A Special Kind of Mom Guilt

I think it is safe to say that most moms are extremely excited to bring their little on into the world. The idea of bringing a new life into the world can be daunting, especially as a first time mom. Therefore, you do everything you can to be prepared as the big day approaches. You build a birth plan, organize the nursery, and assemble all the seemingly millions of pieces of furniture that your little one requires.

If you are like me you research, read, and research again to learn everything you can about birth and caring for a newborn. I followed just about every recommendation to have a healthy pregnancy, even giving up my beloved caffeine. I took all my vitamins religiously, never missed an appointment, and always did my best to stay active while making sure I didn't put too much strain on my body.

My pregnancy had been given the all clear the whole way through. My blood pressure was spot on, my weight was within a decent range, and all my scans were showing a healthy girl right on target for her gestational age.

Then at 34 weeks and 6 days I woke up in a puddle. In my sleepy state I thought I had somehow managed to pee my pants in my sleep. After slipping out of bed I quickly realized this was definitely not a case of a weak bladder. My water had broken, and I mean it had BROKEN.

I roused my sleeping husband and we called labor and delivery for the hospital that I intended to give birth in. The nurse immediately advised me to go to another hospital that was better prepared for premature labor, and premature babies. I honestly didn't even have time to be afraid.

We hopped in the car and headed to the hospital. By the time I got to the early labor room it was obvious that my girl was on her way. They called it a gross rupture of the membranes and I was taken to a room to get a steroid injection to help develop her lungs and try to wait it out for another in 24 hours, but I wasn't going to make it that far.

When my babies heart rate started to drop periodically the doctors decided it was best to give my medications to speed up labor. However, she didn't seem to like those drugs or the positions that I was able to lay in and her heart rate started to drop more frequently.

Finally, after about 20 hours of labor and only 5 cm dilated her heart rate dropped and wasn't coming back up. Within minutes I was on an operating table getting an emergency c section. I couldn't see anything that was happening and they had my daughter out before my husband could even finish gowning up.

I heard the doctors and nurses calling to each other "baby out", but I couldn't hear her cry. I couldn't move to try and see her and I was terrified that she wasn't breathing. By the time my husband was by my side they had removed the placenta and my daughter had been rushed away to the NICU team and all we could do was wait for word.

After what seemed like an eternity someone came and told me that she was okay, that she was breathing but she had a CPAP to help keep her lungs open. My husband was able to see her briefly and bring back report to me on the table while I waited for them to sew me back up.

I had to wait in the PACU for a few hours and it felt like an eternity before they wheeled me, bed and all, to the NICU to see my daughter for the first time. She looked so small there in her incubator. Her face was covered in tubes and her body spotted with leads and wires. The first contact I had was only to touch her little arm through an arm hole. I wasn't allowed to hold her, I couldn't have skin to skin, when everything I had read told me it was vital in the first hour.

After what felt like a total of two seconds I had to be wheeled to my room, entirely too far from my baby. It would be another six hours before I was allowed to get into a wheel chair and taken back to her. I had to pull my IV pole along with me and the catheter bag strapped to the side of the chair. I couldn't get out of the chair and I still couldn't hold her. All I could do was sit and stare at her in her little box all covered in medical monitors.

It was the most helpless I have ever felt. I was her mom, it was my job to care for her. Yet here I was completely helpless, and feeling completely worthless. It was nearly a full day after she was born before I was able to hold her. It took two nurses and my husband to get me in the chair and her wrapped to my chest.

The whole experience was terrifying but it wasn't until more than a week later that I was able to actually grieve the loss of a "normal" birth. You see all my time and energy was consumed by being with her when I could, and pumping every 2-3 hours to try my best to have milk to give her once she could start to eat.

In the end I was a lucky one. I had carried my daughter to 35 weeks and she was much more developed than many premature babies. There was very little danger that she wouldn't survive. She was small, but she was strong and made strides each day. Within a week she was breast feeding on her own, and within two she was on her way home. I was a lucky one.

All around me parents stood vigil over their babies much sicker than my own. I watched their tired faces, the sadness when the time came that they had to return to their jobs and leave their baby alone. Many of the babies around me faced high risks of permanent complications due to their extreme prematurity.

I was blessed to be sent to the hospital with the top NICU in the area. I was lucky that the staff brought her safely into the world and cared for her like she was their own.

Even though my daughter really was as close to best case scenario as possible, I felt personally responsible for the shock and pain of a hurried and early birth. There was certainly something that I had done wrong that brought her into the world early. I was tasked with protecting her and making sure she was healthy. I felt like I had failed as a mother and my daughter was only days old.

I spent every moment I could at her bedside and did everything I could to care for her, but still I felt like I was betraying her when I left at night. I would walk past her empty nursery and feel that I had abandoned her to sleep alone in a room hooked to wires and tubes, unable to soothe her should she cry.

I pumped until I had more milk stored than the nurses even knew what to do with. My husband and I changed every diaper we could, took every temperature check that we could, and we held her as often as we could. We were always there when the doctors rounded so that we could get the best updates and ask questions. My day was planned around trying to breastfeed when I could and pumping when I couldn't. We did everything that we could for her. So why did I still feel that I was responsible for her pain?

As she got stronger and closer to going home I thought that I may feel better, but in reality I had more energy to focus on what I may have done to cause her to come early. On one of the last days it hit me the hardest. I sat weeping in her dark room while I watched her sleep. This innocent, beautiful girl deserved so much more than her first two weeks had given her. I was finally able to process and grieve what we had both lost through the ordeal.

But then something changed. I stopped looking at all the things we lost, and started to consider all the things we had gained. I learned that my husband could, and would stand by my side in anything. I learned that he would be as active in her life as I was. I learned that my daughter was stronger than anyone would have guessed, and that she learned the skills she needed faster than anyone predicted she could. I also learned that I was stronger than I ever thought I could be.

I have faced a fair few struggles in my life, but this was the hardest. You see I can handle my own suffering, but to watch this little life I brought into the world suffer torture to me. But I knew that I had to keep focused and strong to help her. I knew that I needed to deal with the pain of the c section and get moving to care for her and heal so that I could pick her up on my own. I knew that I had to face down an empty crib so that I could keep myself well enough to bring her home.

In the end my guilt wasn't going to help anyone. So I had to let it go. A major driving force for this conclusion was that in the end, nothing I can do now can change the way she arrived. Nothing I can feel can go back and keep her safe for another few weeks. My best option was to give thanks for my daughter and her health. To revel in her strength and love her all the more for her ability to overcome all her health concerns so quickly. And pray for the parents and babies who weren't as lucky.

It truly was a special kind of mom guilt.