Four months after our wedding, my husband, Jason, and I were overjoyed to learn the news that would change our lives forever—we were pregnant. It was the start of a new year, the dawn of a new decade, and the timing seemed perfect. This would be our first child, and the beginning of building the life we had always dreamt of together.
As a freelance writer, I had the time and a flexible schedule, allowing me to focus on my pregnancy and prepare for the arrival of our baby. Jason, a project manager for a local electrical contractor, was progressing in his career. The beginning of 2020 was looking like all we had anticipated: a year to remember.
Our first appointment at Kaiser Permanente in Santa Rosa was scheduled for Feb. 20, at nine weeks pregnant. Unsure of what to expect, we were as nervous, as we were excited. We were wrapping our heads around the thought of becoming a family of three—a reality soon to be confirmed in black and white on-screen during our visit. This would also be our first ultrasound, showing us a live image of our little, gummy-bear-sized baby, as well as filling us in on what to expect in the upcoming months.
We walked into the building like any other appointment, with casual ease, navigating around the staff, the patients in line at the pharmacy and the waiting rooms, which were full. Having Jason by my side eased my fears, fed my excitement and warmed my heart—we were sharing these moments together.
Together, we saw the first images of our baby on the screen. The tears began to flow, and gushing with joy, we asked every question any expecting parent would. We left with hearts full and mounds of material to take home and process until our next appointment.
Then, everything changed.
Weeks after that first appointment, the pandemic struck with ferocity. By March 11, the coronavirus had entered our lives. Initially, we were uncertain how this would affect us directly. What is coronavirus? Are we going to be okay? Would this affect our baby? Our minds flooded with concern as we began the beginning of a strict quarantine. Here’s my journey through pregnancy and childbirth, in the age of COVID-19.
The first trimester
After those first few appointments at Kaiser, that warm and fuzzy feeling, my husband alongside me, was drifting away. For the remainder of my pregnancy, hospital visits became more intense than I could have anticipated, with restrictions and rules subject to change at any time.
The pandemic was affecting everything around us, but internally, things felt normal. Aside from the first trimester sleepiness that comes on strong in the beginning, I was feeling great. No signs of morning sickness had me exercising and trying to keep up with my rescue puppy, Pepper. We got her only days before finding out we were pregnant, and she would keep me on my toes for those remaining months—hiking and walking. In a way, Pepper’s exuberant puppy self was preparing me for what was to come.
Jason was adjusting to the changes I had implemented into the household, too. Each day when he arrived home from work, I had a sign attached to the door from the garage into the house that read: Please remove work clothes and boots. He’d strip naked, leaving behind all work attire from the day, and head straight to the shower where he would rinse away the germs, in theory. He never minded, and always obliged.
What was most frustrating to us as we embraced new restrictions early on, was the inability for him to attend scheduled ultrasound appointments. Also known as sonography, it’s an imaging method using sound waves to produce images of structures in the body. Since COVID-19 hit, hospitals had created strict policies to prevent overcrowding and potential contamination at hospitals.
During one visit in my first trimester, Jason could still come to the hospital with me. He sat in the waiting room in gynecology, laptop in hand, catching up on work, knowing he wasn’t going to be part of the doctor’s visit, but he was there for support. It didn’t take long for an employee to notice the only male in the waiting room, and a staff member had him leave the building altogether.
After that experience, I realized Jason would never get to see our growing baby in motion on the small screen. I could see the baby wiggle, suck his thumb and even rest peacefully on the ultrasound. It was a pivotal moment for me, and I knew Jason would be missing out on the joys of watching our baby develop through this process.
But I did find a loophole. I began thinking about 3D and 4D ultrasound facilities—unrelated to hospitals, the private facilities operate within different guidelines and restrictions. I immediately called Prenatal Peek in Santa Rosa. Not only were they open and conducting ultrasounds, but it allowing one guest to accompany mom. This was our silver lining. Although pricey for the short, 15- to 20-minute visit ($90 to $120), Jason would get a “sneak peek” at his growing son.
Owner Ross Galisanao greeted us when we arrived at the facility, where they typically conduct 1,200 to 1,400 ultrasounds annually. Jason and I were the only visitors scheduled, and we felt safe knowing surfaces had been sanitized and masks were required.
We followed Galisanao into the ultrasound room, equipped with a standard hospital bed situated next to the ultrasound machine. At the other end of the room was a large screen, which would show the images of the baby. In front of the screen was seating for group visitors, similar to a movie theater. Galisanao explained that pre-pandemic, friends and family of the expecting parents could attend the ultrasounds and host a gender reveal party or simply share the experience with loved ones.
Galisanao begins the ultrasound with soft lullaby music and dimmed lights. As the image of our son came on screen, I began to cry, as I always do in ultrasounds. But this was more than I could have imagined—seeing our growing child’s small features, which mimicked ours. It was the closest look possible before birth.
Looking over at Jason, his eyes were welling up and his jaw was nearly on the floor—something his mask couldn’t cover. Holding hands and admiring our son as he sucked his thumb, this was the moment I was longing for, with my husband, and seeing our baby.
Things weren’t so bad at the beginning of the pandemic, and it wasn’t until the second trimester when the changes in me began to show as well as the changes around me.
The second trimester
As the pandemic began sinking its claws into our day-to-day lives, regular monthly in-person checkups were either cancelled or became online appointments.
By mid-April, at around 16 weeks pregnant, I had my first pandemic-related appointment cancellation.
What would have been an ultrasound to check the baby, was now moved, and I had to settle for a telephone appointment with my obstetrician. A telephone appointment? How would the phone check the progression and health of my growing baby? I broke down and cried. I felt like my entire pregnancy experience was going to be minimized significantly because of this frightening and unknown virus creeping into our lives. As a first-time mom, I was scared and just wanted to be seen regularly.
Though in-office appointments were minimized, I did make regular trips to the lab for blood work—my least favorite pregnancy activity. I often made a scene by hiding my head under my jacket, so I couldn’t see anything happening. The only baby in the room was me, until my third trimester when I had become a blood-work pro, walking in with my preferred arm out and ready for the draw.
One of the additional highlights to the blood work was finding the baby’s gender, and very early on. (Spoiler alert—it’s a boy!) Though not what we had anticipated in a gender reveal with our family and friends or a memorable moment together at an office visit, pointing out the baby’s visible extremity, this was our way of getting the news, surprising nonetheless. We were all sheltering in place and socially distancing ourselves from each other, especially in these early days of the pandemic.
Meanwhile, I wanted to make certain I knocked out all the classes I could before our baby’s arrival. There were a variety of classes, including the newborn-care class, breastfeeding and childbirth. If six feet isn’t far enough already, even routine pregnancy classes offered to patients such as myself would be distanced even further—from home in front of my laptop or cell phone.
Kaiser made these virtual classes and appointments easier than expected, ensuring members that telehealth appointments allow people to stay home and still get great care, while helping to address the risk of community spread of COVID-19.
Pre-pandemic, expecting parents would attend these classes in person, which allows a hands-on experience practicing breathing and labor prep. No such luck for us. With providers scrambling to organize virtual classes, we, along with other first-time parents, had to familiarize ourselves with our computers, logging on to get a leg up on labor.
Video appointments quickly grew on me. (Think about it: you’re pregnant, cranky from exhaustion and uncomfortably large. Would you rather make the trip to the doctor’s office for a quick check-in or group class? Or, would you prefer to have your feet up with your robe on sitting in your favorite side of the couch visiting via laptop? Me too.)
I began my sessions, virtually, in July. When we logged onto the childbirth class from home, host Kristina Ahmad greeted us and three other couples for what would be an hour of explaining and guiding us on how to get through childbirth. Though it seemed unrealistic to fully grasp the concept of whether or not we were doing our J-breaths (deep, swooping breaths in the form of a letter “J”) and hip squeezes appropriately, it was nice to be in the comfort of our own home and not have to make the trek to the hospital for the hour-long lesson.
Everyone introduced themselves on the web portal, sharing whether this was their first child and their biggest fear about childbirth. For most couples, their concerns were centered around their partners’ presence in the delivery room, which at this point, due to the pandemic, allows one support person in labor and delivery only. For me, the up-and-coming fire season was a cause of concern. My due date, Sept. 24, is in middle of what has been a consistent fire season, and as my memory took me back to the 2017 Tubbs fire, images of Kaiser patients being evacuated from the hospital had me feeling uneasy.
For others, it was continued quarantining and being away from family that fueled their fears.
During my baby-and-me course in August, one mother shared that she and her newborn hadn’t seen anyone, including all immediate family, for five months since the baby was born. Sheltering in place, she mentioned how upset the family had been with her for not letting them visit the baby—something I was starting to anticipate as I inched closer and closer to being in her shoes.
“We take bike rides to [grandma’s] house, but say hello from a distance,” she said. “Yes, it’s hard for grandma, but it’s also hard for everyone.”
I knew I wouldn’t be biking my newborn to grandma’s house, not only because she’s two towns away, but because riding a bike post-labor sounds painful. However, I was open to the thought of FaceTiming or Zoom calls with family members as an option to meet and see the baby. Implementing technology wasn’t so bad after all.
Third trimester
Two weeks before the baby’s due date, I had a scheduled appointment to check my progression. Upon arrival, the same administrator who checked me in for each visit was once again at the window, sanitizing her station and maintaining an organized and flowing workspace, even though I was always the only one there. Bubbly and kind, her smile, unseen behind her mask, was noticeable in the squint of her eyes. She was a familiar face I had grown so fond of over the past several months. Every other seat in the waiting room was marked with a sign, reminding expecting mothers to practice social distancing, even though you’re the only one in the room.
“You’re getting close!” The administrator remarked that day, which put yet another knot in my stomach. Nearing my due date, and COVID was still ever-present, I was becoming increasingly anxious for how things would change or hinder the natural and usually unpredictable birthing experience. I still had no birth plan. What for? If I designed my ideal scenario for the big day, it was sure to be met with every challenge and unexpected change, only adding to my stress. I kept things open to consideration, and though I didn’t have a concrete birth plan, I did have a vague idea of what I hoped would happen.
“I’m getting so nervous,” I admitted that day. Nearing the end of my pregnancy, I was just starting to get comfortable visiting the doctor’s office every other week. This meant my sleepless nights weren’t going to be the result of restless legs and insomnia, but the cries of a hungry baby.
When the nurse brought me in, my blood pressure was high for the first time. My heart was racing, but it could have been the mere 15 steps my 160-pound-self had to climb to make the appointment. “Let’s try again,” she said. Still high. We waited until I could pull it together in the examination room for yet a third go at my blood pressure.
“Much better!” She smiled. I could now let go of the fears inside me that I was suffering from an undiagnosed preeclampsia or one of many possible pregnancy conditions.
This appointment would be my last until my due date. The high blood pressure I’m certain was caused by the amount of questions I kept asking myself: What if I’m dilated? What if I’m not? What if I have to be induced today for some unexpected reason and Jason can’t be here because of COVID? Every scenario flooded my mind. I took my mask off, realizing I was alone in the room and could take a few minutes to breathe until my doctor arrived.
Once she walked in, I felt at ease, surprisingly. This had grown to be my safe haven over the months. While appointments could come and go, be delayed or cancelled, this was my zen space where I felt safe. I never thought I’d say that in a doctor’s office, but being surrounded by professionals who could assure me that my unborn child was still safe and healthy, while the world around us was seemingly falling apart in the midst of the pandemic, was always reassuring.
As it turned out, I was not dilated. Even with my new symptoms of swollen ankles and stabbing pains throughout my abdomen, I was far from “there.” Shrugging my shoulders with uncertainty of what would happen after I left this last appointment, I said farewell to my doctor through my mask, knowing this could be the last time I see her as a pregnant patient.
“I’ll let you know how it goes, if I don’t see you,” I told her.
Defeated and relieved at the same time, I left her office and went outside where I sat on a bench, staring at the building, designated for labor and delivery. It looked like a skyscraper to me. I counted up three floors, “One, two three…” trying to connect with the place I never was able to tour or see, due to pandemic restrictions. The facility that would take me in on the most anticipated and scary days of my life was right there, but inaccessible. I thought of the phrase, what to expect when expecting, and realized, I’m not sure I even know what to expect at this point.
Labor day
As we approached the baby’s Sept. 24 arrival date, we were in the midst of fire season in Sonoma County. The baby’s due date came and went, but I still wasn’t experiencing any signs of labor.
We had already encountered the Walbridge fire in the North Bay, and on Sept. 27, three days past due, the Glass fire took to St. Helena and Santa Rosa, quickly burning more than 28 structures, wineries, famous landmarks and more than 50,000 acres. I had already scheduled an induction date in Santa Rosa, which was suddenly changed to the Kaiser in Vallejo, one of the closest facilities with a labor and delivery department. With the fires once again burning uncomfortably close to Santa Rosa’s facility, the likelihood of a third evacuation for the hospital in three years seemed possible.
An ongoing pandemic, fires burning around the community and a due date that had passed, to say I was anxious was an understatement. It was as if the walls were closing in on me, and I was gearing up for the possibility of just about anything.
To my surprise, and relief, I received a call only days before my scheduled induction that I could stay in Santa Rosa rather than travel to Vallejo to give birth. Containment on the fires was looking manageable, and they were less of a threat to the hospital, leaving me feeling one small sense of peace.
Jason and I arrived at Kaiser for our 8 p.m. induction the night of Oct. 1, and the fear and anxiousness set in. The unknowns of how the process would go and the anticipation of meeting our son in days, or even hours, had my stomach in knots. I admit, I was more than ready to evacuate this baby from my belly. Large and outgrowing his small living quarters, his body was shaped like a crescent moon, curving around the left side of my core to make room for himself.
We walked in with our pillows in hand, ready to settle in for the birthing process. “Hi! We have a suite reserved on the third floor,” I joked to the security guard, as he took our temperature and made us sanitize our hands before making our way to the elevators. “Penthouse suite, right?” He joked back. Humor made me feel more at ease and reduced the tense nature COVID created at the hospital.
Walking through the double doors into labor and delivery was like buckling into the scariest roller coaster at the amusement park for the first time—there’s no going back once you get in, but somehow, everyone comes out the other end with smiles on their face.
The nurses in labor and delivery made me feel like I was in the safest place imaginable. After we checked in, one of the nurses sensed my fear, which I quickly confirmed, and happily informed me that not only was I going to have a great experience. Babies tend to “crawl out” during delivery, she said. In this case, it would be into the arms of my midwife, Sonja. My fear began to lift as I was in the best hands. Each and every nurse that stepped in to care for me during what was a long, two-day ordeal, approached with urgency and gentleness. The pandemic and the wildfires were no longer part of my consciousness. At that point, the only task I had in the world those two days was focusing on getting my son to me safely and comfortably.
During those last moments of delivery, those final few pushes sent Axel Jason Deming out of the safety of the womb and into my arms at a whopping nine-and-a-half pounds, all was right in the world. Gazing into his almond-shaped eyes staring back at me, those nine months of quarantining, constantly sanitizing hands and surfaces, and avoiding people to eliminate any chance of contracting anything that could harm me or my baby, had all led to this moment of surreal bliss.
Bringing a new life into the world was trying at times, unpredictable and simply put: scary. With the addition of a global pandemic, uncertainty is ever present and fear is often looming. But with the help of highly-trained medical professionals and resources to tackle each scenario along the way, the miracle of life continues to grace us as beautiful as it ever was.
Baby on board
As of this writing, Axel is just shy of three months. He’s grown to 25 inches in length, 12 pounds and looks more like a 5-month old. His smile and laugh have both emerged and could melt any heart, especially mine. His gentle demeanor in the womb has carried over to now, with his quiet and easygoing personality. He’s still unsure about baths, as is his dog, Pepper. The two of them are becoming quite the duo.
As we enter a new year, I pray for the ongoing health of all children, ourselves and our families. Each year on his birthday, I’ll tell him the story of how he entered this world during a pandemic, and that he made it through—we made it through— and can make it through just about anything in this life with a loving family and a lot of faith.
