#emergency c-section

NEW DELHI: A baby girl was delivered through an emergency C-section from the womb of her mother, Sabreen Al-Sakani, who was killed along with her husband and daughter in an Israeli attack in in Rafah, Gaza. The strike claimed the lives of 19 people, including 13 children from a single family, according to Palestinian health officials.The newborn, weighing 1.4 kg, is stable and gradually improving…

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NEW YORK | Beyonce reveals she had emergency C-section

NEW YORK— Beyonce reveals she had an emergency Caesarean section when she delivered her twins.

The singer, in a series of essays in September’s Vogue magazine, says she was 218 pounds and was swollen from toxemia. The 36-year-old says they spent many weeks in intensive care and her husband, Jay Z, was “such a strong support system.”

She says she put pressure on herself to lose weight in the three months after the birth of her first child. But after the twins, she approached things differently.

Beyonce says she has a “little mommy pouch” and she’s in no rush to get rid of it.

She says it’s important for her to help open doors for younger artists. Her photo is the first Vogue cover to be shot by an African American photographer.

North Carolina Pastor and Wife Who Tragically Lost Two Young Sons Now Expecting Twins

(COURTESY EDDINGS FAMILY) A North Carolina pastor and his wife who lost two sons in a tragic accident on the way home from a family wedding in 2015 are now sharing happy news. (more…)

What Do Our Family Values Really Mean?

As anyone who follows my blog probably knows, I like to talk about the funny side of raising kids. That’s why I started it: I want to remember these wonderful things, years from now, after sleep deprivation and everyday life would’ve made me forget them. Plus, in a world of constant political debate, I figure the hilarity of parenting brings people together. No matter what side of the aisle…

I need a word stronger than shivering. 

I'm cold. So, so cold. I had been sitting on that bed with my belly exposed, after coming back into the air conditioning from the balmy fall day, for over an hour. My hair is wet from a pre-lunch shower. And I'm more than shivering. So, quaking?

I need a word stronger than trembling.

I'm terrified. The seven women run me down the hall to a locked elevator, and we descend two floors. We careen around corners, into a fluorescent room, and they tell me they need to do an emergency c-section. "We've got to get Baby A out of there," they say. And I'm more than trembling. So, convulsing?

I'm quaking. I'm convulsing. 

All the women are donning gowns, gloves, caps. Nobody's scrubbing--no time. Someone puts a cap on my head. Someone else pulls my pants off and throws them on the floor. "I'm going to insert the catheter now," says a body-less voice at my feet. 

"Ow!" I sob. 

The women gathered around my hips ask, "Can we go?" 

A woman at the top of my head yells, "NO! She's still wide awake!" 

This woman leans over me, her face upside down. "I'm [no idea what her name is], the anesthesiologist. What's your name?" she asks. I try to answer, but every time I open my mouth, I convulse. Huck, huck, huck is the only sound I can make. She puts a mask on my face and tells me it's oxygen. "Breathe," she says. I can't breathe. Huck, huck, huck.

Again: "Can we go?"

"NO!" But then she looks at me. "You're going to go to sleep now."

I don't feel like I'm going to sleep. I feel like I'm quaking. I'm convulsing. 

**********

"Amy? Wake up." 

I blink. I'm quaking. It's so cold.

There are only three or four women left in the room. Everyone's moving more slowly.

I slide my hand over my stomach. It's smaller.

I shift on the bed. Fire. The crescent line between my hipbones is on fire.

"Where are my babies?" I ask.

"They're in the Intensive Care Nursery," someone says. 

I'm convulsing. "Are they OK?" I ask and start to weep.

"We're taking good care of them. Baby A was having some trouble breathing, so we had to put a tube down his throat."

I still have no idea who I'm talking to. I speak at the ceiling.

"Can I see them?" 

"Well, you need to go recover for at least a couple hours first." My heart shatters.

"I'm so cold," I say. 

"We'll get you warmed up," says the person. I think that person is lying.

I get wheeled into a recovery room. The nurse lays heated blankets on me, and I just stare at the wall. Quaking. Convulsing.

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