Ames Bradley Doherty came into the world on April 30th, 2021.
We’ve been busy loving on him ever since. It still hasn’t sunk in that I’m a mother of two. When Tony uses the words our kids, I have to stop myself from asking who’s kids?
Life is funny, isn’t it? Maybe not funny, but definitely works in weird, beautiful ways.
There will be a plentiful of posts to come – I promise there will be – but this post is all about the most handsome, little babe, Mr. Ames. I wrote his birth story a couple weeks after he was born and decided to share it below. It was an an experience that humbled me tremendously, and each time I reread it, it humbles me over and over again.
Oh, my sweet Ames, what a story you have.
As I write this, I’m listening to his noisy newborn squeaks and grunts coming from the dock a tot next to me. As annoying as they can be in the middle of night, they’re the most blissful and comforting sounds to hear in the silence of the living room.
I’ve put off writing his story because I know it will be hard for me to relive and retell, but I want the words written and his grand entrance to the world remembered, both for him and I.
We brought him home a week ago today, even though in a couple days he’ll be almost two weeks old. Life since then has been messy and beautiful, and nothing I could have imagined. But I’ll touch on that much more in a second.
Ames was scheduled to arrive into the world on May 14th; a scheduled c-section, just like his big sis. It was a day before his older brother’s birthday, and we were counting down the days until we met him. We found out he was a little boy before Christmas, and had been trying to get Lou girl ready for her ‘bayybeee’ to join us before he arrived in the spring. We were anxious about change, our routines with Lou being thrown out the window, and the sleepless nights to come, but ready to take on another little life to love and watch grow. A tag line around our house was, “I wish he’d just be here now,” said with both excitement & nerves.
The nursery they share was hung with corals, mustards, and muted blues. His onesies were washed, folded, and ready in the closet. The diaper caddies were scattered around the house and were filled with all the newborn necessities I remembered using with Lou. I had stocked the hallway closet with wipes size one diapers, preparing for a baby the size of Lou, or even bigger.
We were pretty much ready, but also ready to soak in the last couple weeks we had with our little girl before our time would feel divided.
On April 26th, I had my first weekly check with Dr Moga. These appointments always seemed so pointless to me, especially because, in my brain, a scheduled c-section meant that was the day he’d be here, not any earlier.
Obviously, I was completely wrong on all these thoughts.
In the beginning of each appointment, vitals are checked: temperature, oxygen levels, and blood pressure. I’ve always had gold stars in these areas, so I didn’t pay any attention to the numbers popping up as I chatted with the nurse.
She got quiet as she wrote down my blood pressure reading; it was sky high, something I’ve almost NEVER had, regardless of being pregnant. “Let’s take that one more time, I’m thinking we got a fluke in the reading.” I knew enough to know that high blood pressure in late pregnancy wasn’t a great thing. And after taking my blood pressure two more times, both just as high as the first, she left the room to get Dr Moga.
Dr Moga was surprised with the readings, but not quite concerned. He told me we’d do a couple more tests, take some labs, and go from there. He indicated there was a small percentage that we’d be coming in that Friday to deliver the baby, but the impression I got was it was still somewhat of a long shot.
I did a pee test, had my blood drawn, and then was out of there to get Lou from Bubi and Papa’s house. Of course, Tony was out of town for the week, which didn’t help my nerves or panic at the thought of baby boy coming so much sooner than we thought.
A phone call from Dr Moga the following day led to more tests – an abnormality in my urine hinted at the beginning stages of preeclampsia – this set a panicked ‘you have to come home now’ to Tony in effect; at this point, all signs were pointing to a baby coming on that Friday. Tony flew home early, I bought snacks for the hospital, packed a bag for me and the little man, and we were as ready as we thought we could be.
And what a Friday it was.
We spent the morning in bed, snuggling Lou and watching Disney movies. We watched her play with her toys, eat her breakfast [& throw all the food on the floor for her puppy]. We got the house ready for a weekend away in the hospital.
Bubi came to play with Lou and feed her lunch as we packed the car. We had a hospital report time of 11:30 and as fast as I wanted time to go, it was bittersweet to know the second we’d walk out the door, Lou wouldn’t be our only child. I remember feeling the tears start to build and pool in my eyes, as Tony said, “you should probably start to say your goodbye to her, it’s going to take you a while.”
It was hard.
I made it quick, just like I would kiss her goodbye for daycare in the morning. After that quick kiss, I put one foot in front of the other and walked myself right out to the running car in the garage.
I knew I was going to be giving Lou a best friend for life, but it didn’t make it any easier to leave her for the weekend.
The sun was shining as we drove to New Prague. It was a beautiful, clear, spring day. Not to sound cliche, but the birds were chirping & it felt like the most perfect day to bring a little boy into the world.
On the drive down, Tony and I talked about how calm we both felt about having two under two. Maybe it was because we’ve been through a baby already, maybe not, but we were ready to jump into the craziness and meet our little guy.
Once we got checked into the hospital, the same systems started that were in place with Lou: get undressed, hair net, IVs in place, chats about anesthesia and spinal blocks. Even though I had been here before, I felt much more aware of what was going to happen once I went into the surgical room. I was jittery & I could feel my breathing quicken the closer it got to the 1:00pm assigned surgery time.
The anesthesiologist was a sweetheart of a man. He fed Tony pizza; Tony didn’t eat all morning because I couldn’t eat, and continued to tell us he couldn’t wait to help celebrate the little guy’s birthday. It was a needed comic relief for my increasing anxieties.
Ben, the anesthesiologist, wheeled me down to surgery and we left Tony behind to join me later. Suddenly, things felt cold, unfamiliar, and sterile. Even as we entered the operating room and I heard each nurse or tech tell me they were, ‘here for the birthday party,’ I wanted to crawl under the thin blanket on top of me & hide. With Lou, everything was so unknown, the steps that had to be taken to get her out were foreign to me, but when I was in that room, I knew exactly what was to come, and those thoughts made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Ben made the spinal quick; those wasp sting feelings weren’t as long as they had been with my first, and I slowly felt the lower half of my body start to go numb. I was tipped back & the pockets of nurses started to do their tasks. All the while, Ben chatted me up on teaching, Lou, and how I was feeling about being a mom of two.
Dr. Moga started doing his first steps, calling them out as he worked. As he was busy, they brought Tony into the room. He could tell I was close to having a mini anxiety attack and grabbed my hand to help calm me down.
After Tony came into the room it all happened so fast.
We heard, “The baby’s head is out.”
And then we heard him; two loud cries.
“Do you hear him, Kayls? He’s beautiful.”
Just like his sister, I knew him already. I knew he would get the hiccups EVERY NIGHT at 9pm, just as I’d be falling asleep. I knew he liked to stretch around lunch, kicking my ribs. I knew he liked have parties on my bladder at 3am. But it sure was wonderful to hear his cries. I longed for him in my arms.
As the doctors worked to make sure all other parts of delivery took place, Tony bopped back and forth, from check ins with me, to check in on our son. He kept me informed on each step of the way, “they’re clearing his lungs of liquid, they’re a little wet,” “he scored 8’s on his vital checks; nothing like Lou’s 10, haha.”
It felt like it was taking centuries for me to see him. Ben had started pacing around back behind my head, keeping a close eye on Ames, getting his vitals checked. I finally asked him, “Is everything okay, Ben? Tell the truth.”
“Yes, things are all good, if they weren’t I’d be over there right now, that’s how you know it’s serious, if I leave you to be with Ames.”
Relief flooded over me. I knew I was being impatient, just wishing for the surgical process to be done and to head into recovery with Ames.
Soon after my conversion with Ben, I heard the nurses talking about transferring me over to a different bed to be wheeled into recovery. This meant surgery was complete, so where was my baby? I still hadn’t been able to look at his pink, perfect skin or kiss his little cheeks, or see his big, blue eyes.
“Can we let baby be on mom’s chest for the ride to recovery?”
More conversions I was hearing by the table circling my son. There were more doctors in the room than before, and they all seemed to be hovering around Ames.
I also noticed Tony pacing. A pacing Tony was never a good sign.
“Yeah, let’s let Mom see him while we wheel into recovery, then we need to get him back on oxygen asap.”
What was happening? Ben told me there wasn’t anything to worry about & now he’s on oxygen?
Moments later, my son was on my chest. He was the tiniest, sweetest little thing I had ever seen. I actually couldn’t believe how small he felt, especially in a room full of eyes closely watching. He was soft and wonderful. He had big, blue, open eyes, just like his sister. They opened immediately when he heard my voice and felt my skin.
He watched me intently as we were pushed into the recovery room. I told him how much I loved him and how excited I was to finally meet him. I tried not to pay attention to how much he was laboring to breathe, the moans he was making, or how much he seemed to be struggling in general.
I wanted our moment to be all about love. I wanted to soak in every detail of his face, his smell, and his perfect, tiny fingers and toes.
Once we were in the recovery room, Ames was taken from me, put back under a CPAP, [a continuous flow of oxygen] and out of my reach. The room stayed full of doctors and nurses, constantly monitoring him and I. Tony remained pacing.
In between pumping him with oxygen, they took an xray of his lungs. Up to this point, they thought he just had fluid pooling, and because he was delivered by c-section, he didn’t get ‘the squeeze’ that other babies get during delivery.
We knew something was wrong. But nobody would tell us the severity…
…until they did.
“We think Ames needs to be airlifted to a hospital that has the resources to help him.”
Airlifted? As in a helicopter? As in an emergency?
I’ll never forget the look Tony gave me after we heard those words. Tears instantly filled both of our eyes.
Ames’s x-ray showed ‘white noise’ on his lungs. The doctors thought it could be fluid, or that his air pockets hadn’t fully developed yet, which means they weren’t opening to get him the oxygen he needed. He needed a steroid called Cerfactin, which helps these air pockets open and develop, it’s used quite a bit in preemie births, and they didn’t have it to give him.
Transportation arrangements were made: Tony was going to leave right then and there and be at Children’s Hospital once Ames arrived. Alissa was going to head down to New Prague to be with me while I recovered, because unfortunately, that’s where I had to remain since I had a c-section. And Ames would be helicoptered out, once the medic team from Children’s arrived.
Everything was moving in blurs around me, yet time felt so slow. Ames was moved next to my recovery bed so I could hold his hand. Watching him labor to get the needed oxygen is an image I want to forget, but doubt I ever will. His body was as close to lifeless as you could get. The CPAP was working overtime, pushing air in and out of his lungs, and the respiratory therapist continued to tell the doctor on call that his need was changing, for the worse.
Once the team from Children’s arrived, they administered the steroid he needed almost immediately. Ben assured me that he thought the steroid and a couple night’s being monitored in the hospital would be all Ames would need. That he was just born a bit early and his lungs needed that extra push to develop. The team from Children’s also administered a breathing tube, and basically hooked him up to every IV and monitor imaginable for the trip. They explained it was much easier to do all the needed and necessary things before the helicopter ride so that it was as safe and as comfortable as possible for Ames.
With Tony gone and Ames in the next room while the medic team finished the final preparations to get him ready to leave, I did the only thing that helped; I prayed. I prayed to my grandma to watch over him, I prayed to God to help make his lungs strong, and I just prayed to anybody that would listen for my sweet boy’s safety.
When it was time to say goodbye, there were floods of tears. My tears, Alissa’s tears, the nurse’s tears, & the doctor’s tears. At the time, the goodbye felt so final. I actually hate thinking about the goodbye because I truly didn’t know when I’d be able to see Ames again. It’s the most heart-wrenching & helpless feeling to relive. Looking at my tiny warrior in this huge box of machines and wires, and knowing there wasn’t anything I could do as his mother to make things better.
I watched the helicopter take off with my most precious cargo and had more tears streaming down my face. I held Alissa’s hand and told myself over and over that he’d be okay, his dad was waiting for him, and I would see him soon.
Ames had a four night stay in the NICU. I was able to join him and Tony the day after he was born, getting released a day early from the hospital. He only had a breathing tube for the first 24 hours upon arrival, and then was monitored closely thereafter. He took some time to figure out how to breathe and eat, but once that was nailed down, we were clear to go home and introduce him to his big brother and sister.
The NICU was a humbling, wonderful, yet, sad place. We were one of the lucky ones; our stay was short & Ames progressed nicely. The stories we heard and saw made us realize how incredibly lucky our experience there had actually been.
Even though Ames’s birth story isn’t that of butterflies and rainbows, it’s still his story of how he entered the world. I think it’s foreshadowing what an amazingly strong and resilient young man he’s going to be.