Re:Birth
By: Ryan Glenn
Tags: Parenting, Poverty, Photography, Baby, Covid-19

Re:Birth

Two years ago, we were both homeless, Sam lived with her parents, and I stayed at a local men’s sober house. Before meeting each other, Sam was a single teenage mother from rural Minnesota. Her child's father was absent fighting addiction and cleaning up in the first years of their son’s life. I was from an affluent family who went through a bitter divorce of everyone in it. By 16, I was living with friends in Minneapolis. By 18, I was in college at the University of Minnesota and working nights at First Avenue nightclub.

My life was a cacophony of parties every night, where we worked hard and then drank even harder. Within a year, I was binge drinking every night and failing out of college. As I neared, 30 drinking had completely consumed me. I started my day with pulls from a vodka bottle, used an empty water bottle for clear booze to maintain withdraws through the day, and finished the night by emptying the liter size bottle. Every day, for about 4 years.

Eventually, a roommate helped me out, and I attended my first treatment at Hazelden Center City, widely regarded as one of the world's top treatment facilities. I was pampered daily with great meals, therapy, hot tubs, and domesticated deer. We had scheduled meditation, relaxation, reiki, and every other kind of holistic help. After 90 days, I left feeling confident, refreshed, and alone.

I could not return to Minneapolis, as all I knew there was alcohol. I moved north to Duluth to start a new life in the beautiful wilderness of the Lake Superior area. Instead, I piled work on as the amassed debts came calling. I worked two full-time jobs, breakfast cook in the morning from 5 am to 1 pm, followed by operating a private dining club from 4 pm until as late as 2:30 am the next day. I slept two naps a day and worked for months this way.

I was desperate for fun and escapism, so I turned to an old friend in whiskey one night. I thought it would be a night and back to work. It became an attempt to end my life. Within a week, I was back to binge drinking, and the shame of relapse was so intense I gave up. I abandoned both workplaces (one in a wild drunken at work mess where I fell asleep in a chair after downing vanilla extract from the workplace) and set out to die from alcohol. I had some savings from all the work, so I headed straight to the booze shop.

The first few weeks were admittedly fun as withdraws were not intense yet, and all party no work is great. Just as before, though, the shakes, panic attacks, and nightmares returned. I found myself in hospitals, ICUs, psych wards, and detox on a regular basis. Each time I stayed if needed, I left, found any alcohol of any kind, and set out to drink again.

It was not until July 2018, five months after being intubated and catheterized in the ICU after drunkenly driving my car into a ditch, that I got help. After failing to die and out of options for more alcohol, I called an ambulance and went to the hospital for the last time. I went to an Adult/Teen Challenge treatment center and sobered up. It was such an awful experience I left early. I completed my time, and since I was there voluntarily, I could leave on my terms.

I found my sobriety in the community around me. For 7 months, I lived in a local men’s shelter after losing my housing in treatment. Eventually, I found Sam, and then I found housing. Sam moved up here, and together we moved into our tiny, dilapidated house with an absent landlord.

Sam came from an opposite family surrounded by poverty. She had known broken homes, domestic violence, and starving all too well. What we had now was among the best in life. For years she worked odd jobs of service in Minneapolis. Valet attendant, fast food, retail, etc. She did so much and so often to afford a life for her son. To stay awake, she found stimulants to help. Much of the money made was spent on them to keep going. It is the cycle of capitalism and poverty wages.

While Sam was at work, her home and partner were nothing short of chaotic. She became a victim of domestic violence, verbal and emotional abuse herself. Stuck in a scary and dangerous situation, she broke free with friends' help and moved home with her parents.

We found each other on Tinder on Christmas Day 2018. We spent the entire night talking about life. We stayed up until 4 am together discussing everything but keeping it pure enough not to send nudes. We met the next day and have been together since.

Together we found work, planned our lives, and set out to work. In the two years we have been dating, we have had time for two dates and one vacation that entirely drained our savings. It was completely worth it. In that time, I have worked as a breakfast cook (again), overnight shelter supervisor, grocery cashier, election judge, and helper at a resource center for those in need. Sam has bounced from elder care facilities as a CNA as each place became increasingly worse to their staff. She now drives nights for a gig work company delivering food to those who can afford it.

What follows is the story of our baby. Although we are not religious and dislike cliches, we had a miracle baby. I hope you find some of the joy we have in our home in the following pages. Thank you for reading, and know we love you.

It was around 1:50 on the morning of August 17th. I had just started my bedtime routine as I am often up late with insomnia. I was sleeping on the couch as Sam had become too large for us to both fit comfortably in the bed. I laid down, covered up, and started to rest. 10 minutes later, Sam bursts out of the bedroom in pain. I did not know for sure this was it, but I had a strong feeling. Sam was a tad in denial and asked to call the OB office. A minute into the phone call, her water broke while on the toilet. I dialed 911, and by the time I got to Sam’s side, our baby was crowning already.

I had my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, trying to hear the dispatcher Ryan tell me what to do. Sam was screaming louder than I thought was possible, and I was trying to yell over her to Ryan. I could barely make out him saying get her to lie down on her back. We got there, and almost instantly, a pool of birth formed around us. It was also when our child’s head fully came out, and I was terrified. I could no longer hear Ryan. I put the phone down to my left on the floor, still connected. Sam was calming me and containing her pain before letting go and pushing.

I placed my hands where I thought they should go and was completely terrified. The head was outside, and the baby was not responding. We were three weeks early; he was blue and silent. Every worst fear immediately came to mind. I was certain we miscarried. In one giant push, Ezra came out. He slithered out with such ease. He was grey, silent, and not moving.

I picked the phone back up, and Ryan was still there. I was sobbing, thinking our baby has died so close to birth. Ryan told me to wrap him in a towel as quickly as possible. I grabbed the nearest one and cocooned him. It was then he breathed and gave the slightest coo. He never cried, but he was alive.

The EMTs still had not arrived. I thought it had been near an hour, frustrated and adrenaline high, and I was confused as to what was taking so long. In truth, it took them about 9 minutes to arrive with an ambulance, fire truck, and van. They came inside, and I collapsed on the kitchen floor. Sam was sitting on the bathroom floor, holding our son. She looked more beautiful than ever. She was amazingly calm and strong. Asher, her first son, was in his bedroom, which was attached to the bathroom. I had forgotten this entire time that he was there, so I went to check on him. Somehow, he slept through the whole thing.

Medical folks took control and eventually asked me if I wanted to cut the cord. I laughed and said something akin to “may as well at this point.” As Ezra and Sam detached from each other, we wrapped Sam in a medical robe, doing our best to hide what we could. She had to be brave one more time and walk out of the house with an umbilical cord trailing behind here and a placenta still inside.

She and Ezra rode to the hospital together in an ambulance. I took a few minutes to gather myself and pack up things for Asher before driving to the hospital to bring our family together completely for the first time.

When we arrived at the hospital, we had to wait for a moment in the waiting area for Sam to finish her delivery. I cannot imagine having an unexpected home birth, followed by passing the placenta later halfway across town. Yet she did it and did so good. Within minutes she was holding Ezra and attempting to nurse as if nothing happened. The strength, courage, and love she has known no bounds. I knew this already for how much she would do for Asher.

Eventually, Asher’s dad came to get him, and Sam and I spent the night with our son. I still had not slept, and it was nearing 4 am. I was a strange mix of exhausted and alert. We took turns holding Ezra, all five pounds six ounces of him. We did not talk; we didn’t have much to say other than a few expletives of sighing relief. We took turns syringe, feeding him his first meals. Mere milliliters of milk was all it took. We crashed eventually and slept with Ezra in a bassinet next to Sam.

Because of COVID-19, the hospital was eerily quiet. We could not have visitors, and hardly anyone was in the building. We spent all our time in a quiet, safe, and personal room for the first day. Just us and our baby. It was perfect, a combination of the home birth I wanted to try (although not like this), and the hospital Sam wanted to be at.

The doctors and nurses let us sleep and took care of Ezra for a bit, and we had our first scare. His blood sugar was slightly low. It turned out in our tiredness, we did not feed him quite enough. We took turns learning to breastfeed, and pinky feed. His blood sugar went up to a healthy level, and everything was looking good. I took the opportunity to go home and gather clothes to return together as a family.

Entering the house, I was hit with everything we left. The medical items still on the floor. The pool of afterbirth still on the bathroom floor, slowly soaking into the bathmat. There was medical packaging everywhere and absorbing pads laid down everywhere, but where they should be, it seemed. I found the umbilical cord scissors in the kitchen sink and Ezra’s tiny respirator mask on the counter. I was hit with everything and cried.

I texted a friend who is a midwife and asked what to do with the afterbirth. I asked if they had any advice and what to do. They were helpful (thank you again, Rachel), and I cleaned up the house while Sam was feeding Ezra his first meals across town. I must have panicked packed as I grabbed a litany of diapers (the hospital had them already), baby clothes, and toys, but extraordinarily little for Sam and me.

I went to Target to pick up a car seat and other baby items we had yet to get that Sam had ordered from the hospital bed. We finally had everything we needed to get started. We were out of money again, but full of love and hope.

I returned to the hospital, returned to Sam and Ezra. Sam was already up out of bed and walking around with Ezra. She was ready to go home, but we used a day to recoup and be a family. Although the doctors recommended we rest for another day, we went home once we knew Ezra was healthy. On the way out, the nurse complained endlessly about wearing a mask for COVID-19 and offered nothing but short sarcastic remarks to new parents trying to figure out a new car seat for the first time.

We did this alone. We planned for our baby. I had a job that was turning into a long-term place I loved. We were more secure than we have been in an exceptionally long time. We did not plan for a global pandemic and quarantine. I tried to continue working, but the stress and risk eventually became too great, and I quit for unemployment benefits. We had a magical summer with more money than we were used to, and for the first time, we lived freely. While we could not be with family, nor have a baby shower, we were together and making our family whole.

Unfortunately, the pandemic has lasted longer than expected, and unemployment did not. We were both out of work and earning around $200 a week for a family of three with $850 rent. We drained our savings, staying afloat. We drained our happiness by staying alive. Our struggles have been endless and a constant reminder of our shortcomings.

Although life had become more stressful, we had plenty of hope. At home, Ezra was perfect. He rarely cried, slept a lot, and pooped plenty. Since we were both at home, we traded off diapers and feedings. It worked extremely well with Sam sleeping overnight with Ezra in the bassinet, and me sleeping during the day. We both were fully rested and involved in our baby’s life fully. He was never alone or left crying.

Sam set out to become the greatest mother she could be. Pumping milk in such a quantity, Ezra could not keep up. She read nearly the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy to him in a month, nearly all 481,103 words. They became inseparable, as he attached to her breast and she held him. They often would fall asleep together in bed for naps during the day. It is, without a doubt, the precious thing I have seen.

Sadly, we were in dire need of income, as our house was falling apart and our landlord nowhere to be found. Our laundry machine broke, and we had to spend hundreds at laundromats. The showerhead detached from the wall and is now snaking along the tub floor. The basement started flooding with each rain. The final straw was the toilet clogging and flooding the bathroom with waste. The landlord refused to fix it and only offered to go to Kwik Trip during a pandemic as a solution. We fixed it the following day ourselves and have still not seen our landlord since getting our keys.

Mixed into all of this was our other child Asher, her son, my stepson. He was entering third grade from his bedroom in zoom meetings. It started great, but as time went on, difficulties began to arise. We had an increasingly hard time attending class and staying motivated. We frequently fought over the school. Asher threatened to quit entirely and tried to stop going. Many of his friends in class were doing the same.

It was around this time that I finally found employment again. I returned to service work at a local resource center for those in need. The irony of working to help those in need while we ourselves were very much in need was not lost on me. The free items I could take from work saved our family. We got winter clothes to stay warm, food to fill our bellies, and diapers for our baby. We did not get enough income, and on Black Friday, we received an eviction notice to vacate by January 1st.

We are still here, though. We are still working as Sam delivers food through gig work at night, and I hand out bag lunches during the day. We make enough to get by and survive, but I no longer know what will happen in three weeks. We could lose everything we have; we could be without a home working full time.

However, we still have hope and an exceptionally large amount. Without fail, the community around us has continued to amazing and supportive. Most of our baby gear was donated to us during the pregnancy. We still have the most important thing to us, each other, and our love for one another. My goal in writing this is to share that hope with you so that hopefully you can see that there is still happiness, love, and hope even in some of the most desperate times. We are in a time when we all must come together out of desperation. It is only together we can fix this.