Table of Contents
I stood by my daughter’s head when the room filled with nurses. Her baby’s heart rate had dropped. Somebody said the word vacuum, and somebody else started talking about getting ready for a C-section because he was stuck. I kept telling her she was doing it. My heart dropped.
His due date was somewhere between September 29 and October 2. He came on September 23 at 9:06 in the morning, and by 5:30 that evening he was in a helicopter. I was grandma in the delivery room for all of it, and I wrote almost every minute down on my phone while it was happening.
This is those two days, the way Grandma in the delivery room saw them.
The blood pressure check that turned into today
My daughter had trouble with her blood pressure during her last pregnancy, so when it ran high at her appointment on September 22, nobody wanted to wait and see. The doctor sent her to the hospital for more tests. She stopped at home to eat lunch first. I went along for moral support, and we left the house at 12:40.
By 1:00, she was in a room with a cuff on her arm. It went off every fifteen minutes or so, and I wrote down every number. The top number bounced between the high 130s and 150 and never settled.
After an hour and a half of monitoring, blood work, and a urine test, the doctor came in and talked to her about being induced and what high blood pressure can do this late in a pregnancy. She gave her a little time to think. My daughter decided to be induced.
The strange part is that the two of us could both feel contractions before the monitor showed a single one. They showed up on the screen later. She texted work and called her husband.
The afternoon I spent running.
I stayed with her until 4:00. Then I went back to the house, showered, and packed a bag. Madeline had gone to daycare for a few hours that day because of scheduling conflicts and the sudden change in plans. I picked her up, made dinner for my daughter, packed Madeline’s lunchbox with dinner, and drove back to the hospital.
My daughter had a burrito and grapes for dinner. Madeline had a lot of questions for the doctor and the nurse, the same way she’d been asking why about everything while we got ready for her brother. My daughter showered and put on her pajamas.
Her contractions picked up around 9:30. My son-in-law got there around 10:00. I went home for the night.
What being grandma in the delivery room really looks like
A little before 2:00 in the morning, her water broke. She got an epidural around 3:30, and it was harder this time because the contractions were stronger by then. She texted at 2:30 for an update. At 4:15, she was at five centimeters, and she texted me again. I was there by 5:00.
Most of being grandma in the delivery room is waiting. I sat close and watched the numbers and watched her face. She was tired, but doing better with the epidural. Her blood pressure spiked once while she slept, only because of how she was lying. They moved her, checked again fifteen minutes later, and it had come right back down.
At 6:30, she was at seven, maybe eight centimeters. The nurses changed shifts at 7:00, and the new nurse told my daughter she was doing great and should be proud of herself. By 8:10 she was at nine.
Somewhere in there I got to feel him move during a contraction. He moved a lot, right up until it passed.
The minute the room filled up.
The doctor came in at 8:40 and wanted her to start pushing. By 8:56 she was ready, and on the next contraction she pushed.
His heart rate went low. They turned her on her side and put oxygen on her to help him, and his heart rate still sat in the 70s. Then it was all hands on deck. I think every nurse on duty was helping in one way or another. Somebody said vacuum. Somebody said C-section. He was stuck.
I stayed right where I was, up by her head. My heart dropped and the worry set in. I tried to stay positive for her and get ready for whatever was coming, at the same time. I kept talking to her through every push.
She gave it everything she had on the next contraction, with the doctor and the nurse giving it everything right alongside her, and Henry was born at 9:06.
Seven pounds, eleven ounces. Twenty and a half inches long.
Watching two people at once
It took him a few seconds to start crying, and when he did, it didn’t sound the way it should. My son-in-law cut the cord while Henry lay on my daughter’s chest, and then the nurses took him over to the warming bed. He needed oxygen.
As grandma in the delivery room, I had two people to watch and only one of me. I kept my eyes on my daughter. I’d look over at the warming bed and back at her, back and forth. I asked the nurses for updates. I kept telling her he would be okay.
I didn’t know that. I said it anyway.
We learned later that one of his shoulders had caught behind her pelvic bone on the way out. It’s called shoulder dystocia. It broke his arm, up by the bicep. The doctors said it should heal in two to four weeks. Between that and his heart rate dropping, that’s why the room filled up so fast.
The hardest goodbye
For the next several hours, his oxygen went up and down. At 9:45, they took him to the nursery, and my son-in-law went with him. By 10:10, he was on very little oxygen, and at 10:18 they brought him back to my daughter, ready to eat. Then his levels started dropping again, no matter what the nurses tried.
At 12:30, a nurse explained that if his oxygen didn’t come up and stay up on its own, he would have to be flown to Twin Falls. At 2:10, his blood sugar was 41. It needed to be 45. They gave him formula and sugar to raise it.
From where I stood as grandma in the delivery room, the care was excellent throughout. They explained everything to us, and everyone was gentle with my daughter and Henry.
At 3:00, the doctor came in and told my daughter, my son-in-law, and me that he was going. They had tried everything, and this little hospital is not equipped for an emergency like his. They ran more blood work and took an X-ray of his arm before he left. The hope was that once he got down about 2,000 feet in elevation, he would breathe easier.
The flight crew arrived at 4:30. They got him ready, and on the way out, they brought him past the three of us one last time. The helicopter took off at 5:30. None of us could go with him. I found out later that’s common, because on a newborn’s air transport there often isn’t room for a parent to ride along.
I knew he was going where he could get the care he needed. It was still a lot, all at once. We said goodbye. I rubbed my daughter’s back and her shoulders and tried not to think of the worst.
It crept in a time or two.
Waiting for the phone to ring
My daughter had to stay where she was. My son-in-law headed to Twin Falls. I ate dinner with her, waited while she showered, and stayed until she was settled. Then I left so she could get some sleep she badly needed, and I went back to the house to help my husband with Madeline.
Being grandma in the delivery room ended the way most of it had gone, with me waiting. I waited for her to call.
At 8:00, the NICU nurse called my daughter to tell her Henry was doing well. He would be there for at least 48 hours. My daughter called me with the update. My son-in-law got to him around 9:30.
That night, in the journal I keep for him, I wrote down what he’d say about it: everyone in the hospital knows about my flight, and I’m famous already.
Why I wrote every minute down
Every time in this post comes from my phone. I typed notes all through those two days: the numbers, what the nurses said, and what time it was when they said it.
I did it for my daughter. She was going through so much, and I knew she wouldn’t remember most of it. Somebody needed to be able to tell her later.
It’s also just what I do. In a lot of hard situations, I document. Being grandma in the delivery room didn’t change that, and I didn’t think twice.
Those notes became the first real entry in the journal I keep for Henry. Henry’s journal. I keep it in his voice, so his birth story is in there now the way he might tell it someday. One of the NICU handouts for grandparents suggests taking notes at hospital meetings so parents can remember what the doctors said. It’s the same idea. Mine just ran for two days.
What I’d tell another grandma in the delivery room
If you’re about to be a grandma in the delivery room, or your grandbaby just got sent to a NICU, here’s what I’d tell you from that day.
I asked a lot of questions. The mom giving birth isn’t thinking straight, and she doesn’t always have the mindset for questions. Somebody in that room has to ask them for her.
I tried to stay as strong and supportive as I could. Sometimes that was only a back rub and a few words while she pushed. Even that can help.
I didn’t hide all of it, either. Showing some emotion lets her see you’re in it with her. March of Dimes points out that grandparents can feel joy over a new baby and worry about him at the same time, and worry about how their own child is coping on top of that. I had all of it, standing in one spot by the bed.
And I wrote it down. If I could tell a grandma in the delivery room one more thing, it would be that. She won’t remember. You will, if you write it.
Henry is doing well now.
His name is Henry Hall. He’s my grandson, and he’s famous already.
If you’ve been a grandma in the delivery room, or had a grandbaby in the NICU, I’d like to hear what helped you most. You can tell me in the comments, and if you subscribe, you’ll see the next one, when Madeline gets to know her baby brother.