Two months before the delivery of my third baby, my husband and I grabbed lunch after an OB appointment. The TVs in the restaurant were running stories about the Coronavirus outbreak on the Diamond Princess cruise ship. I didn’t give it much thought - I was trying to enjoy a little alone time with my husband before we added another baby to our family. Little did I know, that would be our last time in a restaurant and the last OB appointment my husband would be allowed to attend. I was oblivious to what was coming.
Two weeks before my delivery, our world had drastically changed. Again, I was at the OB. My temperature was taken when I entered the building, and I was handed a mask. My OB shared all of the changing hospital procedures and protocols - including that I would be Covid tested, and the possibility of being quarantined from my baby if I tested positive. I’ll never forget being advised to bring the baby’s carseat into the hospital in a trash bag to avoid contamination. I was so scared.
Two days before my delivery, I was tested for Covid-19. The week had been identified as the peak week of Covid in my state - Massachusetts. It was a drive up testing center, and a nurse in full PPE came up to my car window. I remember my hands shaking as I handed her my license and my eyes burning from the nasal swab. The nurse told me I’d get the results the next day, and I quickly drove off. I had to pull over before getting back on the highway because I was sobbing and terrified.
Two hours before your delivery, we reported to the hospital. My Covid test had come back negative (thankfully!), and I felt some small sense of calm. Again, it was temperature-taking and masks for your dad and me before we were brought to the surgery prep room. The same hospital that has been bustling with the births of my first two children felt like a ghost town. I had stayed home in the few weeks before my delivery, so it was my first time wearing a mask for an extended period. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I begged my husband to turn up the fan in the room and told the nurses I needed to stand. I was having some kind of panic attack.
Two hours later, my sweet baby girl arrived. I was lucky enough to have my mother, an OB nurse at my hospital, scrub in. She held my hands as they placed my spinal before my husband could be in the room. “Breathe, Danielle,” she told me as my blood pressure dropped. But then, my baby girl was born. As I heard her screams, as I felt my husband rub my shoulder, and as she was finally placed on my chest, I was overcome with tears of joy and relief. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t think about the pandemic. I only felt love.
Two days after my delivery - a c-section - we were allowed an early discharge. Instead of the revolving door or nurses and the influx of visitors, our hospital stay was quiet. While I wished my two older girls could come meet their new baby sister, there was something nice about the stillness and the privacy in those new moments of life. In reflecting on my delivery, I felt nothing but gratitude - for the nurses, doctors, and hospital staff who made us feel so safe every step of the way; for the friends and family who reached out to check in; for our own health and our baby’s health; for the incredible miracle that was her birth.
Two months have now passed since our baby was born. We are so blessed for the continued health for our family and for the sweet, smiley two-month old that fits in just perfectly. Over the past two months we’ve stayed home. We’ve snuggled, and bonded, and adjusted. We’ve read stacks of books, baked dozens of cookies, and drawn many chalk masterpieces. We’ve watched lots of movies and taken long family walks. We’ve had days full of laughter and others full of tears as we’ve gotten used to being a family of five while quarantined within our four little walls.
But the truth is - having a baby during the peak of a pandemic will stay with me forever. Certain questions are on a constant loop in my mind: What if someone in our family catches Covid? What if I have to quarantine from my family? Will I ever feel comfortable with people holding my baby? Will she be uncomfortable when that time comes? Do I send my children back to daycare and preschool? What are the physical risks versus the social emotional risks? What about developing their immune systems? What if it spikes again? Have I told them too much about Covid? Not enough? Will my babies always live wondering if they’re too close to someone or if it’s okay to give hugs?
As our state has begun reopening, and I watch others begin to return to some normalcy - arranging playdates, going out to dinner - I realize just how “infected” I’ve actually been. While I haven’t been infected with Covid itself, the fears around Covid have been hard to shake. Trying to make decisions about what’s best for my family during a time of incredible uncertainty is incredibly hard. But I will heal. Whether it takes two more hours, two more days, two more months, or even two more years. I will heal. My family will heal. And hopefully whatever Covid scars remain remind me not of the fear, but of the love and safety we established as we became a family of five inside these four little walls.