Chapter 12
After two days and two injections, my body feels like it’s buzzing. Dr. Patel says the steroids will kickstart my baby girl’s lung development. It’s strange to have already done something important for her well-being when she’s still a part of me.
We know she’s a girl now, and Noodles is over the moon beside himself at the thought of being a daddy to a little girl.
I’m taken to a chilly, sterile operating room for a cesarian section. Nurses bustle around, helping me into a hospital gown, putting on a hair net, and arranging my body on the cold operating table. The entire Insanity crew waits outside for the birth, eager to meet the newest addition to our growing family.
The anesthesiologist introduces himself as Dr. Hill. His voice is calming, his manner gentle as he explains the process of the spinal block. I barely feel the needle’s prick, but soon a warm numbness spreads across my lower body. I can’t feel anything below my chest, and somehow, that’s the most terrifying part.
The final barrier between me and the procedure is a blue curtain that springs up around my chest. It transforms me into a disembodied entity—my pregnant belly, the focus of everyone’s attention, is on one side.
I’m on the other side.
My arms are splayed out, crucifix-style, IV lines snaking out like lifelines to the various machines surrounding me. Noodles is directed to sit on a stool and to stay behind the blue wall. His hand slips into mine, his grip reassuring and iron-strong. The fear in his eyes mirrors my own.
But there’s excitement. The anticipation of meeting our little girl.
“Are you ready?” Dr. Johnson peeks over the blue curtain. Her eyes crinkle at the corners with a soft and gentle smile. They’re the only visible part of her face, the rest is hidden behind a surgical mask, and there’s a blue cap on her head.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I try to sound braver than I feel. But really? My part in all of this is done. All I have to do is lie here while Dr. Johnson takes our little girl out of my body.
Easy, right?
The procedure itself is a bizarre experience. The sensation is less pain, more of a strange, detached pressure and tugging—like an alien prodding my insides. I clutch onto Noodles’s hand, anchoring myself to the solidness of his grip, and focus on his face. His comforting presence grounds me. And then…
A high, wavering cry cuts through the tension.
The sound of life.
“Congratulations! She’s here.” While I can’t see Dr. Johnson, her voice carries so much joy.
There’s a flurry of activity as my OB team transfers the baby to the NICU team, who whisks her away. Torn between staying with me and going with our daughter, I smile at my husband and father of our brand new baby girl.
“Go with her.”
“Don’t you want me to stay with you?” He looks terrified and excited. Excited to see his daughter but terrified of leaving his wife on an operating table.
“I’m in the best hands. Go with Tabitha.”
“Tabitha? Is that her name?”
The one thing we haven’t discussed is what to name our baby. This cancer thing threw us for a loop. We’ve been so focused on my health that names kind of got pushed to the back burner.
“If that’s okay with you?”
“It’s perfect.” He leans over to kiss my forehead, then follows a technician out of the room to meet our perfect little girl.