My second daughter, only 19 months after my first, was born 3 days after Edmonton shut down for the first time in March of 2020. All of our plans were gone. Meal trains, toddler programs, play dates, gone. A beautiful friend of mine Pauline Yeung interviewed me over zoom about my experience a few days after she was born, and wrote the beautiful blog post below..
“Only a few days at home, I find Suzi nestled in her living room. The messy bun in her hair tells
me how little sleep she’s had, the rocking of her babe how in love she is with her new daughter.
I ask her the big question: what was it like to give birth during a pandemic?
The Hospital
“Do you have a fever? Cough? Sore throat?“ The lady at the front desk was fully gowned,
head to toe. There is constant screening and mandatory hand sanitizing.
I calmly answered, “No symptoms,” and my husband, Gabe, is given the same run down. If
he had had any symptoms, I would have brought my mother. The no visitor policy is strict; if
Gabe’s wristband falls off he might not be let back in. He is now my person, my only support
until we are on the other side.
I arrived on the unit to be induced, where everything seemed normal. The staff is already
vigilant with sanitary measures, so they are not wearing additional protective wear, or doing
anything different. I am comforted that they are trying to offer the best birth experience. I look
to the empty spaces of the room, where other loved ones should have been.
Her Arrival
Anna and Evie’s delivery were as similar as sisters would have it. They both had shoulder
dystocia (their collar bones stuck in my pelvic bones) and both had meconium in my water. I was
bummed by not being able to try nitrous oxide (laughing gas), which was banned during this
time of an airborne disease. Quickly, I went from 3 – 9 cm, and had contractions less than a
minute apart. It is some sort of miracle, that we as mothers, can describe birth in one to two
sentences when the whole process is a chaotic and vulnerable experience. The minutes are
longer than our breaths can exhale, the second decides if we welcome or lose a life. I smile,
grateful for the epidural, even though it offered only the smallest reprieve. It only numbed my
uterus, so I experienced every movement and pain. I felt the doctor’s arms reaching to save
my daughter. She bursts into this world and is whisked away by the NICU team. I remember
Gabe kissing me over and over on my forehead as we cried. After what seems an eternity, she
is in my arms again. I gripped her full 8 lbz 7 oz through our first night together, lucky to have
the same care as before.
Going Home
They try to make sure we are fully prepared before we go home. What does fully prepared
even mean, for a mother? The in-home nurse visits by Healthy beginnings had been replaced
with a few phone calls. Only extreme concerns warranted a visit at the health center. Anna
had jaundice, and I found myself describing the colour yellow over the phone. While holding
my newborn by the window, I pressed her nose repeatedly. In the end, she was fine, but in
hindsight, the anxiety was crippling. Six days postpartum, I had symptoms of retained placenta, finding help began with a series of stressful phone calls, repeatedly explaining my symptoms. Evie has asthma and I feared jeopardizing her health. In normal times, I would have the ability to just go in. I went to the
hospital and received an ultrasound, returning the following day to have a VQ scan done.
The side effect of the scan left me radioactive, I could not breastfeed for 12 hours, or hold
Anna for 24 hours. I am grateful that Gabe cared for her during this time, and my parents
took Evie into their home. These hours were shattering. During pregnancy, I felt like a priority, but once Anna was born, we seemed to no longer matter. My postpartum OB appointment was cancelled to prioritize current pregnancies. I missed the assurance of a full recovery. My family doctor was gracious enough to put me on their wait list, hoping for the best. Our pediatrician saw Anna at 2 weeks, but the
appointment was coupled with the same drill of masks, doing only what was necessary.
Being that this is the new normal, I know I will have to find ways to fight my inner fears. My
concerns aren’t specific, but I never know what I am missing. Everything feels even more
daunting in a time where so much is already unknown.
Hope
I will be grieving the loss of my dreams for a long time. The dream of our first moments
together as a family of four, Evie running in to meet her sister. The dream of having friends
and loved ones over to meet our new addition. The dream that this journey of motherhood
would be better, a promise of strength and unmatched joy. I felt Anna’s ‘littleness’ was
wasted. It seems a small sacrifice compared to what the rest of the world is going through.
But also in this time, the blessings have shown up in disguise. Our time with Gabe has been
so special. My parents committed to isolating with us. They sacrificed everything for our
health and gifted us with patience, time and rest. They supported us through Anna’s colic
and helped Evie joyfully transition into a big sister. The support in this stage is so critical.
To first time mothers, who don’t know what to expect, trust your heart, and lean on others. I
found trust in doctors and nurses to take care of me. I found trust in family, loving us by
dropping food at our doorstep. I have found trust in a community of mothers who shared
their experiences of struggle and growth. These newborn days pass too quickly, time won’t
pause even for a world that has ground to a halt. I choose to trust the light in the darkness,
that this will be a story for the generations.”
