Frankie James Huijs

A catheter was inserted and I was wheeled into the little room that comes before the actual operating room. Despite being in these rooms so many times before, I still don’t know what they're called. An anaesthetist asked me the usual questions, as well as what music I wanted playing. I'd never thought about what music I wanted while my baby was bought into the world. I responded the same way I do every time I have an MRI..."anything older than I am." Tape was stuck over my nose ring and a monitor was attached to my chest. Well, they tried. Until we all realised I was somehow still wearing a bra. For someone who hates bras on the best of days, how I’d managed to have one on under my hospital gown and not realise was beyond me. It's possible I had been just tad distracted. On top of that, both the bra and my purple gown were now soaked with the wet cloths Chris had been trying to cool me down with. I was a mess.

Bra removed and a fresh gown on, I was taken into an operating room buzzing with activity. Everyone who caught my eye smiled gently as I shuffled my butt from bed to table. Feet off the side, resting on a plastic chair that looked like it belonged at a for-hire BBQ event, the anaesthetist told me to slump over so he could find a space in my spine to shove his needle. Meanwhile two women struggled to find the baby’s heart rate and I cried.

Once jabbed, they lay me down and Chris and I locked eyes through the glass window in the heavy doors. A curtain was strung up, my arms were put out to each side like I was being strung up on a cross and Chris came in and sat down beside me. They ran ice down my sides and asked me when it no longer felt cold. I couldn’t help but think that in 2021 there had to be a better way to know if I was going to feel them cutting into my abdomen. Regardless, the show went on.

Within minutes, I heard the softest, tiniest cry imaginable. After a minute of delayed cord clamping, a ball of baby was held up over the curtain. “Congratulations, it’s a girl.” I saw her tiny bottom and then she was gone. It all happened so fast.

Chris went back and forth between baby and me and, for what felt like an eternity, they shoved things around inside me like they were rummaging in an oversized handbag. I got the shakes and came close to throwing up (thank you fast-acting drugs and fast-acting anaesthetist) while baby got cared for. A wonderful anaesthetist’s assistant took photos of bub while the doctors checked her over and came to show me. I saw the face of my baby for the first time on a screen. And it was wonderful.

After they intubated her to give her little lungs a rest she was wheeled over to me. I could have sworn she was a doll. So still. So tiny. So perfect. I touched her tiny hand and felt it move gently against me. And then she was gone.