Posted in Gideon Adama Ruberto Letters, Uncategorized

Dear Gideon


I went into labor with you around 12am on the 23rd. It seemed almost unrealistic. I got up to go to the bathroom, my water broke. I remember being afraid to wake anyone up. Especially going to tell your father, he had just laid down. I remember getting in the car and not really feeling anything. I barely had contractions…

I remember getting to the hospital and telling them I didn’t want an epidural. It all seemed so fake, I was in no pain at the moment. I remember your father laughing and the nurse saying they’d put the medication on hold as they hooked me up to what they told me would hurry a long my labor.

I remember being in a lot of pain. Screaming curse words and fighting everything my body was doing as the waves of pain came crashing through me. I remember your grandmother (your fathers mom) being there, holding my hand and telling me I had to breath through it. I remember between the pain thinking that she had it so easy with her labors. The stories she’d tell me of how it was only a few hours and a few pushes…

I remember coming in and out of it. They had given me some shots of benedryl and something else. But what I remember most was the pain. By the time they decided to give me an epidural, I had already been in labor for 18 hours. They told me the epidural would hurt. They shove a needle between two bones in your spine to get it into the spinal fluid and make your lower half numb. I remember gratefully feeling nothing, until feeling nothing meant I couldn’t move and panicking as I played tug-o-war with the nurse trying to push. 4 hours into doing the pushing exercises, the nurses hooked up a monitor to you and realized you were in distress. I was unable to feel anything at this point but panic.

I remember them turning down my epidural, which later I found out means they turned it off. And I vaguely remember them telling me that I had to have an emergency c-section because my pelvis bones were infused and the canal was not big enough to let you through.

Then, I remember being placed on the surgery table. Arms spread and strapped down. I remember them putting the curtain up, cutting my stomach in half so that I couldn’t see anything going on. I remember I started crying, because I was alone, looking towards the door waiting for your father to come in.

I remember him sitting down next to me, and a lot of the rest is pretty fuzzy. I remember them trying to show you to me… But I also remember feeling them take you out. And as they were cleaning up, I told them I could feel them up by my ribs. Everyone stopped what they were doing right away and then I remember the anesthesiologist placing the mask over my face.

I remember you were born on December 23rd 2011, around 10:30pm. I am sad to admit I don’t remember your weight or measurements correctly, but I think you were 22inches long, around 9 or so pounds, and your head was like 18in in circumference. You had a bit of a bruise on your head from the 4 hours of pushing, but it wasn’t there long.

Next thing I remember is waking up in a room with nurses trying to put a morphine drip in my arm and placing it in my hand instead. I’ve always had issues with the veins in my arm. They are small, they roll and they want nothing to do with being poked…

I remember making a joke about that before they took me back to the room.

Your father stayed with me at the hospital the whole time, however I remember him being more interested in anything else but what was going on.

At one point, as I was getting up to go to the bathroom, I was laying you down and I ripped the IV out of my hand. It was by no fault of my own, just bad placement for a first time mother.

I remember the nurse yelling at me and telling me to be more careful, and I remember telling her to get out of my room and not to come back.

That was the time they put me on codeine. Codeine and I don’t mix very well and I had fallen asleep with you laying in the crook of my arms while I was on my side. I had a terrible nightmare that I had rolled over on to you and killed you. I woke up hysterical and you weren’t on the bed anymore.

Your father was right there, he asked the nurses why they would give me something with codeine in it when I was wearing an allergy bracelet that stated no codeine.

We were in the hospital for less than 2 days (if you don’t count the labor part). By the morning of December 25th, I was released to go home. I struggled with walking and the pain in my lower abdomen.

But, the biggest thing I struggled with was once we got home. I was barely sleeping, I was failing at feeding you properly, I was in a deep depression.

I remember one night I literally just sobbed. Because I had gone out with some ‘friends’ and realized that I was getting myself drunk in preparation of coming home to care for you.

It was about a month later and several conversations with my adopted mother that I realized I wasn’t caring for you. Everyone at the house was taking you, they were holding you all the time to the point I couldn’t set  you down for a few seconds without you crying. I remember one night, you and I were alone in my room. You were resting and I was very content sitting there with you while I read. I got really cold and wanted to put a sweater on so I thought if I just set you down for a second to throw this sweater on you’d be fine. I set you down and you were still sleeping, but the minute I got off the bed to put a sweater on you woke up and were crying. I set everything down and picked you up and started walking and bouncing you, but you still cried. 5 minutes hadn’t gone by and your grandmother was in the room berating me, I remember this as if it were yesterday because she said to me “what is your problem with feeding him”. And, I started crying. I told her I had literally just fed you before we came  up here. The bottle was still soaking. She had so much attitude.

I remember being angry at myself. Not even at her… I remember thinking “what is my problem” and “why can’t I do this right” and crying the whole time. I remember your father coming upstairs not long after that and asking me what was wrong, and I told him, and I remember him not doing anything.

My adoptive parents later came and got me for a week and helped me grow more confident with you. After going there I had told your father if we didn’t move out and get our own place, I was going to lose my mind.

Moving out didn’t help me not losing my mind, and it didn’t help my post partum depression much either.


More for another time, though, G-man…

Your mother



I'm Nickey. I'm a super-mediocre-wanna-be blogger/model/makeup artist/musician/photographer/scholar. I'm a walking contradiction. I don't do life-changing or motivational. I struggle with mental health issues, physical health issues, and suffer from a disease called "life sucks"... These are usually just my thoughts, out there in the open when, and if, I feel like posting.

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