Mother of the Groom

“The baby is experiencing respiratory distress, so we are going to perform an emergency Cesarean.” They were the last words I remember before the anaesthetic mask was placed over my face. What had started as a fairly standard induced delivery had suddenly become an unexpected crisis for both me and my son. During the last two months of my pregnancy, I had developed high blood pressure and had been placed on bed rest during the height of an unusually hot Boston summer. My obstetricians were cautious, but not overly concerned about my condition, so there was really no reason for the lurking sense of dread that had taken root in my mind during those last weeks. I now know that my body was acutely aware of what was to come.

I had developed toxemia and had I not been in a major medical center, there is a good chance that both my son and I would have died that day. The condition had destroyed my platelets, leaving my blood unable to clot following the c-section. I received 13 units of blood and 20 units of platelets before my doctors were able to control the bleeding. Due to the severe blood loss, my kidneys failed and the decision was made to intubate me and place me in a medically induced coma until my body could recover. The only thing I can recall from those critical hours was the reassurance that my son had been safely delivered and was doing well.

After four days in the ICU, I was well enough to be transferred to the maternity unit where I would spend an additional two weeks rebuilding my strength and praying that my kidneys would begin to function again. While my husband was sent home with our son, I was sent for dialysis. Not exactly a scenario covered in What To Expect When You’re Expecting. 

Thankfully, my kidneys did recover and my body healed much faster than my broken spirit. I viewed myself as a failure on so many levels – a belief that was sadly reinforced by nurses who made me feel guilty for not breastfeeding when I was unable to sit up without agonizing pain, friends who thought I was exaggerating my condition, and others who suggested that I may not be able to bond with my son as a result of the trauma. As difficult as the physical recovery was, I was wounded in a much deeper way by some of the people in my life who offered so little in the way of support or understanding. When I finally left the hospital, I wondered myself if I had the strength to now be a mother. Fortunately, I had the most supportive husband and family, all of whom gently helped me to learn how to care for my son while allowing me the space to work through the grief I was feeling over the disastrous delivery. The real tonic, however, was the perfect, wide-eyed, and chubby-legged baby boy my disappointing body had miraculously produced.

I can admit to myself now that my maternal instinct did not kick in immediately. I was too run down, dealing with post-traumatic stress, a c-section incision that was not healing properly, and an awkward awareness that my husband was the more competent parent. But with each day, I could feel the wave growing, an ever-increasing energy infused with joy and hope and love for my son. A wave so strong that eventually it washed away all of the pain and anger and self-doubt and replaced it with the purest, strongest form of love I have ever known. 

Last month, my twenty-eight-year-old son married the love of his life in a beautiful Christmas-tree-lit ceremony. As I watched him standing at the head of the aisle waiting for his bride, I was again swept over by a wave of emotions. The ever-present love for my family that brings me the greatest joy and sustains me as I navigate new chapters of my life. Pride in the remarkable man my son has become. And, most especially, gratitude. Profound gratitude that I am here, rich with the memories of so many years, to experience it all.