Birth Day

I meant to write this days ago, when everything was fresh in my mind, but, of course, it didn’t happen. However, I have a quiet moment—baby is sleeping, E is at lunch, and Grandma is at the bank—so no more procrastinating.

I went on a final visit to the doctor on Monday. After a very thorough pelvic exam (i.e., lots of blood), doctor said the head was still not down, so we had two options. We could do a C-section the next day or we could wait a week, induce labor, and then do a C-section after 20 hours of labor. Ultimately, though, his gut instinct was that this baby was not going to come naturally. I was having the same feeling, so I saw no reason to delay, and we scheduled a C-section for the next morning.

E and I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am, so neither of us got much sleep that night. I felt anxious but at peace with the decision. Of course, the irony is that one of my motivating reasons for leaving Turkey was to avoid having a C-section. Such is life, eh?

We got to the hospital on time (amazingly, there is no traffic at 5 am), and everything seemed to happen quickly. I checked in, signed papers, and put on the hospital gown. E got to wear an attractive hazmat suit, and we walked to the operating room. Fortunately, E stayed outside while they prepped me.

The anesthesiologist put a spinal in my back (“relax your shoulders”—how do I do that?), and then I was splayed out on the operating table. As the nurse inserted the catheter, I knew that having a C-section must be one of the most undignified situations in the world. Fortunately, by the time they brought in E, I must have been properly covered because he didn’t seem alarmed by the situation, and I appreciated my doctor staying mindful of E’s cultural norms.

And then everything happened quickly. E was seated near my head, I held onto his hand, but within a minute or two, the baby was out and E was taking photos and videos while the pediatrician weighed Turk. He was only 7 lbs 11 oz (the pediatrician kindly told us grams as well), so the problem wasn’t a huge baby (although the doctor sited the reason for the C-section as head-pelvis disproportion). I asked, and I guess Turk was just tucked up high in my uterus with the cord around his neck. Who knows if he would have come naturally.

Having a C-section was a surreal experience for me. It happened so quickly. I had this idea that after hours of labor, the baby is the sweet reward at the end. But with a C-section, you lie there doing nothing, and two minutes later the baby has arrived. And then I just watched from a distance, unable to move, as the pediatrician worked on the baby. It was sweet, though, to see the joy on my husband’s face as he hovered near Turk. I could not be with the baby but at least I knew E was there, and from his face I knew he was in love. After a brief moment of having the baby awkwardly propped by my face, E was able to accompany Turk the nursery. I got stitched up, maneuvered into the hospital bed, and wheeled to my room. It all happened that quickly.



Turk, unfortunately, had a few complications. His breathing was off, and he had low blood sugar, so instead of snuggling my baby in person, I got to experience him through the photos E had taken. It was a strange and difficult situation to be separated from Turk for the first five or so hours of his life, but I feel fortunate that it was only for a few hours. When they did bring him in, he was connected to an oxygen monitor, and as the monitor beeped when his oxygen dipped, I remembered all those difficult weeks my brother’s family spent with their preemie, and I was so grateful for Turk’s relatively good health.

When Turk was well enough to see me, I got to nurse for the first time. Oh my! Talk about overwhelming. I realized immediately that I am anything but coordinated. You have to be superwoman or have twelve arms to do everything the lactation specialists tell you to do. I felt overwhelmed and frustrated and completely sympathetic with all the women who give up trying. Two days later, and breastfeeding is still a challenge. Turk continues to have blood-sugar problems, my milk hasn’t come in, and what I am producing is not enough to sustain him. We’re still trying, and I hope it works out, but I can now understand that it might not be in the cards for us.

Recovery has been interesting. You really have no dignity after having a baby. Nurses helped me walk that first day and even had to help me pee. When I sat down, blood started pouring from my incision, not exactly the best sight, but I guess normal. I puked several times because of the anesthesia and discovered yesterday that the extreme pain I felt in my arm was because of air trapped inside me during surgery. I felt so badly that I hadn’t worked for the reward of having my baby, but I guess you suffer for it afterwards when you have a C-section.

Meanwhile, E’s family was on the webcam the entire first day. I was glad for him that they were around and so glad for me that I did not have this baby in Turkey. They had advice on everything I should be doing, and it basically conflicted with everything the American medical team was saying, but of course my husband listened to his mother. I should be breastfeeding every 30 minutes. The baby should not be sleeping on his back. My mother-in-law even showed me, via webcam, how I should be breastfeeding. Yikes! I know their intentions were good, but it was so difficult, in those first tiring and emotional hours of recovery, to be bombarded with so much advice. Even my husband was lifting his shirt and trying to show me how to breastfeed. Good grief. I knew, without a doubt, if we were in Turkey, my baby would have been hijacked and I would have just had to watch helplessly. Thank goodness I wasn’t there. My mother, sister, and brother came briefly, and I never felt overwhelmed with visitors or “helpful” advice.

Like I said, I wasn’t reacting so well to the anesthesia and vomited several times. I saw in those moments how much my husband truly loves me as he patiently cleaned up my mess every time. I also saw how much he really loves his son. He’d told me multiple times before the birth that he had never changed a diaper before and never would. I just said I knew his feelings would change once the baby arrived, and I was right. Without my asking him, or saying a single thing, he changed two super pooper diapers that first day alone. He is definitely a hands-on dad, and I appreciate it.

Oofff, I feel like this report isn’t anything like I wanted it to be. When I imagined writing about that first day, it sounded much more elegant and poetic in my mind. So, instead I will end and just gush about my little baby instead.

I tried to imagine what Turk would look like, and I was completely wrong. Except for his hair. The moment they pulled him out of my stomach, someone commented on it. Turk has a pretty awesome head of hair. Everyone who sees him comments on the crazy mass and that’s what he’s known for in the nursery. The hair is dark, but not black, and somehow it is tipped with gold. It looks like we took him to the hair dresser. Crazy! I’m a bit worried, though, that I will become one of those blind moms. I’ve seen so many babies with huge, horrible hair that needs to be tamed but clearly their moms don’t see the disaster. I hope I’ll know when the crazy stops being cute.

I really hoped Turk would look like his dad—and I especially wanted him to have his dad’s nose. Of course, he looks just like me. E says he can’t see himself in the baby at all (except for the dark hair, of course), and he might be right. Despite having his mom’s big nose, crazy hair, and the grumpiest expression I’ve ever seen (he got that from his dad), I think he’s the most beautiful baby in the world. I have a hard time believing this sweet little thing is mine. And I can’t believe he was inside my body less than three days ago! E is equally smitten. Islamic tradition says that the angels create the body, but Allah’s hand creates the baby’s face. I can definitely see God’s touch in Turk’s little face.

I can anticipate the challenges ahead—will he eat? will his blood sugar improve? will we ever sleep again?—but I feel so blessed to be this baby’s mom. Hopefully, future blogs will be shorter and much more fun!