Blessed Mama

Giving Birth During COVID

When I first found out I was pregnant it was no surprise that covid was already very much spread throughout the United States. I knew that my birth plan would look very different than any other birth plan pre-covid.

I always had wanted my mom to be with me during this time. After all, who doesn’t want their mom at a time like this. Unfortunately, only one person was allowed to be in there with me and I of course chose my husband. Our family actually came to the hospital parking garage and stood in a stairwell outside my delivery room for moral support.

I was checked in on October 16, 2021 at 9PM for an induction. I make it to the room, get undressed and into a lovely hospital gown and then the nightmare begins… it took six sticks and two nurses to get an IV, then an additional two sticks for labs to be drawn. That wasn’t even the hard part. Since I was a first time mom and I wasn’t dilated, they placed a foley bulb and when the midwife done so, she broke my water — now I’m at a higher risk of infection with each passing hour.

I laid and labored in agony for hours, begged them for an epidural and was told I couldn’t get one until the next shift of staff got in, which would be another hour and half. I agreed that I could hold out that long, only to find out that my nurse did not relay that information and it ended up being nearly 3 hours later that I got the epidural. I thought things would go smooth from here, but oh I was wrong.

I continued to labor and each time I was checked there was no progress. My babies heart rate was dropping with each contraction no matter how I positioned myself. I had been in full labor for going on twenty-one hours and was extremely exhausted. I felt my body wearing down each contraction that passed. I felt like I was going to pass out but the pain was keeping me awake. My epidural had been re-dosed three times but was no longer working. I felt each contraction and was in horrible pain. I finally asked if I could elect for a c-section.

To be honest, the scariest thing for me starts here. I had never had major surgery before and to be making this decision was so hard. But the hardest thing was having to call my mom, who was standing in a parking garage stairwell across from my room, and tell her I was going for a c-section. That was the absolute hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make, all thanks to the coronavirus.

Thanks covid, you have ruined everything.

It’s like the nursery rhyme, right?

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage… right?! Wrong. I knew at a young age that I wanted to be a mother. I knew that I wanted a house full of children and that I wanted to be a stay at home mother. But.. when I was 12 years old I began to have issues with my menstrual cycle.

Being 12 years old and bleeding through a pad an hour was not only embarrassing but also so distressing. I missed a week of school each time I got my period because I just couldn’t sit in class for long periods without sitting in a pool of blood. I was passing massive clots, the cramping was unbearable. One night the pain was so excruciating my mother took me to the emergency room, where they done a CT scan to check for appendicitis. All was clear.

I was raised in a very rural area and our healthcare was often not the greatest. My mother took me to see the local OBGYN and I was told that I had low vitamin D and low vitamin B12. I was put on those supplements and sent on my way. Nothing changed. Back to the doctor I go, more tests are ran and nothing is found. The only option that the OBGYN gave my mother and I for treatment was a low dose birth control where I would skip the placebo week. Finally.. I had relief from my periods being so heavy but eventually, they came to a stop. Being a 16 year old girl not having to deal with a period sounded so amazing.. but what I didn’t know was my battle was only beginning.

I moved to college at the age of 18, was finally out on my own and could make better health choices since I was in a better developed area. I made an appointment with a recommendation from a college friend to an OBGYN in my college town. The appointment went well and I was sent for blood tests. My lab levels returned abnormal (high prolactin, low DHEA) and the doctor had her receptionist call to tell me “you probably have a tumor, but we need to get a CT to be sure.” I was terrified. My CT thankfully came back clear and the OBGYN shamed me at my next appointment for “faking” my lab levels. She wrote me a prescription for birth control and told me as soon as I was ready to have kids to stop taking it and I would immediately be super fertile. Guess what? Didn’t work.

I shared a post on Facebook about the second line on a pregnancy test not defining your worth. It was the first time I had ever publicly shared anything regarding pregnancy or fertility. A friend from high school reached out via messenger and told me her success with a doctor in the next city over from me. I quickly made an appointment with her and was excited to see if she could finally give me some answers. I had documented all of my symptoms, issues, feelings, etc. and I printed that document to bring with me to my appointment. I was so excited and hoped that I would finally have an answer to my problems. Sure enough, I left her office with the diagnosis of poly cystic ovarian syndrome later to be confirmed by blood work and a trans-vaginal ultrasound. Finally! I felt like I was moving in the right direction.

Now for a treatment plan.

First Post — Rambling.

Sitting in the recliner at home scrolling down the newsfeed of my Facebook and I came across a post of a lady begging for someone to please point her in the direction of a baby who needs a home. She’s infertile and has been for years, has tried every option she knows of and has not had any success. I could feel the agony and the hurt in the words she had typed. I was that woman once. I understand the longing sensation to be a mother, every pregnancy announcement cut me like a knife and I stayed so bitter. I was angry. Angry at myself, my spouse, at God, at the doctors, at anyone who crossed my path who would ask “Don’t you want to have children?” I understood that not everyone got the memo that I was dealing with infertility, it’s not like that I had a sign hanging on me saying “I can’t bare children.” The hurt that came with each question was just so unbearable. I decided to share my story, my journey and hopefully shed some light on infertility, PCOS and share some hope with those women who are still struggling.