I remember being so out of it when this photo was taken. Thinking that this was supposed to be a big moment. HUGE. The first time that I’m holding my baby girl after all of the adversity that we’ve faced. And I just felt numb.

I felt like I was viewing the experience from just outside my body. I was still shaking and shivering from the anesthesia. I was nervous about holding her, because I didn’t feel stable.

Some of these feelings were driven from a sooner-than-expected delivery and shock of being a new parent. The other part, I now know, was due to postpartum hemorrhaging…which we hadn’t yet discovered.

…So where does this story start?

It was the Friday morning before Christmas. I was driving to work with my decaf coffee and sporting my maternity bootcut jeans (the only pants that I could fit my swelling feet and legs into…) The skies were cloudy and traffic was light. It was a great morning. I paused the music to call my maternal fetal care doctor. (Over hands-free Bluetooth, of course.)

At my appointment the previous morning, my doctor was concerned about my elevated blood pressure in combination my lower body swelling and rapid weight gain. All symptoms of preeclampsia. My blood work had been coming in normal, so the doctor requested that I call in my blood pressure if it reached a certain limit. I barely slipped under it that morning, so I decided to call in just to be safe.

The outcome: Drive straight to the labor and delivery unit.

My response: “Wait. What!? …….. What does that mean? Is baby coming!?”

The nurse: “Maybe. We want to be cautious.”

We had waited for this moment for years. Actively seeking options to overcome fertility issues, and we got pregnant through in vitro fertilization. (read about how I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes during IVF.) And now it was finally time. Baby could be on her way.

I called my husband, and that’s when my tears came. Surprise. Joy. Fear. He was just as flabbergasted as I was. He jumped in the car and drove to the hospital.

That Friday was spent on a lumpy hospital bed while machines monitored my blood pressure and baby’s heart rate. A few hours in, the doctors decided to schedule me for a c-section the following morning at 7:15 am. (Four weeks before baby’s due date and two weeks before the previously scheduled c-section).

Holy cow. When I was driving to work that morning, it never crossed my mind that the next time I returned home it would be with a baby in my arms–instead of my uterus.

We texted our close family and friends this photo and gave them our exciting news.

Jordan left the hospital to grab us lunch, pack the hospital bag, and arrange for his parents to pick up our dog from the house. That night was originally planned to be our family pajamas and tamales night, so my mom, sister, and soon-to-be brother in law brought the party to us in my hospital room.

Jordan and I didn’t sleep much that night. Beeping machines. Lumpy beds. Parenthood in the morning!? But alas, 6 a.m. still showed up.

As the nurses came in to prep me or surgery (IVs, special soap, medications), I remember how surreal this all felt. I nervously went through the actions and watched Jordan get dressed in his hazmat suit. My blood sugar was stable in the low 100’s, and I passed off my insulin pump for Jordan to monitor during the surgery. (I insisted on wearing my pump and managing my own sugars–instead of getting an insulin drip.) All prepped, we walked down the hall to the operating room.

The surgery itself was relatively easy. I was more nervous with anticipation than anything else. I remember the sound and smell of burnt skin as they made the cut (yuck), the pressure of the doctor pushing baby out of the incision, and me holding my breath until I could hear her cry.

They brought her around the curtain for a brief moment of introduction.

Vivian Mae Nelson came into the world at 8:09 am at 6 lbs 12 oz and 19.5 inches long.

Recovery is where my struggle started.

Coming off anesthesia was a beast. I shivered so much that I was convulsing. My teeth chattered so intensely that I couldn’t speak. Nurses placed piles of blankets on me and even ran a tube of heat under the covers.

When my maternal fetal care doctor called to adjust my insulin pump settings, I couldn’t hold the phone or have a conversation with her. They paged my husband out of the nursery to come help adjust my insulin pump settings to pre-preganany range…now that I only needed insulin for one person again.

Nurses told me that the shaking would only last 30 minutes…it lasted more than 4 hours. I desperately wanted out of recovery so that I could hold my baby girl.

Hours later, they finally wheeled me up to a postpartum room, and minutes later, they wheeled in my baby girl. Unfortunately, her time in our room didn’t last long. And it would be days until I could see her again.

My temperature was reading 103.8 F, so they took Vivi to the NICU for monitoring. Back in my room, nurses started tests to figure out why my temperature was so high. They took multiple blood samples, throat cultures, and x-rays looking for signs of flu or strep. The testing lasted all afternoon.

There was one nurse, Ashley, who was a godsend. She had been watching my blood loss and became increasingly concerned. She was changing my pad every 30 minutes because it was soaked through. At one point in the afternoon she was so frustrated because the doctor wouldn’t come check on me…so she rummaged through the bathroom garbage to find and weigh all of the used pads to quantify my blood loss.

It worked. The doctor came to check on me…and decided that I needed to go into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. Nurses wheeled me out of the room and down the elevator to an operating room.

During surgery prep, I asked the doctor how this surgery (and the day away from baby) would impact my ability to breastfeed. His response: I shouldn’t be worrying about that right now. His major concern was making sure that I didn’t lose my uterus…seriously!? It was that bad?

When the doctor asked whether Jordan or I had any more questions, Jordan replied, “If it’s that serious, why in the hell are you talking to us? Go into surgery.”

At this point, they knocked me out with anesthesia.

I woke up hours later in another hospital bed with two IVs (one for drugs and one for the blood transfusion), bakeri balloon in my uterus (used as a temporary stop to a postpartum hemorrhage…apparently the leading cause of maternal deaths…), and a lovely catheter.

The next few days were brutal. I was stuck in a painful recovery, and I wasn’t allowed to see my baby. (Not only because of my high temperature…but I also couldn’t get out of bed to go to the NICU).

Vivi was doing well in the NICU. At 36 weeks, she was on and off a feeding tube as she practiced her coordination to suck and swallow for eating.  Her platelets were low, and they were also monitoring her blood sugars before and after meals because of my Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis.

Jordan was in the NICU every chance he got to help Vivi practice feeding from a bottle. Since my recovery would take a few days, the goal was to get her to graduate the NICU and come to my room. While Jordan was in the NICU, we would video conference (Thanks, Duo!) so that I could see baby. It was heartbreaking to see Jordan and my family with baby…when I couldn’t be there. It was an emotional few days.

On Christmas morning Jordan surprised me: They wheeled Vivi Mae into my room. It was the best present that I’ve ever received. To get to hold my baby girl three days after being separated. There was a moment with my baby, me, and my amazingly resilient husband. Happy tears.

…throwing in a photo of Jordan and Vivi in their Christmas PJs.

P.S. This is how Vivi felt about the NICU…

We both spent a couple more days in the hospital for monitoring, and we were released to go home six days after the initial c-section. More happy tears.

This past week Vivi turned one month old. (Does time as a parent always go this fast!?)

Jordan and I are loving our time at home with her. Lots of snuggles, reading, and family time.

And things aren’t perfect: Our schedules are non-existent (breakfast at noon?). We’re taking less showers than we’d like and hardly leaving the house (baby during flu season!?). My breastmilk production is super low (…oh, my mental battles. I know how silly this looks typed out, but every time we feed her formula, the mom guilt is real. I have to remember that my boob milk doesn’t define me as a mom. ) And other parents were for real about the lack of sleep. Sometimes I’m so tired that the tears flow down my cheeks.

All that being said, I’ve never felt more fulfilled with this new addition to our family. We have lots of loving help from our family, and Jordan and I are figuring out our new normal with this whole parenting thing. And I can’t stop looking at her. I mean, I already filled up my phone storage with photos…