A pandemic birth story

Never, in our wildest dreams, did we imagine that by the time our son was born, we would be in the first wave of a global pandemic, and all of our plans would go out the window.

Planning for baby + pregnancy

My husband and I had been married for four years before we decided to have a baby. Surprising to many, it was I who was putting it off. I wanted to make sure we had a home with room for a baby, stable jobs, and some travelling under our belts. In August of 2019 we learned I was pregnant. We were shocked, a bit in disbelief, but so excited. My pregnancy itself wasn’t a smooth ride. Two days after I found out I was (five weeks) pregnant, the vomiting began. I ended up on two medications to manage it, and had five weeks off of work. Then, some complications arose that had the potential to be serious, so I spent two nights in the hospital for Christmas 2019, and then another three weeks off of work. My due date was April 26, 2020, but by early March I was starting to struggle. My job involves a lot of walking and standing, and I was getting tired. I am only 5”2, and my belly was massive. To add to that, my feet were swelling out of my shoes at work. Literally out of my shoes. That being said, we were still so excited to be parents. We were setting up the nursery, planning a party for after his birth, booking newborn family photos, discussing who would come to the hospital and when, the whole works. Never, in our wildest dreams, did we imagine that by the time our son was born, we would be in the first wave of a global pandemic, and all of those plans would go out the window.

Reality of the pandemic sets in

I remember the week before the lockdown for the pandemic occurred thinking some people were overreacting. I knew things were tragic in other parts of the world, but I was convinced this was going to be fine here. I had that “it won’t happen to me” mentality. Then, suddenly, lockdown. It was very clear that my previous thoughts were naive, and this was very serious. My parents had arrived in Hawaii the day the global pandemic was called, and I remember learning they would now have to quarantine for two weeks when they came home. We wanted them to come home and get that over with so when “all of this was over” and our son was born, they could see him. I began working from home. At first it was fine. I would work my hours at my computer, my husband would make me lunch, and then once the day was done, my swollen feet and I would travel to the couch and nap. I was at the stage of pregnancy where everything was swollen, I was wildly uncomfortable, and perpetually running out of breath. Working in close proximity to places it was safe to nap was fine by me.

I wouldn’t get the flowers and balloons in the hospital. My family wouldn’t get to come and hold my newborn son. Things would be different for me, and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

As my due date approached, the pandemic wasn’t going away, and suddenly my doctor appointments were becoming nerve wracking. The office had more protective measures in place every week, and fewer in person appointments. At my final appointment I seemed to be the only patient in the very large office. My doctor also had to deliver the devastating news that I could not have any visitors in my home after my son was born. No one. Masks or not. Henry is the first grandchild in both of our families and everyone had been isolating in hopes that they could meet him. My doctor is not the dramatic type, but even when I asked a second time he had to say no. Then he said something like, “This is the closest thing you’ll hopefully ever experience to giving birth during a war.” At first I was completely taken aback by this statement. How could he say that? We are in a very safe place, and not in imminent danger. Now, upon reflection, I understand what he meant. My experience was not going to be typical. I wouldn’t get the flowers and balloons in the hospital. My family wouldn’t get to come and hold my newborn son. Things would be different for me, and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

I think after that I was just in survival mode. I was just trying to get to my son’s birth, so I don’t think I thought about anything else. There was also something else on my mind. In the United States, women were having to give birth alone. Women were being dropped off at the hospital and then giving birth on Facetime with their partners. Where we are in Canada, it felt like there was an update every day on labor and delivery, plus hospitals were allowed to implement further rules if they felt it was necessary. I knew one thing, and that was I needed my husband to be with me. As my due date got closer, my sister, who works in the hospital I would give birth in, finally got the information from the hospital itself. If I was Covid negative, positive, or had symptoms, they would of course admit me because the baby was coming no matter what. However, if my husband didn’t pass the screening, he would not be allowed in. We asked my mom to be our back up person if Tyler failed the screening, but I also became even more stressed about the idea of giving birth without him. I am an anxious person to begin with, and being near the end of my pregnancy during a pandemic wasn’t helping. I was scared to go to the hospital. I was scared to be in labor without Tyler. I was scared for my baby.

Labour + delivery

Labour caused some distraction (naturally), hence my improperly positioned mask

On April 16, 2020, just as I was going to bed, my water broke. I remember Tyler and I were nervously laughing because it was hard to believe it was happening. We grabbed our bags and began driving to the hospital; on the way my first contractions began. They were minor enough to still be exciting (what a fool I was). We called my mom and she went to our house and picked up our dog. She was so excited that her grandson was on his way.

Once at the hospital, we were screened with the questions about the symptoms that so many of us are too used to answering now. “Do you have any difficulty breathing?” “Have you been in close contact with someone who tested positive with Covid 19?” After clearing this, thank goodness, and putting on our masks, we were sent to the labor delivery unit’s triage. Here they determined that I was in fact in labor, but very barely progressed. They gave me a shot of Morphine and sent me home to sleep. I was to return if it got worse, or by 8am. I went home, ate a grilled cheese sandwich, and went to sleep.

I slept probably a little too late. Our alarms and Tyler had to rouse me to get me to return to the hospital. Again, we had to go through the screening and don our masks. After this, we were admitted, and for all I know my labor and delivery were pretty much the same as it would have been without a pandemic. The nurses were excellent at making me forget about Covid. In fact, after we got home, I looked at Tyler and said “I haven’t thought about the pandemic in days!” And this is a credit to the nurses, doctors, food service staff, everyone. The only things we noted were that everyone wore a mask, and Tyler wasn’t allowed to use his CPAP machine overnight. Once I was in my room I didn’t have to labor wearing a mask.

…after we got home, I looked at Tyler and said “I haven’t thought about the pandemic in days!” And this is a credit to the nurses, doctors, food service staff, everyone.

My labor ended up being quite traumatic, being just over thirty-four hours long, and ending with an emergency C-Section, with a semi-effective epidural. My husband couldn’t be in the room, because they had to put me under general anesthesia to complete the surgery. He was waiting in the hall, but got mixed updates about whether he would be allowed into the OR. Finally, he heard our son’s cry, and knew he was a dad. He doesn’t know how much time passed, but he went and got a nurse. She investigated my situation for him, and eventually brought our baby to Tyler. There, in the recovery room, my husband sat alone wearing a mask and met his son. My husband only has good memories of this, but I wish I was there, or that anyone in our family could have been with him.

Due to the C-Section, I had to stay in the hospital the following two nights. Tyler had to wear his mask at all times, including when he was asleep on the “dad bed.” Thankfully, we had prepared our snack bag as this proved vital. Tyler wasn’t provided any meals, wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital, or order any food. The pain I was in distracted me from a lot of the emotions I could have had at this time, but I think what stands out to me the most is how badly my mom wanted to be with me, particularly after hearing what I had been through. I remember when we Facetimed with my family later the day Henry was born, she was so happy to see Henry, but felt terrible she couldn’t be there to support us.

Bringing home baby

It felt so strange to be close to them, but not be able to hug them or let them hold Henry.

Days later we finally went home. Tyler’s parents stood outside the hospital to get a peek at Henry. It felt so strange to be close to them, but not be able to hug them or let them hold Henry. Then we went home, and in order for people to get to see Henry close up, we had to have people go into our backyard and look at him through the window. It was still too cold to bring Henry outside, so this was the only solution. Some friends and family couldn’t bear the window, so they couldn’t come. We don’t blame them at all, but it pained us so much we couldn’t just let everyone in. I cried most days that first week postpartum. There were hormones, guilt, pain, and joy. I saw my therapist virtually, and explained this to her, and she validated the grief we and our family felt. We had lost certain elements of Henry’s birth that we had expected to have. My son was born on one of my best friends’ daughter’s third birthday, and they still haven’t met. It wasn’t until his one month birthday that the rules allowed our parents to meet Henry. Everyone was so happy, but there was still this sense of loss. The time alone had been special for Tyler and I, in that we were really able to establish our family unit, but to not even have the option of having visitors was still painful. Our parents were so supportive. My dad would get us groceries, and Tyler’s parents would go to Costco for us. Henry was so small, and my legs were so swollen, my mom went to Walmart to buy clothes that would fit us. Still, none of those things replaced what we wish we had. So many friends and family have still only seen him. We can only hope that by the time Henry turns one, things could change.

The silver lining

It isn’t all bad though. My cousin has a daughter a few months older than Henry, and we joined swim classes together and cohorted so our kids could play. Seeing my son play with my cousin’s daughter is hilarious. They have very different personalities, and it is so funny watching them interact. I also cherish Thanksgiving, when the rules allowed my parents, sister, brother in law, and grandma to be with us. My grandma held Henry for the first time and said “He’s like a brick!”

I think more than anything, this has taught me to celebrate everything you can with everyone you love. The first birthday Henry has without pandemic restrictions will be ridiculous, because we want everyone there.

I am also thankful that I have many supportive friends, who see photos and videos of Henry, and happily anticipate being able to play with him. I am thankful for my other cousin who would let Henry and I join her on walks around the neighborhood, and while we have to be six feet apart, it feels almost normal. I think more than anything, this has taught me to celebrate everything you can with everyone you love. The first birthday Henry has without pandemic restrictions will be ridiculous, because we want everyone there. If Tyler and I have another child, we plan to include people as much as possible. Doing this as a little family has still been so special. We love Henry and every moment of life we have had with him so far, but we only wish we could share these moments with all of our loved ones. In the end, I remind myself, “We can do hard things.” (A quote I heard from Dr. Jody Carrington, but have learned is from Glennon Doyle) The end is in sight, and my son won’t remember this. Until then, we have learned to appreciate what we can do, and try not to focus on what we can’t.