grandchild for the first time she kept saying over and over in Spanish that he looked just like me when I was a baby, but with a set of balls. It was the first time I laughed out loud since I had gone into labor. It hurt, but it was a wonderful moment with my mom.
I spent a lot of time telling the nurses not to take my son to the nursery. I reminded them numerous times that I was going to feed him on demand and not every 2 hours as they kept insisting. It upset them that I'd feed him more frequently. It upset them that I wouldn't give him a pacifier. It upset them that I had my gown down to my waist so that I could do skin to skin with him as much as possible.I received another visit from social services that night.
Breast feeding began to feel painful and every little movement hurt like nothing else I had ever felt before. Holding him was difficult with the IV in my arm and I couldn't figure out the best way to hold him. I couldn't get up to change his diaper so everyone else had to help (Michael, my mom, nurses). But when it was just us two together, I would get lost in every inch of him. I was so blessed and so in love. We managed to sleep a few hours that night.
|With his auntie|
|Daddy showing Teth the view - Central Park|
|Milk drunk :)|