Johnny Ransom: Our Birth Story

Prequel: Read our fertility journey here

Butter yellow irises are growing outside your nursery window, the same wood paneled room that BopBop grew up in. While we were in the hospital, Mommy’s roses finally bloomed along the fence, and we came home on a rainy day to warm soup on the stove from Aunt Kathy. Life has slowed down and revolved around one thing this past week: you.

Your silky skin, your searching eyes, your little toe that we named Cyprian.

Oh Johnny, we can’t believe you are finally here, in our arms. That we made it.

Last Tuesday morning, May 19th, Peter and I woke up at 4:15a.m and hit the road by 5a.m. We had known for weeks that we would likely have a c-section because of my placenta previa, and while I grieved not being able to go naturally, I eventually had to admit that it was nice to finally have the tiniest bit of control with this pregnancy—ie, knowing what we could expect when it came time to deliver. In a way, I felt like God was acknowledging how much surrender it’s taken to get here, and He was saying, “We’re going to do a c-section so that you don’t have any more unknowns. Just show up. They will do the rest.”

I was so filled with peace and amazed at how calm I was that morning. I kept marveling, “This is NOTHING compared to the anxiety and fear I had at each ultrasound and appointment” when my body would literally seize up in panic that something may be wrong.

Pre-op was so chill. Over the next two hours as our nerves began to creep up, Peter kept me calm by forever making me laugh at his charades. Looking damn fine in his scrubs, he wheeled around the room in his wheely chair pretending to be a doctor: “So your vitals are great, we’re just going to increase your squeenile for max comfort, I’ll just grab the tubular cynthrax to get started.”

Then it was go time! They wheeled me back into the operating room and it was all so surreal and things began to move quickly. It was kind of an out of body experience. I had dreaded the spinal block, but it wasn’t bad AT ALL! Honestly, getting my IV in pre-op was way worse. But once the spinal block kicked in (and maybe it was my nerves or just the unreal sensation of going numb chest down), I began to feel woozy and gagged and tingly and shaky, and I was so worried I would feel like that the whole time, but the nurse at my head was a little saint and kept me calm with some medication and oxygen. I took a lot of deep breaths to stay conscious and finally calmed down a bit. Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of faint episodes and body overwhelm that I’ve learned how to calm my nervous system down fast.

After a few minutes, Peter was allowed to come back and sit near my head. Oh my gosh I’m tearing up at how kind and reassuring his face was and always is, how he locked eyes with me, stroked my arm, and immediately started reciting Hail Marys. I felt like my look must have been pretty wild and feral and borderline frantic—it was just such an overwhelming and such a very, very unnatural feeling lying there, knowing what’s about to happen or happening, AND that our baby was just minutes away. But praying Hail Marys calmed me down immediately, and at one point Peter’s eyes got especially large and earnest as he emphasized, “Blessed is the fruit of YOUR WOMB.”

I pictured our babies up in Heaven, Noel, Leo, Lucy and Jack, hovering over the operating table and eagerly awaiting their baby brother’s arrival. My God did they give me comfort.

I felt intense tugging and kept trying to remain calm as I began to feel my body rock, and then, “Ok, it’s almost time! Get your camera ready! He’s about here!”

And with that, Peter perked up in excitement, the curtain came down and up came our sweet little boy, Johnny Ransom. Peter broke out in laughter and I broke down in sobs, crying, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh” as his strong and loud cries filled the room. It was like the trumpets of heaven heralding his arrival! Those cries pierced my heart right to the core—next to my babies’ heartbeats and Peter’s voice, it was the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in my entire life.

My sweet Johnny Ransom was born at 37 weeks at 9:08a.m on May 19th, weighing 7lb4oz and measuring 19.75”. Named after St. John of the Cross, the poet Carmelite who is celebrating his 300th Jubilee Year, Johnny’s middle name was inspired by the day we found out we were pregnant on the Feast of Our Lady of Ransom, but the longer story is that we want Johnny to know how utterly precious his life is, that Jesus paid his ransom, that Mommy and Daddy sacrificed and gave everything they had for him, and that he should live his life for others.

Also, Johnny Ransom just sounded like the coolest little cowboy name for our little half-Cajun buckaroo.

They took him aside to clean him and check on him, and I had told Peter I wanted him to stay by Johnny’s side as much as he could be. Peter cut his cord, and from my awkward position on the operating table, I looked over my shoulder the whole time at them. It felt like a little party over there, and I just kept breathing honestly, staying calm and smiling big.

But then the mood shifted a little bit, and my heart sank when his cries died down and they said he needed some extra breathing support. It didn’t feel like an emergency or dire situation, but just a very necessary thing to do. We were warned of this since early c-sections sometimes/often required a bit of time in the NICU, but when they whisked him out and I caught site of all the breathing tubes he was already attached to and that I didn’t get to see him up close or have any skin to skin, I broke down sobbing.

I lay there, arms stretched wide like the Cross, surrendering.

My nurse comforted me, and I immediately appealed to Johnny’s Guardian Angel and thanked God that Peter could go be with him as they finished with me. It wasn’t until 1pm that I was finally wheeled back into the NICU where I could meet my son and finally hold him skin to skin.

A few hours later, we were able to go back again and this time Peter got to hold him for the first time. It’s one thing to marvel over the face of your long awaited newborn, but it’s another to absorb your husband’s look as he marvels at him.

At 9pm, we went back for his quarterly update, and I broke down sobbing when I was told I couldn’t hold him again. It was so unnatural to not be able to hold him or comfort him, and it shattered me with how vulnerable and little he looked attached to his feeding tube, CPAP, and other monitors and wires. My heart goes out to NICU parents. Jesus was saying, “Surrender surrender surrender just a little bit more.” So I did, and I held back my tears until we were back in our room where Peter could hold me as I cried. Maybe pure determination to see him as much as possible took away literally any pain I had from the c-section as I walked back and forth to and from the NICU.

At 6a.m, I was back and SO hopeful at seeing him off his CPAP machine. A few hours later, I got to hold him again and breast feed and we were able to stay in the NICU until he graduated around 5pm on Wednesday. DeeDee and BopBop (Mom and Dad) had somehow timed it perfectly that as we triumphantly brought him back to our room, they were there to celebrate with us. The nurses all assumed he was their first grandchild for how giddy they were, but nope! Johnny is number nine! They just adore each and every grandbaby as if they are their first.

That first night was a DOOZY together as a family, trying to figure out shifts, how to soothe him, and the constant interruptions from nurses. We were discharged Thursday at lunchtime, and we’ve been home ever since! Recovering has been slow but steady, and Peter has been the most hands-on Dad ever and such a doting husband. It’s like he was truly always made to be a father. They talk about new mothers suddenly blossoming in their new vocation, but wow is it amazing to see Peter just step so naturally into the role of fatherhood.

And Johnny? Our little miracle is doing just fine, piggy squeaks and all.

I’m amazed at how my expectations of the c-section were so off—in a good way! I lied and told my nurse that on a scale of 1 - 10, my pain was “a one” the first 24 hours when in reality, I had zero pain. (I mean, eventually that definitely changed!) I was shocked how I literally felt nothing with the spinal block, and I was also dreading getting my catheter removed but again, everything was so fine. I really felt like my years of intense period and back pain, insomnia from pregnancy, and the recovery from my three endometriosis surgeries had all prepared me for this. Even our nights have been pretty painless—I was expecting utter hell, but Johnny just sleeps away and the worst part is having to pester him and wake him up every 2-3 hours to feed him. I’m certain the hellish nights are still to come since we’re only one week into this, but the Lord has been so good to me. To us. (One thing that has definitely and unfortunately met my expectations in the worst way is breastfeeding—hoooooooly moly it’s just as painful as I thought it would be).

So Johnny, where do we go from here? I’m thinking we figure it out day by day. You saw Mommy’s garden yesterday, and you’ve been getting lots of visitors. We’re learning so much—all three of us—and little by little we’ll keep growing in holiness as a family. This world is beautiful, and it is broken, but it is also undeniably, indisputably better with you in it.

I love you, my Johnny Ransom. I always, always, always will.