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I didn’t have a pandemic pregnancy with my first baby, Simone—until the last few weeks, when the world suddenly and terrifyingly changed, and we were all scrambling for toilet paper, understanding and safety.
I definitely had a pandemic labor and birth with Simone—we changed hospitals, doctors, and states in a panic at 37 weeks so my husband Tony could be there with me. I was still afraid he wouldn’t be allowed, hospital policies kept changing and nobody knew what to expect. The policy banning birth partners in New York was overruled just a few weeks after it was passed at the hospital where we planned to deliver. But the crazy uncertainty lingered.
My friend’s partner had to leave a few hours after her emergency c-section (hospital policy said he could be there for the delivery, but not afterwards), and he walked through eerily empty Manhattan streets in the middle of the night while she recovered from her surgery and the nurses took care of their brand-new tiny baby. The policy was incongruous and frustrating, yet they were relieved he could be there at all.
All the plans I had so painstakingly considered and concocted for my birth did not come to fruition, from the team of lovely doulas who were going to be with us (no doulas allowed in April 2020) to the seafood tower I requested as my postpartum celebration, to the birth itself, but that’s another, longer story.
This time around, I got vaccinated in March and April, during my first trimester. I texted my midwife friend in a sudden moment of panic while I was waiting in a CVS in Kips Bay (the vaccines were so new!); she reassured me it was a good decision. The proto-baby would get antibodies, too! The world is again changing, hopeful, and new. Yet it’s still pandemic times, and pandemic weirdness lingers.
I decided to see the doctor who did my emergency c-section with Simone for this pregnancy. She had done a wonderful job, and I loved her calm manner during a harrowing afternoon. At my first prenatal doctor’s visit around 8 weeks, I had eagerly hoped I’d get to see the baby’s heartbeat in an ultrasound, as I had with my first two pregnancies. Instead, I learned I would have to come back later—the policy at this practice was no ultrasounds at the first visit. I also asked about a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) and was given a hard no. My babies would be born about 18 months apart, and the policy here was a 24-month minimum (to reduce the risk of uterine rupture, which is indeed an awful thing).
I burst into tears, which I don’t think I have ever done at the doctors before.
I felt so alone.
I was alone, in a way. Tony had come to most of the prenatal appointments that felt significant during my pregnancy with Simone. My mom joined me for one when he couldn’t make it. That was back during the before times. Now, I was not allowed to bring anyone. Each time the office called to schedule or confirm an appointment, they reminded me to come alone.
A few weeks later, I joined my friend for a small procedure at her OBGYN in Brooklyn. I was jealous that she was allowed to have somebody there. I brought my vaccination card just in case, but nobody asked to see it. I was happy to sit with her and hold her hand. I know what a difference it makes, to have somebody who cares about you sitting there in that sterile, fluorescent room beside you. Someone to chat with when you have to wait and distract you when there’s going to be something scary or painful or just unknown.
I was thrilled when the doctor’s office told me I could bring a companion to my 20-week anatomy scan, which is one of the big pregnancy appointments. Mine was on Friday. Finally!
But the situation was curious. Tony was not allowed to sit in the waiting room with me, he had to wait in the hallway. The ultrasound tech called him into a separate entrance. He could watch with me and hold my hand as we saw pictures of the gently writhing creature that would be our baby—the four chambers of the heart, the two hemispheres of the brain, the two femur bones. But he was not permitted to join me for the debrief with the doctor afterwards; they ushered him back to the hallway. That’s when we would have found out if something was wrong, and where I would have wanted someone to help ask questions, listen, and support.
The good news—the huge news—is that the baby looks great. I exhaled.
But I couldn’t shake my discomfort with the whole doctor’s office situation. Of course safety is top priority, and I understand Covid is real and not to be taken lightly. But we are fully vaccinated, and wore masks, and the half measure didn’t sit right with me. I wanted my partner to share in the full experience with me, not just the highlights.
I don’t think this is an easy situation. I know there are many variables, many people at risk, many unknowns. This pandemic has taken so much from us, monumental things, and little moments.
I hope this birth, this baby, will not be a pandemic baby. I hope the world will be turning a new chapter. I hope he or she will not be meeting family the first time at 15 months old. Either way, our hearts are full of love. But my heart is also still healing.