Noah was born at 8:41 AM. He was quickly wrapped and taken to the warming table for clean up. I watched in the distance as they rubbed him clean and attempted to arouse a cry. Everything happened so quickly and this part of his story is a blur. As my doctor continued his work, I was preoccupied with the little person I carried for 9 months. They put him on the scales and announced the he weighed 7 pounds 8 oz. He was measured... 19 inches. The nurses began to murmur as they quickly brought him to me. They were still rubbing him and although he cried, they were not pleased by it. Before I could really enjoy his warmth against me, they told me they had to check his breathing and they rushed my beautiful Noah to the NICU.
It would be hours before I could see my lovely newborn. As I recovered in the room my husband checked on the baby. Noah had aspirated during delivery and was breathing over 100 breaths per minute. They had to place him under oxygen and run tubes in his lungs to remove excess liquids. His pediatrician was not in the office that day so the assistant director of the NICU decided to make Noah his patient. This was the best news we could receive. The doctor provided Noah the best care possible and spent time personally explaining every detail of Noah's medical treatment. Along with his irregular breathing and aspirating at birth, Noah's blood work came back with his white blood cells hiked up to levels that concerned the doctor. He placed Noah under watch for 3 days and he gave him antibiotics to help fight whatever ailment that was growing in Noah.
I was completely thrown. When I envisioned the birth of Noah I did not think about the possibility of complications. I planned the whole pregnancy and I even had a tentative schedule of my stay at the hospital. Noah was going to teach me that sometimes life cannot be planned.
