Ugo Ndubaku

My inclination towards the field of nursing was always present, however, the birth of my first child solidified my decision. My pregnancy progressed without any complications; I had prenatal care, took my prenatal vitamins,  and followed the instructions of my doctor. I decorated the baby’s room and waited for  the much anticipated due date, October 29th, 2004. The due date came and passed without an onset of labor. My doctor advised us that the baby was okay and scheduled an induction on the evening of November 1st.  We packed our bags on the “D” day and headed to the hospital. I was induced for 12 hours when all of a sudden, the nurses began to panic. It all happened so fast!  I don’t remember a lot, but I still remember hearing my nurse calling the charge nurse in to help re-position me in order to get the baby’s heart rate up.

Within 15 minutes, my room was full of medical personnel and everyone talking at the same time. I heard, “We have to do an emergency C-section!” —“Is the doctor here?” — “This baby is not going to make it!” I remember the feeling of being in an ice cold room, helpless, and lost, to say the least. They did an emergency C-section, took the baby and rushed out of the surgery room.  My husband dashed after them while I was trying effortlessly to get a glimpse of my newborn child. It was like a train ran over my heart. The doctor came in few hours later only to tell me that my son may not make it. Tears were coming down my eyes like waterfalls.  The doctor did ask me if I had any questions; of course I had a million, but I could not find my voice. I kept opening my mouth but nothing was coming out. The nurse squeezed my hand and told me to try writing my question down. My hand was trembling so much that the pen kept on falling. It was the first time I saw my husband cry. When I finally got to see my son 2 days after birth, he was in a glasslike crib with tubes coming out of his nose, stomach and heart, and head monitors hooked on.

Yes, I cried to God and questioned why. I asked to switch places with my son. My son ended up staying in the hospital 3 weeks after birth and by God’s grace he did survive.  I know without a doubt that I could not have made it without the wonderful nurses that God put in our way. It was the nurses that helped me find my voice. I became their patient as well. They updated and comforted me, reminded me to eat, sleep, and promised each time to take very good care of my baby. They were my angels and I hope to be some else’s angel one day after I finish my nursing school.