As I sit here nursing my newborn, who is fast growing out of the "newborn" stage, I decided it's time to tell the story of his birth.
I woke up around 3AM to contractions, pretty far apart, but definitely real. Since my Midwife lives 2 hours away, I didn't wait around to call her, so after 4 of these contractions I got up and made the phone call around 3:30. I tried 4 times, as I sat and observed contractions while the family was still sleeping. Alas, she slept through her phone (Note, had I felt it was urgent, I would have called her husbands phone too until I got someone) I then called my mom, who was already awake at 4AM, and told her I was in early labor. She said she would get dressed and head our way, as she also lives 2 hours away in the other direction. I tried the midwife again, still no answer. Then I decided that since I could easily be sleeping between contractions, I'd better rest while I could. So I went to bed, and slept between contractions until about 6AM.
At 6 I woke to a contraction strong enough that it startled me out of a deep sleep right as it peaked. That is not so much a pleasant awakening, so I decided to get up for the day and not be surprised in the peak of a contraction again. I went to the kitchen and tried my Midwife again, still no answer. I checked with mom, who was on her way. Then I tried to make a pot of coffee. Well, that was an adventure. I didn't get the filter basket in, so coffee overflowed all over the counter. After I cleaned that up, washed the coffee pot, and tried again WITH the filter basket, it overflowed again. I was laughing at my inability to make coffee while in labor, and also wondering if my coffee pot was broken. Dawn called at about 7AM and checked in with me, and was going to be on the road ASAP.
At this time, mom arrived, Dad who had been staying with us out in his camper came inside and Randy was up fixing the coffee pot and saving me from overflowing a 3rd pot of coffee. He and mom set to making breakfast, as the general mood of the house was happy anticipation. 40 weeks and 1 day, and we were going to have this baby!
I was feeling contractions pretty heavily in my back, but they were still manageable. I half smiled and was half annoyed every time I was asked how far apart my contractions were. I wasn't timing them, I was trying to ignore them. HA! I was sitting on my excercise ball chair, picking at a lovely breakfast and finally sipping that cup of coffee.
Sometime after 9 my Midwife and team checked in and were 40 minutes out. I said that was great because intensity was picking up and I was needing counter pressure on my back and vocalizing a little through some of the peaks. I was never worried that they'd make it on time, I was in my zone when needed, and happy to watch the every day bustle of my family as I sat at the dining table with my dryer balls propped just right for counter pressure.
When the birth team arrived, they checked vitals, listened to baby and checked me to get an idea of where I was in labor. Much to my disappointment, I was only a 2cm and 20% effaced. I buckled in and realized it might be the better part of the day before my baby was in my arms. The birth team set up what was needed of their equipment, and left to grab a coffee and not sit around watching me. I appreciated this, as it bothers me heavily to feel watched in labor.
It was during this quiet time, that most everyone was outside. Abigail was running in the front yard, flying her kite. It was such a calm and beautiful day. Sweet Lillian came to me and wanted to sit with me. I put her on the table and just leaned on her, swaying through contractions as she held my face to hers. In that moment, my 2yearold became my labor doula and completely calmed my nerves. I got very weepy at this point. Overcome with joy. I'd been so apprehensive about having this baby while Lillian was still a baby herself in many ways. But those 3 contractions she helped me through just melted all of those worries away. I was having a baby, and it was not only going to be okay, it was going to be wonderful.
By this time, it was somewhere near noon and my birth team came back. The menfolk were working on lunch, and mom was playing with the girls. Randy told me he was definitely seeing the advantage of birthing at home, as he could do more than sit and watch me!! Lol. At one point he and I were in the kitchen and another wave of emotion hit me and I started crying again. I couldn't communicate why I was crying, but he was relatively content to just hold me and not ask questions. I had him applying counter pressure and swaying with me through a few contractions before I returned to my chair and dryer balls. There were also many hands rubbing my back, neck and shoulders through various contractions. As I was truly in "labor land" at this point, I can't really tell you who all was doing the massage, but I felt very loved and cared for.
I was needing to vocalize through the peaks of all contractions, and my back was quite painful even when I wasn't having a contraction. After using the bathroom, I had to bend over the counter to make it through a contraction, and my Midwife said "Well, you're definitely not a 2 anymore!" She asked me about my back pain, and we decided to do some sterile water injections in my lower back since I was hurting even without a contraction. This is essentially a long lasting acupuncture to tell the pain center for that part of your body that this hurts so much, it's time to shut down. Temporary, but useful. The injections themselves were not fun, much like 4 bee stings simultaneously. But it was almost immediate relief. I remained on my bed to see if that would allow me to rest. I completely relaxed and almost dozed off before the next contraction hit, and it was very intense. I was shaky through it, vocalizing was barely enough to get through without screaming or clinching my body. I decided laying down was not going to work and came to the living room. I told Dawn at this point I thought his hand was by his face based on movement I'd felt the last few weeks.
I reported the intensity of that last contraction and said I wouldn't be laying down again. Lunch was ready and I decided to sit in my recliner, rocking and focusing. I ate a few bites of green beans and maybe 2 bites of chicken between more super intense contractions. I realized that it wasn't the laying down that made that contraction so intense, they just jumped in intensity. I had 3 or so really big contractions, and realized he was super low and I had been pushing with the last contraction. Dawn asked where I wanted to give birth, and I said my bedroom. She told Hannah (apprentice midwife) and Ashley (Assistant) to go setup the bed. I headed in there, stopping in the doorway of the dining room where everyone was eating to get through another big contraction. Dad asked how far apart they were, and I said "not very" and went to get on my bed. But before I'd made it on my bed, another wave was hitting and I knelt at the foot of my bed. I asked where Randy was, and Dawn went to get him. Then he was there, holding my hand as I knelt on the floor leaning on my bed for support.
It was about this time I asked if it was too late for the birth pool, and there were gentle chuckles as I was told yes, it was too late to fill the pool. He was near crowning at this point. As I had help in removing my pants, they were laying down pads on the floor under me. This was all a blur. I heard Dawn mention to Hannah to check for a lip of cervix, after I'd pushed through a contraction. Sure enough, there was a lip from 11-1. I was told to push Hannah's fingers out, as she helped move that lip of cervix. His head was out with that contraction, and I reached to feel him. He was already taking a breath and crying. Another big push, and there he was. Hannah placed him on the floor right under me, and I brought him up to me. They mentioned he was big, but he didn't look big to me. We got up to the bed (how, I don't know) and I snuggled my newborn on my belly as he cried several loud and healthy cries. After I delivered the placenta, Randy cut the cord, and I brought my baby up to my breast to suckle. He had already begun to root around, and make his way toward the breast on his own. Newborns are quite remarkable little people. He latched easily and was quickly swallowing and snuggling next to me.
The room was quickly tidied, and both our vitals were checked often, but we were mostly left alone to snuggle. A heating pad was placed under him and I snuggled him closer. After an hour or so, he was weighed and measured. It was then that I understood why he was so much harder to push out than my last babe had been, he was 9lbs 1oz, 21" long, with a 14" head. I had been right about that hand as well, he was indeed born with his hand on his cheek. I had no tearing whatsoever, even with the fast birth, lip of cervix, and nuchal hand. He was almost born en-caul, as my waters didn't rupture until the last big push. He was born at 1:25PM, almost exactly 3 hours after I'd been disappointed at "only" being a 2cm.
Shortly after his birth, the rest of the family came in to meet him. Randy brought Lillian in asleep, but Ethan's newborn cries woke her. She then snuggled next to me and nursed for a few minutes and was asleep next to us on our bed. As intense as his labor was, it was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't have asked for better.
Memory tree
Holding the blossom on our Memory tree, a Pink Dogwood, to always remember the tiny life we lost.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Monday, February 1, 2016
Ethan
I've not written here, or much of anywhere in a very long time.
Though I've not written, things have been in motion. Things are always in motion.
I am now 30 weeks, 6 days pregnant with our 4th child. Altho in my heart, this is our 5th child. I have shared 4 birth stories here, in this blog. Even tho it has been used for little else, I felt this post necessary to place here.
Tomorrow marks 31 weeks. 31 weeks is always a huge milestone for me in pregnancy, because our Jorden was born at 31 weeks. I was discussing the trauma of his birth with another Mama this evening. A Mama who sadly understands the trauma as she has been through something much the same, and is also awaiting another child.
This part of pregnancy always gives me pause. This time more than the others because it has borne so many similarities to my first pregnancy. Similar cravings, a slow rise in blood pressure readings, it's a boy.
Confession time- having another boy has been terrifying. My experiences with my son...
Not just his birth, altho that is where it started. The last 10.5 years have stretched me in ways I did not believe possible. Perhaps comparable to Wesley on the "machine" in the Princess Bride, the sound of ultimate suffering. I have felt it. I have felt it in the pain of my own child, struggling with mental illness. I am not talking about simple ADHD, Autism, or even mild depression. I am talking a young child, with psychotic rages.
Where the Lord has directed our steps, has been to seek healing. Healing, not medication. This has been a long and lonely road. A road not often traveled. Overgrown with dense foliage, holes, and fallen logs to block the path. Some days it's felt quite like walking through Mirkwood, with only slight glimpses that the sun still exists.
It is not a simple task for me to bare my soul. I feel like it is a whine, and we should not whine. But things must be spoken lest darkness overtake me. I have been afraid.
I have been afraid to love my unborn son. A son. My son.
I've always felt the baby we lost to be a boy. I was not afraid to love him. But we lost him. It amazes me still how the events of the past shape the way we approach the future.
I have been afraid to name this baby, or rather to speak his name. His name means strong. In my mind, that means he will face trials. Trials I cannot protect him from. Trials I have no control over. At the heart of it all, that is where the fear lies. It lies in what I cannot control. I can choose to nourish my body to support a healthy pregnancy, but in the end, I cannot control what my body does. I cannot control who this baby is, or what he will face. I cannot shield him. As I watch him dance in my belly, he is safe. Part of me wants him to remain there forever so that he can always be safe. But he will never truly be safe until I lay aside my own fears, and choose to trust in Papa's plan for this little boys' life. Until I learn to trust in Papa's plan for my own life, and the lives of all of my children. Though our road has been hard to travel, it has not been without blessing.
My childs name, is Ethan Abraham. His strength will flow from the very throne of heaven, not from within himself. Though I cannot protect him, there is truly no safer place for him to be, than to walk the road that Papa has set before his feet.
As I type this I have wiped tears from my eyes more times than I can even count. I am reminded that this level of trusting in Papa's plan goes far deeper than the child in my belly. I have spent the last 5 years in the dirty trenches of seeking for answers, and for healing for my sick child. All the while finding healing for myself when I didn't think the wounds still had healing left to do.
The relationship with my eldest son is healing. On both sides. I am learning to let go and trust Papa, as is he learning the same. Trust is not easy for me, but I am learning.
Though I've not written, things have been in motion. Things are always in motion.
I am now 30 weeks, 6 days pregnant with our 4th child. Altho in my heart, this is our 5th child. I have shared 4 birth stories here, in this blog. Even tho it has been used for little else, I felt this post necessary to place here.
Tomorrow marks 31 weeks. 31 weeks is always a huge milestone for me in pregnancy, because our Jorden was born at 31 weeks. I was discussing the trauma of his birth with another Mama this evening. A Mama who sadly understands the trauma as she has been through something much the same, and is also awaiting another child.
This part of pregnancy always gives me pause. This time more than the others because it has borne so many similarities to my first pregnancy. Similar cravings, a slow rise in blood pressure readings, it's a boy.
Confession time- having another boy has been terrifying. My experiences with my son...
Not just his birth, altho that is where it started. The last 10.5 years have stretched me in ways I did not believe possible. Perhaps comparable to Wesley on the "machine" in the Princess Bride, the sound of ultimate suffering. I have felt it. I have felt it in the pain of my own child, struggling with mental illness. I am not talking about simple ADHD, Autism, or even mild depression. I am talking a young child, with psychotic rages.
Where the Lord has directed our steps, has been to seek healing. Healing, not medication. This has been a long and lonely road. A road not often traveled. Overgrown with dense foliage, holes, and fallen logs to block the path. Some days it's felt quite like walking through Mirkwood, with only slight glimpses that the sun still exists.
It is not a simple task for me to bare my soul. I feel like it is a whine, and we should not whine. But things must be spoken lest darkness overtake me. I have been afraid.
I have been afraid to love my unborn son. A son. My son.
I've always felt the baby we lost to be a boy. I was not afraid to love him. But we lost him. It amazes me still how the events of the past shape the way we approach the future.
I have been afraid to name this baby, or rather to speak his name. His name means strong. In my mind, that means he will face trials. Trials I cannot protect him from. Trials I have no control over. At the heart of it all, that is where the fear lies. It lies in what I cannot control. I can choose to nourish my body to support a healthy pregnancy, but in the end, I cannot control what my body does. I cannot control who this baby is, or what he will face. I cannot shield him. As I watch him dance in my belly, he is safe. Part of me wants him to remain there forever so that he can always be safe. But he will never truly be safe until I lay aside my own fears, and choose to trust in Papa's plan for this little boys' life. Until I learn to trust in Papa's plan for my own life, and the lives of all of my children. Though our road has been hard to travel, it has not been without blessing.
My childs name, is Ethan Abraham. His strength will flow from the very throne of heaven, not from within himself. Though I cannot protect him, there is truly no safer place for him to be, than to walk the road that Papa has set before his feet.
As I type this I have wiped tears from my eyes more times than I can even count. I am reminded that this level of trusting in Papa's plan goes far deeper than the child in my belly. I have spent the last 5 years in the dirty trenches of seeking for answers, and for healing for my sick child. All the while finding healing for myself when I didn't think the wounds still had healing left to do.
The relationship with my eldest son is healing. On both sides. I am learning to let go and trust Papa, as is he learning the same. Trust is not easy for me, but I am learning.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
My 4th Birth Story
I woke up early Sunday morning, July 14th with a prayer on my lips. I told Papa, deeply meaning every word, that whatever day was to be my baby's birthday was alright with me. No matter how uncomfortable I was, or how inconvenient. I also made mention that today would be a great day. My doctor was on call, the doula we'd met and liked was in town, mom was still here and it just felt right. Right about then, I noticed my first contraction. I just stayed in bed, and rested. Another came, and they made me take notice as I couldn't sleep through them. As I laid and slept inbetween contractions, I felt I could distinguish a pattern. They weren't very close, but kept coming. I laid and welcomed each contraction, was thankful for each contraction and in my mind was watching the waves of the ocean bringing my baby to me. I prayed and thanked Papa after each contraction and felt so peaceful. After a good hour, and 5 or 6 of these contractions, I got up and grabbed my phone to time a few. For another hour, I continued to time and welcome contractions. They were 11 minutes apart, consistently for an hour and a half. About then, Dawn was near and I could no longer comfortably lay down through a contraction. I decided to get up, and upon being verticle they jumped from 11 minutes to 8 minutes apart. I went for a walk, and it was absolutely lovely out. Nice and cool, slightly breezy, and only the birds awake with me. Upon walking, contractions got stronger and 4 minutes apart.
When I got home, my husband was up and working on breakfast. My parents were here, and everyone was up. After breakfast, I think my husband was ready for me to say "lets go!" especially since I told him to make breakfast sooner rather than later. But I knew it was too early. We took another walk, and decided it was already too hot for more walking. I sat on my ball for a while and bounced etc while a movie was on, but I was horribly bored and tired of feeling watched. So I told dad to grab the curtains out of his camper and we'd hem them. I put down the phone, stopped timing contractions, turned on my favorite music and got to work on curtains. I kept having contractions, but as I could work through them just fine I kept going. It took about an hour and a half to hem all the curtains, and dad got them hung back up. I went out to see them and it was hot again.
After standing again for about 20 minutes, I was needing to lean on something during a contraction and focus through it. I decided eating sounded like a good idea, and that after I ate we'd go on up to the hospital to get checked and see what was going on. I knew I was in real labor, but I also knew it was still a bit early. Since I had tested positive for Group B Strep I also needed to get there quickly enough to get the antibiotics, or the baby would be watched and possibly admitted and given a full dose of preventive antibiotics. I felt getting the antibiotics in labor was a lesser risk to her than that. I ate a full hamburger, and drank up plenty of water. I honestly didnt think they'd keep me, but I wanted to go full and hydrated on my own just in case.
We got there, and I was at a 4cm and 75% effaced. I had been at a 3 on Wednesday and 75%, so I'd made progress and they decided to keep me. The entire time, the baby picked up on the monitor wonderfully, but my contractions didn't register.
After they moved me from triage to a labor and delivery room, my Doula joined us and we enjoyed chatting with her in-between contractions. She would remind me to relax my hands, shoulders and feet, everything with each contraction. Reminded me to breathe and give the baby oxygen, and to show her how calm I was.
It took quite awhile for the antibiotics to come up, and I was sitting on the birthing chair/ball. It was quite comfortable, a ball in a chair with wheels and back support. I wanted to lean forward with each contraction, but it interfered with the monitor a lot. So I leaned some and relaxed and breathed. The monitor still would not show I was even having contractions, but my doctor came in and felt during one, and said that it was definitely a moderate contraction. After they started the antibiotic, He checked me and I was a 5cm, fully effaced. After he checked me, I had bloody show for the first time. He was extremely gentle when he checked me so we knew it was more from cervical change than from the check.
Contractions began getting much more intense from there, I was struggling to get through them a little. I wanted to tense up and it was difficult to keep my perineum relaxed. I remembered suddenly that I'd read many times and many places about vocalizing. So with the next contraction I vocalized, moaned in a low tone, and I was surprised at how much it helped. Pauline, my Doula who had stepped out to get some large soft balls to put behind my back for counter pressure heard me vocalizing and encouraged me to continue. She told me the low tones showed baby how calm I was, and that high pitched or screams would tell her to be anxious. So I made sure to keep tones low. I was pushing my low back into the chair, and into the ball for counter pressure with each contraction, and having to maintain focus between contractions instead of coming out of it and chatting. I glanced at the monitor and noticed they were coming every 3 minutes or so. Barely registering, but they were actually there now according to the monitors. I no longer wanted the cold rags on my neck, I was suddenly chilled. I noticed my legs felt shaky but thought nothing of it. Afterall, with my last birth it took 12 hours after reaching a 5. I had tons of time left.
The antibiotics finished, and they unhooked the IV. I made mention of how much I had loved the water in my last labor, and had progressed quickly with it. Pauline went and asked my DR if he'd ok me being off the monitors to labor in the shower for awhile. Usually this is no issue at this hospital, but as I've had a previous c-section their policy is continuous monitoring. My doctor said it would be alright for 10 minutes, to take a shower. I could feel baby descending with each contraction, and even noticed myself pushing gently with each one, but thought nothing of it. Pauline stepped out for a 20 minute break to give us privacy while I showered.
I got up and in the shower, the first contraction, I had Randy spray water on my back as I leaned on the chair and vocalized. The next I sat, and leaned my head on the wall, then I felt a POP. I told him to go tell the nurse my water just broke, and they wanted me back on the monitors since my water was broken. My experience with my waters broken had made the rest of labor very very difficult, and it scared me and I prayed that it wouldn't happen again. While I was drying off, another contraction hit hard and I knew my body was pushing. I even felt the "ring of fire" but thought it couldn't be. Instead of vocalizing, I groaned "I'M PUSHING!!!!" and the nurse said "No dont push!" I did not bear down, but my body was pushing. I made it to the bed, and had another contraction, my body pushing, and the nurse reassured me that it was ok. She checked me quickly, just to see if maybe I was complete, and much to my and her surprise, I was complete. "You did it girl, you're complete!" I said, "Are you serious?" She left the room saying, try not to push! to get the Dr and get things setup. They mustve been close, because the Dr, my nurse and one other nurse were right in with all the supplies and trying to get the room setup. They were lowering the light on top and he wanted to check me. I was trying to lay down to be checked when another contraction came on, and the Dr looked at me and said "OH! and there's baby! Ok, lets do this!" He put a pad down on the bed under me, and told me whenever I was ready. I rested for a second, and with the next contraction I grabbed Randys arms and propped myself up on my left side a little, with his help. A nurse positioned my right leg at the advice of the Dr, and I was pushing. Hello Ring of Fire! I remember saying "THAT HURTS!" and being reassured that it was almost over. I took a few blowing breaths right at the most intense part, letting her head ease out rather than tear out. With the very next push, and all in the same contraction there was this big POP feeling. I looked down and there she was on the bed. I just said "Oh my gosh!" I was in disbelief that she was already here, and how quickly she literally POPPED out. Dr said no tears, and we all watched and waited for the cord to stop pulsing and turn white before it was clamped and cut and then, she was on my chest. It was about this time, that Pauline returned from her 20 minute break. She's only missed 2 births in over 20 years, and was rather disappointed she missed it. So were we! The baby had her own ideas of when she was ready. Just before leaving the room, my Dr put his hand on my arm and told me that was one of the most amazing births he's ever been apart of.
Later after we'd settled into our room, Pauline, who'd been taking notes as things progressed told me that when I was checked and was 5cm was at 4:20. Lillian was born at 5:29. 69 minutes from checked at a 5, to baby. I'm still rather astonished, and even moreso that with such a fast entry, there was little bruising on the baby, and no tearing for me. It was a beautiful birth. We could not have asked for anything better.
When I got home, my husband was up and working on breakfast. My parents were here, and everyone was up. After breakfast, I think my husband was ready for me to say "lets go!" especially since I told him to make breakfast sooner rather than later. But I knew it was too early. We took another walk, and decided it was already too hot for more walking. I sat on my ball for a while and bounced etc while a movie was on, but I was horribly bored and tired of feeling watched. So I told dad to grab the curtains out of his camper and we'd hem them. I put down the phone, stopped timing contractions, turned on my favorite music and got to work on curtains. I kept having contractions, but as I could work through them just fine I kept going. It took about an hour and a half to hem all the curtains, and dad got them hung back up. I went out to see them and it was hot again.
After standing again for about 20 minutes, I was needing to lean on something during a contraction and focus through it. I decided eating sounded like a good idea, and that after I ate we'd go on up to the hospital to get checked and see what was going on. I knew I was in real labor, but I also knew it was still a bit early. Since I had tested positive for Group B Strep I also needed to get there quickly enough to get the antibiotics, or the baby would be watched and possibly admitted and given a full dose of preventive antibiotics. I felt getting the antibiotics in labor was a lesser risk to her than that. I ate a full hamburger, and drank up plenty of water. I honestly didnt think they'd keep me, but I wanted to go full and hydrated on my own just in case.
We got there, and I was at a 4cm and 75% effaced. I had been at a 3 on Wednesday and 75%, so I'd made progress and they decided to keep me. The entire time, the baby picked up on the monitor wonderfully, but my contractions didn't register.
After they moved me from triage to a labor and delivery room, my Doula joined us and we enjoyed chatting with her in-between contractions. She would remind me to relax my hands, shoulders and feet, everything with each contraction. Reminded me to breathe and give the baby oxygen, and to show her how calm I was.
It took quite awhile for the antibiotics to come up, and I was sitting on the birthing chair/ball. It was quite comfortable, a ball in a chair with wheels and back support. I wanted to lean forward with each contraction, but it interfered with the monitor a lot. So I leaned some and relaxed and breathed. The monitor still would not show I was even having contractions, but my doctor came in and felt during one, and said that it was definitely a moderate contraction. After they started the antibiotic, He checked me and I was a 5cm, fully effaced. After he checked me, I had bloody show for the first time. He was extremely gentle when he checked me so we knew it was more from cervical change than from the check.
Contractions began getting much more intense from there, I was struggling to get through them a little. I wanted to tense up and it was difficult to keep my perineum relaxed. I remembered suddenly that I'd read many times and many places about vocalizing. So with the next contraction I vocalized, moaned in a low tone, and I was surprised at how much it helped. Pauline, my Doula who had stepped out to get some large soft balls to put behind my back for counter pressure heard me vocalizing and encouraged me to continue. She told me the low tones showed baby how calm I was, and that high pitched or screams would tell her to be anxious. So I made sure to keep tones low. I was pushing my low back into the chair, and into the ball for counter pressure with each contraction, and having to maintain focus between contractions instead of coming out of it and chatting. I glanced at the monitor and noticed they were coming every 3 minutes or so. Barely registering, but they were actually there now according to the monitors. I no longer wanted the cold rags on my neck, I was suddenly chilled. I noticed my legs felt shaky but thought nothing of it. Afterall, with my last birth it took 12 hours after reaching a 5. I had tons of time left.
The antibiotics finished, and they unhooked the IV. I made mention of how much I had loved the water in my last labor, and had progressed quickly with it. Pauline went and asked my DR if he'd ok me being off the monitors to labor in the shower for awhile. Usually this is no issue at this hospital, but as I've had a previous c-section their policy is continuous monitoring. My doctor said it would be alright for 10 minutes, to take a shower. I could feel baby descending with each contraction, and even noticed myself pushing gently with each one, but thought nothing of it. Pauline stepped out for a 20 minute break to give us privacy while I showered.
I got up and in the shower, the first contraction, I had Randy spray water on my back as I leaned on the chair and vocalized. The next I sat, and leaned my head on the wall, then I felt a POP. I told him to go tell the nurse my water just broke, and they wanted me back on the monitors since my water was broken. My experience with my waters broken had made the rest of labor very very difficult, and it scared me and I prayed that it wouldn't happen again. While I was drying off, another contraction hit hard and I knew my body was pushing. I even felt the "ring of fire" but thought it couldn't be. Instead of vocalizing, I groaned "I'M PUSHING!!!!" and the nurse said "No dont push!" I did not bear down, but my body was pushing. I made it to the bed, and had another contraction, my body pushing, and the nurse reassured me that it was ok. She checked me quickly, just to see if maybe I was complete, and much to my and her surprise, I was complete. "You did it girl, you're complete!" I said, "Are you serious?" She left the room saying, try not to push! to get the Dr and get things setup. They mustve been close, because the Dr, my nurse and one other nurse were right in with all the supplies and trying to get the room setup. They were lowering the light on top and he wanted to check me. I was trying to lay down to be checked when another contraction came on, and the Dr looked at me and said "OH! and there's baby! Ok, lets do this!" He put a pad down on the bed under me, and told me whenever I was ready. I rested for a second, and with the next contraction I grabbed Randys arms and propped myself up on my left side a little, with his help. A nurse positioned my right leg at the advice of the Dr, and I was pushing. Hello Ring of Fire! I remember saying "THAT HURTS!" and being reassured that it was almost over. I took a few blowing breaths right at the most intense part, letting her head ease out rather than tear out. With the very next push, and all in the same contraction there was this big POP feeling. I looked down and there she was on the bed. I just said "Oh my gosh!" I was in disbelief that she was already here, and how quickly she literally POPPED out. Dr said no tears, and we all watched and waited for the cord to stop pulsing and turn white before it was clamped and cut and then, she was on my chest. It was about this time, that Pauline returned from her 20 minute break. She's only missed 2 births in over 20 years, and was rather disappointed she missed it. So were we! The baby had her own ideas of when she was ready. Just before leaving the room, my Dr put his hand on my arm and told me that was one of the most amazing births he's ever been apart of.
Later after we'd settled into our room, Pauline, who'd been taking notes as things progressed told me that when I was checked and was 5cm was at 4:20. Lillian was born at 5:29. 69 minutes from checked at a 5, to baby. I'm still rather astonished, and even moreso that with such a fast entry, there was little bruising on the baby, and no tearing for me. It was a beautiful birth. We could not have asked for anything better.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
From the Mouths of Babes
Miscarriage is hard. Really hard. Nevermind the extreme emotions at the beginning. When you've have been or are going through a miscarriage it's hard. There are reminders everywhere. Babies are afterall, conceived, and birthed by the minute.
Our modern age of social networking makes it abundantly easy for every single pregnant person to express their elation at the passing of each pregnancy milestone. And rightly so. Every single pregnant person SHOULD share their joy, and it is selfish of anyone to tell them differently. But for a woman that's lost a baby, especially in the times when you *should* still be pregnant, those weekly or even daily reminders are painful.
This week I would have reached the milestone of 21 weeks. I'd probably have seen an amazing ultrasound of my childs progress, watched each measurement with intense attraction and, if it was my desire, know the sex of our up-coming arrival. Something to be shared and celebrated. But I have nothing to share. What I'd like to post on my status is "Today I would have been 21 weeks pregnant" But I don't. It feels inappropriate to say such things about loss. By our own doing, or by the tendancy of others to look away, or change the subject, we are made to feel as if our suffering should be done alone. Or worse, that we should be fine by now. Afterall, that happened 3 months ago already, it's old news. It is still very much current news to me. As my body cycles I am reminded. I am reminded at each pregnancy ticker that comes across my screen, that I've lost. Every time I see a pregnant woman, or a new baby I am reminded. The truth of these reminders is that it's easy to be reminded when it is never far from my mind in the first place.
We get caught up in our daily lives so much so that we move right past those that are hurting. Even moreso those that try to hide it behind happy faces. Am I happy? Yes. Am I blessed? Beyond measure, without a doubt.
Am I over it? No.
I know, and lean on the fact that I am deeply loved by the One who created me. I am comforted knowing that the little one I carried never had to seperated from Papa, or know the struggles we face. My little one knows Papa's infinite love in a deeper way than most of us. We have learned more of Papa's love through this loss, and for these things I am thankful.
Last night a 5 year-old girl spent the night with us. Just before the kids were to be settling down to go to sleep she said, "Jamie, I thought you had a baby. I mean, another baby. Mom told me you were going to have another baby, what happened?" I tried to explain gently that the baby didn't make it. She said, "You mean it died? But why?" The simplest and most innocent of questions we'll never get the answer to.
"Sometimes it just happens and we don't really know why."
"That's so sad that your baby died."
"Yes, it makes me sad too"
"I'm so sorry your baby died. I was really excited about your baby."
This child made me feel in a simple conversation, that my baby was loved by more than my small circle of family and friends that understand. It was refreshing to hear her say it. She didn't look away from me. She didn't change the subject to something inconsequential. She wasn't afraid I'd start crying and she would have to do something to make me feel better. She was real, and she expected nothing less of me.
Our modern age of social networking makes it abundantly easy for every single pregnant person to express their elation at the passing of each pregnancy milestone. And rightly so. Every single pregnant person SHOULD share their joy, and it is selfish of anyone to tell them differently. But for a woman that's lost a baby, especially in the times when you *should* still be pregnant, those weekly or even daily reminders are painful.
This week I would have reached the milestone of 21 weeks. I'd probably have seen an amazing ultrasound of my childs progress, watched each measurement with intense attraction and, if it was my desire, know the sex of our up-coming arrival. Something to be shared and celebrated. But I have nothing to share. What I'd like to post on my status is "Today I would have been 21 weeks pregnant" But I don't. It feels inappropriate to say such things about loss. By our own doing, or by the tendancy of others to look away, or change the subject, we are made to feel as if our suffering should be done alone. Or worse, that we should be fine by now. Afterall, that happened 3 months ago already, it's old news. It is still very much current news to me. As my body cycles I am reminded. I am reminded at each pregnancy ticker that comes across my screen, that I've lost. Every time I see a pregnant woman, or a new baby I am reminded. The truth of these reminders is that it's easy to be reminded when it is never far from my mind in the first place.
We get caught up in our daily lives so much so that we move right past those that are hurting. Even moreso those that try to hide it behind happy faces. Am I happy? Yes. Am I blessed? Beyond measure, without a doubt.
Am I over it? No.
I know, and lean on the fact that I am deeply loved by the One who created me. I am comforted knowing that the little one I carried never had to seperated from Papa, or know the struggles we face. My little one knows Papa's infinite love in a deeper way than most of us. We have learned more of Papa's love through this loss, and for these things I am thankful.
Last night a 5 year-old girl spent the night with us. Just before the kids were to be settling down to go to sleep she said, "Jamie, I thought you had a baby. I mean, another baby. Mom told me you were going to have another baby, what happened?" I tried to explain gently that the baby didn't make it. She said, "You mean it died? But why?" The simplest and most innocent of questions we'll never get the answer to.
"Sometimes it just happens and we don't really know why."
"That's so sad that your baby died."
"Yes, it makes me sad too"
"I'm so sorry your baby died. I was really excited about your baby."
This child made me feel in a simple conversation, that my baby was loved by more than my small circle of family and friends that understand. It was refreshing to hear her say it. She didn't look away from me. She didn't change the subject to something inconsequential. She wasn't afraid I'd start crying and she would have to do something to make me feel better. She was real, and she expected nothing less of me.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Grief
The realization that something has shaken you to the very core of your being is awakening.
We've all heard the term "Earth Shattering" in realtion to traumatic events. No, the Earth didn't shatter when I lost my baby.
MY world shattered. The grief was so intense that I ceased to function. For the first time in my life, upon driving home with 2 children in my backseat screaming at me because they were hungry, for a fleeting moment, sending my van over the cliff I was driving up was a very real temptation. It scared me. I tuned into the screaming children and decided they needed me. This was just the day after the remains of the life I carried passed from my body. My emotions, grief and hormones were reeling. I felt like my body once again had failed me.
Last night a very dear friend discovered the life she carried had no heartbeat. Her world is shattering. It is a hard look back at what we've so recently been through, and discovering new feelings of wanting to shelter her as she goes through this heartache. She has had to walk this road before, and has been a comfort to me in my time of struggle. To be there to let me vent fears and frustrations as my body returns to a cycle that had the baby lived, I would not be having. I understand her pain, as she understands mine.
We've all heard the term "Earth Shattering" in realtion to traumatic events. No, the Earth didn't shatter when I lost my baby.
MY world shattered. The grief was so intense that I ceased to function. For the first time in my life, upon driving home with 2 children in my backseat screaming at me because they were hungry, for a fleeting moment, sending my van over the cliff I was driving up was a very real temptation. It scared me. I tuned into the screaming children and decided they needed me. This was just the day after the remains of the life I carried passed from my body. My emotions, grief and hormones were reeling. I felt like my body once again had failed me.
Last night a very dear friend discovered the life she carried had no heartbeat. Her world is shattering. It is a hard look back at what we've so recently been through, and discovering new feelings of wanting to shelter her as she goes through this heartache. She has had to walk this road before, and has been a comfort to me in my time of struggle. To be there to let me vent fears and frustrations as my body returns to a cycle that had the baby lived, I would not be having. I understand her pain, as she understands mine.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
A Post Worth Reading
A friend of mine posted this link on facebook this morning, and it truly is worth the read.
From Small Bird Studio's; When You Lose A Baby
From Small Bird Studio's; When You Lose A Baby
Friday, April 20, 2012
In The Arms Of My Children
Children are such an amazing gift. As a parent we are told we are to be there for our children, to help them walk, talk, ride a bike and make friends. To hug away each broken heart and tenderly kiss every boo-boo.
Children love in the only way they know how, unconditionally. They love me at my best, they love me at my worst. Papa built it in to them. They love like He loves. They forgive and forget with such ease and grace that I am often humbled at seeing Papa's grace in them.
One morning, just a day or so after I found out #3 was coming, I woke up one morning to wet sloppy kisses and snuggles from my girl. I had been struggling with how we would make it with another baby. How *I* would handle being a mom of 3, because at times I can't handle 2. I looked into the eyes of my child and saw a love like Papa's. Tears welled up in my eyes at the realization that children truly are a gift. I was going to get to have and hold another precious life that would love me like that. To wake up to kisses, and have 3 sets of waving hands yelling "Hi Mom!" with each turn of the carousel. I forgot the cares and fears the baby would bring and realized how truly blessed I am by my children. I fell madly in love with the tiny life within the safety of my womb.
Yesterday, just the 3rd day after saying goodbye to the baby we lost, my son did not want to go to school. He said he just needed to be here with me. How could I possibly argue with that? All day long he did sweet things for me. He helped me pick up the house, drew me a picture of our family, 5 of us, so I didn't have to miss the baby anymore. I am falling in love with my son all over again. He is so precious, and loves and cares so deeply. We've had our share of struggles with each other over the last few years, and I began to lose sight of how wonderful he is, and what a gift I've been given. To think that I, unfit as I feel I am, have been chosen to love and teach this precious boy......
Yesterday my children ministered to me. They have not been "trained" in ministry. They have not been told how to love. They simply do it. They come to me with extra hugs and kisses. Bring me a glass of water unlooked for. Draw me pictures to make me feel better, and honor the picture I drew in return. They love with everything they are, because that is the only love they know.
Right now, in this moment I understand my calling as a parent deeper than I ever have before. What Papa has called me to do, is to learn to love as He does, and see that my children never learn to love any differently than they do right now. With the true, unconditional love of the Father.
I am truly, deeply blessed.
Children love in the only way they know how, unconditionally. They love me at my best, they love me at my worst. Papa built it in to them. They love like He loves. They forgive and forget with such ease and grace that I am often humbled at seeing Papa's grace in them.
One morning, just a day or so after I found out #3 was coming, I woke up one morning to wet sloppy kisses and snuggles from my girl. I had been struggling with how we would make it with another baby. How *I* would handle being a mom of 3, because at times I can't handle 2. I looked into the eyes of my child and saw a love like Papa's. Tears welled up in my eyes at the realization that children truly are a gift. I was going to get to have and hold another precious life that would love me like that. To wake up to kisses, and have 3 sets of waving hands yelling "Hi Mom!" with each turn of the carousel. I forgot the cares and fears the baby would bring and realized how truly blessed I am by my children. I fell madly in love with the tiny life within the safety of my womb.
Yesterday, just the 3rd day after saying goodbye to the baby we lost, my son did not want to go to school. He said he just needed to be here with me. How could I possibly argue with that? All day long he did sweet things for me. He helped me pick up the house, drew me a picture of our family, 5 of us, so I didn't have to miss the baby anymore. I am falling in love with my son all over again. He is so precious, and loves and cares so deeply. We've had our share of struggles with each other over the last few years, and I began to lose sight of how wonderful he is, and what a gift I've been given. To think that I, unfit as I feel I am, have been chosen to love and teach this precious boy......
Yesterday my children ministered to me. They have not been "trained" in ministry. They have not been told how to love. They simply do it. They come to me with extra hugs and kisses. Bring me a glass of water unlooked for. Draw me pictures to make me feel better, and honor the picture I drew in return. They love with everything they are, because that is the only love they know.
Right now, in this moment I understand my calling as a parent deeper than I ever have before. What Papa has called me to do, is to learn to love as He does, and see that my children never learn to love any differently than they do right now. With the true, unconditional love of the Father.
I am truly, deeply blessed.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Planting our Memory Tree
I don't have much to say today. We planted a Pink Dogwood to remember the babe we've lost.
Pictures are worth a thousand words.
After we planted our baby tree, we ate the last half of the pumpkin pie.
Pictures are worth a thousand words.
After we planted our baby tree, we ate the last half of the pumpkin pie.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Pumpkin Pie For Breakfast
Please note, this post is about going through a miscarriage, both mentally and physically.
I've always adored the idea of having a true birthday cake after the birth of a baby. The idea of loved ones baking and frosting a cake while mom labors is just warming to the very core of my soul. Birth is, afterall, something to be celebrated.
Should we celebrate loss?
Yesterday, as we went to the general store in the town 10 minutes from us to get some half and half for my husbands coffee, I ran across canned pumpkin. It looked so good. I had some pie crust in the freezer, and we decided to bake a pumpkin pie for dessert.
Just as dinner was ready, nature had taken its course and I was still in the bathtub grieving and saying good-bye. I immediately felt much better, the cramps stopped almost instantly. I even went outside to play with the kids and the puppy. We came in, and I worked the crust for the pie. My husband already had the filling made and ready to pour in. The house began to fill with the smell of pumpkin pie.
After the kids were asleep in their beds, we each had a piece. It was not exactly like a "birthday" cake, or a celebration. But it felt like celebrating the short life of the little one gone to be with Papa. I think the pumpkin pie felt so right because this little one would have been born within a week of Thanksgiving. Even if that was not a conscious thought at the time.
This morning, when the kids were up and hungry we had pumpkin pie for breakfast. Is it specifically because of the loss that we ate pie for breakfast today? Perhaps. It is comforting in a way I can't perfectly articulate. This tiny life touched us so deeply. To celebrate that life, and how we are growing as a family through this is..... worthy of something out of the ordinary. Like eating a fall dessert, for breakfast, in the first bloom of Spring.
I've always adored the idea of having a true birthday cake after the birth of a baby. The idea of loved ones baking and frosting a cake while mom labors is just warming to the very core of my soul. Birth is, afterall, something to be celebrated.
Should we celebrate loss?
Yesterday, as we went to the general store in the town 10 minutes from us to get some half and half for my husbands coffee, I ran across canned pumpkin. It looked so good. I had some pie crust in the freezer, and we decided to bake a pumpkin pie for dessert.
Just as dinner was ready, nature had taken its course and I was still in the bathtub grieving and saying good-bye. I immediately felt much better, the cramps stopped almost instantly. I even went outside to play with the kids and the puppy. We came in, and I worked the crust for the pie. My husband already had the filling made and ready to pour in. The house began to fill with the smell of pumpkin pie.
After the kids were asleep in their beds, we each had a piece. It was not exactly like a "birthday" cake, or a celebration. But it felt like celebrating the short life of the little one gone to be with Papa. I think the pumpkin pie felt so right because this little one would have been born within a week of Thanksgiving. Even if that was not a conscious thought at the time.
This morning, when the kids were up and hungry we had pumpkin pie for breakfast. Is it specifically because of the loss that we ate pie for breakfast today? Perhaps. It is comforting in a way I can't perfectly articulate. This tiny life touched us so deeply. To celebrate that life, and how we are growing as a family through this is..... worthy of something out of the ordinary. Like eating a fall dessert, for breakfast, in the first bloom of Spring.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Birth rights of passage.
Please note, this post mentions the loss of pregnancy.
We've all been told, becoming a mother is a "right of passage." When you give birth, you've joined countless other women that have gone before you. You feel you've joined an elite club, and graduated into being a mother.
While you're pregnant, nearly every woman you see that is, or has been pregnant wants to ask you about your swelling form, touch the precious life growing inside you, and tell you of their own experiences. It is a way they re-connect with becoming a mother for the first time, and remember what it felt like to have a child within the protective boundaries of her womb. To see your pregnant belly, to remember her own experiences connects her with you in a unique and astonishing way. Something as a pregnant woman, you don't quite understand, and in fact tend to get annoyed with. But after you've given birth, you understand deeply, and may even look back fondly on the times you were asked about your precious babe, still safely nestled in your womb.
Giving birth and becoming a mother is far from the only "birth right of passage" moms go through. As you may have read in My Son's Birth Story I went through something few women do. I became a mother without experiencing birth. A c-section birth is difficult to overcome in the best of circumstances, but as I was put under a general anesthetic, I don't even remember it. I remember being wheeled to surgery covered with a sheet as if dead to keep me from having a stroke, having a mask put over my face and 100...99...98....and then I woke up. I was no longer pregnant. My baby was taken from me. "Is it over? Is the baby alright?" Later I discovered that since my condition was so fragile, coupled with the general anesthetic, my husband was only allowed to stand in the door way and couldn't answer my question as to wether or not our precious child cried when meeting the world. I felt completely robbed of my right of passage into motherhood. For years afterward, I could not say "when I had my son" or "when I gave birth" all I could say was "when they took him."
Altho I did not "give birth" in the normal way, I did give birth. I gave birth to my son via C-section. I did not however, join the ranks of the countless number of women that went before me. Instead I joined the ranks of a far smaller group. A unique bond of those that gave birth, but did not "give birth" Through the years, mostly in online forums, I've "met" others that gave birth as I did. A handful of women, that were not awake to see or hear their childs first cry. I joined the ranks of those with premature infants. A far larger group than I ever imagined. A special bond develops between mothers of preemies, with those who have gone before and those who come after. Instead of birth stories, you share NICU stories, fears, how hard pumping was and how to establish breastfeeding. A different birth right. I AM a mother, even tho I do not remember my childs birth.
In my daughters birth, I carried her to full term, and remained healthy even tho at times the back pain made me drag my foot when walking. I went through 32 hours of back labor, and close to 2 hours of pushing before she entered the world. I was exhausted, but I challenged labor and it could not defeat me. I was determined to feel and know every contraction and sensation involved with birth. To feel what it was like to birth my baby naturally. To hold a sticky, wet squirmy newborn, and even get pooped on as soon as she was out. I relished her first cry. In fact, altho the last 2 hours were a terrible struggle, I felt I labored for both my children in one long, slow labor. I was happy to be in labor. I was happy to feel that pain. I was utterly amazed at the feeling as she emerged from my body. I had succeeded in achieving the birth right of a normal, healthy birth. It was as invigorating as it was exhausting. I felt a bigger connection with the women that came before, I was thrilled to share my birth story with anyone who would listen. A story of healing instead of pain.
5 weeks ago tomorrow, I discovered baby #3 would join us in November. We were surprised. Shocked would be more accurate. We were not trying, and in fact were attempting to prevent. Nevertheless, it didn't take long, just a couple of hours really, and I was already day dreaming of a new birth story. Blissfully looking ahead to the newborn smell, how to install a 3rd carseat in the mini-van, and terrified of figuring out how to afford the things this baby would need. Going through the different emotions expecting a new baby brings.
Not ever ones to keep a secret, we announced the news almost immediately. It was becoming real, and more exciting. We attended an orientation at the new birthing center in Albuquerque, and while beautiful it didn't feel like where we were to have our baby.
Almost immediately I had a "baby belly" I joked, rather frustrated at times, at how fast #3 was showing. I was not having symptoms as strongly as with the other two, but the sense of smell was there. My husband had to clean up dinner several times because I couldn't stomach cleaning up what I had just eaten. Still, I had to wonder why I wasn't as sick, or as tired as I remembered being before. I shook it off thinking that since my diet is healthier, so was my body and I was just handling it better.
I found a Mid-Wife, had an appointment and scheduled a sonogram to exact a due date. Going off my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) was not accurate, as my daughter, now almost 2 1/2 is still nursing. I was very surprised that the sonogram showed the baby at 5weeks, 5 days. According to my calendar, the baby should have measured closer to 7 weeks, 2 days. But there was the tiniest little flicker on the screen. You could barely make out a yolk sack, and a fluttering heartbeat of 125. It seemed so slow compared to my other 2, but they always say you can't compare pregnancies. The Mid-Wife told me everything looked normal, and the dates were in range. That was exciting enough. I had purchased a Beautiful new-born sleep sack, with matching booties and a hat in some of the softest wool available. I was already picturing my tiny new born babe bundled in a dinosaur print new-born fitted, in his sleep sack, sound asleep in a co-sleeper attached to my bed.
I sketched "pregnancy" and was amazed at the depth that poured through my finger tips. I checked out "Birthing From Within" from the library, and was devouring it. Even if it is on the extreme end of the "Hippie" scale, even from my point of view. I've learned through the years to take what God wants to give me and leave the rest. And that's what I did in this book.
We left on vacation for our sons spring break, and went to the Dallas, TX area to visit my in-laws. We had a nice visit. It's the perfect time of year there, humid enough to heal the sores in our nose from living in the desert highlands, but not yet hot enough to be miserable. The company was superb, and I sat for a few hours with my Mother-In-law and we designed the quilt she would make for the baby. It was so easy....
We left on Tuesday to go back to my family, about at the halfway mark between home, and my husbands family. That night, I discovered I had started spotting. It was slight, I had no cramps. The mid-wife was reassuring, and told me that if it stayed as it was, all was most likely fine. The spotting stopped the next morning. We were relieved, but cautious. Friday, we went to the zoo. It's a small zoo, but I noticed the walking induced some slight cramping. I took it easy that night, and had one small spot.
Along came Saturday. My husband had just finished loading the van to come home, right down to the kennel and dog food for our puppy. We were saying goodbyes, and I went to the bathroom. I had started bleeding. We immediately left for the ER, taking all of our stuff with us, not even leaving my parents with a pair of shoes for our daughter. We were bumped to high priority, and given a room almost immediately. They were not busy. The lab work, and then the sonogram. The tech kept the screen away from us, and could not tell us anything more than we would have an answer as soon as we got back to our room. We stared blankly at the ceiling.
After we were taken back to the room, the waiting started. I guess the doctor was waiting for the labs to come back before talking to us. I slept and my husband watched the small TV. Then the news, we already knew, but it was confirmed. There was no longer a heartbeat. The baby had grown and even measured a couple of days big compared to the previous ultrasound. There are no answers as to what happened.
It is devastating to go through a mis-carriage. It truly is losing a child. Our child. We were already a family of 5. I was dreading having to tell anyone what happened. To un-live the excitement. I've always felt a kind of kindred-ness with those that have lost babies. Tho I'd not lost one, my mother lost 2. One of my best friends lost 2, and never had a biological child, tho she has adopted 3 beautiful children and is a mother in every sense of the word. Just 2 weeks ago, a dear friend from the online world lost her 3rd in less than a year. My heart broke with each of their losses, and they are now a comfort to me.
A birth right of passage.
Years ago, mis-carriage was not thought of as the loss of a child. A grieving mother was given a few days, and expected to go about life as normal and not talk about what happened. I believed until a few days ago, that this was still the case. I am happy to say, that it has not been so for me. The out-pouring of love and hope we've received from family and friends, and even complete strangers, has been amazing. If there is a bond between mothers, there is an even stronger bond between mothers who have lost a baby. The deep sense of loss one feels at the loss of a child, is shared by all who've tread this path before. I have been bathed with virtual hugs sympathy from an online world of friends I've never met face to face. Its deeper than that, because not only have they expressed sympathy, for us, they have cried with me and are grieving the loss of my baby too. Living where we do, we don't have many friends close enough for a hug. So virtual hugs become as close as the real thing.
The ranks of those who've lost a child are not one anyone wants to join. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. I am happy to say, that we have been embraced and allowed to grieve and weep openly for the precious wee one we won't meet until we see Jesus face to face. Altho I deeply miss and am mourning the loss of my baby, and indeed physically am still in the process of doing so, I feel treasured and deeply loved by my family and friends that have been so available to comfort me and let me cry. I also feel deeply loved by my Papa, who is holding my precious child in His hand, to love and nurture him where he belongs. With those that have gone before, playing in open fields of wild flowers, face to face with the creator that gave him to us for such a short time.
For Isaiah. My son, you are loved, and will never be forgotten.
We've all been told, becoming a mother is a "right of passage." When you give birth, you've joined countless other women that have gone before you. You feel you've joined an elite club, and graduated into being a mother.
While you're pregnant, nearly every woman you see that is, or has been pregnant wants to ask you about your swelling form, touch the precious life growing inside you, and tell you of their own experiences. It is a way they re-connect with becoming a mother for the first time, and remember what it felt like to have a child within the protective boundaries of her womb. To see your pregnant belly, to remember her own experiences connects her with you in a unique and astonishing way. Something as a pregnant woman, you don't quite understand, and in fact tend to get annoyed with. But after you've given birth, you understand deeply, and may even look back fondly on the times you were asked about your precious babe, still safely nestled in your womb.
Giving birth and becoming a mother is far from the only "birth right of passage" moms go through. As you may have read in My Son's Birth Story I went through something few women do. I became a mother without experiencing birth. A c-section birth is difficult to overcome in the best of circumstances, but as I was put under a general anesthetic, I don't even remember it. I remember being wheeled to surgery covered with a sheet as if dead to keep me from having a stroke, having a mask put over my face and 100...99...98....and then I woke up. I was no longer pregnant. My baby was taken from me. "Is it over? Is the baby alright?" Later I discovered that since my condition was so fragile, coupled with the general anesthetic, my husband was only allowed to stand in the door way and couldn't answer my question as to wether or not our precious child cried when meeting the world. I felt completely robbed of my right of passage into motherhood. For years afterward, I could not say "when I had my son" or "when I gave birth" all I could say was "when they took him."
Altho I did not "give birth" in the normal way, I did give birth. I gave birth to my son via C-section. I did not however, join the ranks of the countless number of women that went before me. Instead I joined the ranks of a far smaller group. A unique bond of those that gave birth, but did not "give birth" Through the years, mostly in online forums, I've "met" others that gave birth as I did. A handful of women, that were not awake to see or hear their childs first cry. I joined the ranks of those with premature infants. A far larger group than I ever imagined. A special bond develops between mothers of preemies, with those who have gone before and those who come after. Instead of birth stories, you share NICU stories, fears, how hard pumping was and how to establish breastfeeding. A different birth right. I AM a mother, even tho I do not remember my childs birth.
In my daughters birth, I carried her to full term, and remained healthy even tho at times the back pain made me drag my foot when walking. I went through 32 hours of back labor, and close to 2 hours of pushing before she entered the world. I was exhausted, but I challenged labor and it could not defeat me. I was determined to feel and know every contraction and sensation involved with birth. To feel what it was like to birth my baby naturally. To hold a sticky, wet squirmy newborn, and even get pooped on as soon as she was out. I relished her first cry. In fact, altho the last 2 hours were a terrible struggle, I felt I labored for both my children in one long, slow labor. I was happy to be in labor. I was happy to feel that pain. I was utterly amazed at the feeling as she emerged from my body. I had succeeded in achieving the birth right of a normal, healthy birth. It was as invigorating as it was exhausting. I felt a bigger connection with the women that came before, I was thrilled to share my birth story with anyone who would listen. A story of healing instead of pain.
5 weeks ago tomorrow, I discovered baby #3 would join us in November. We were surprised. Shocked would be more accurate. We were not trying, and in fact were attempting to prevent. Nevertheless, it didn't take long, just a couple of hours really, and I was already day dreaming of a new birth story. Blissfully looking ahead to the newborn smell, how to install a 3rd carseat in the mini-van, and terrified of figuring out how to afford the things this baby would need. Going through the different emotions expecting a new baby brings.
Not ever ones to keep a secret, we announced the news almost immediately. It was becoming real, and more exciting. We attended an orientation at the new birthing center in Albuquerque, and while beautiful it didn't feel like where we were to have our baby.
Almost immediately I had a "baby belly" I joked, rather frustrated at times, at how fast #3 was showing. I was not having symptoms as strongly as with the other two, but the sense of smell was there. My husband had to clean up dinner several times because I couldn't stomach cleaning up what I had just eaten. Still, I had to wonder why I wasn't as sick, or as tired as I remembered being before. I shook it off thinking that since my diet is healthier, so was my body and I was just handling it better.
I found a Mid-Wife, had an appointment and scheduled a sonogram to exact a due date. Going off my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) was not accurate, as my daughter, now almost 2 1/2 is still nursing. I was very surprised that the sonogram showed the baby at 5weeks, 5 days. According to my calendar, the baby should have measured closer to 7 weeks, 2 days. But there was the tiniest little flicker on the screen. You could barely make out a yolk sack, and a fluttering heartbeat of 125. It seemed so slow compared to my other 2, but they always say you can't compare pregnancies. The Mid-Wife told me everything looked normal, and the dates were in range. That was exciting enough. I had purchased a Beautiful new-born sleep sack, with matching booties and a hat in some of the softest wool available. I was already picturing my tiny new born babe bundled in a dinosaur print new-born fitted, in his sleep sack, sound asleep in a co-sleeper attached to my bed.
I sketched "pregnancy" and was amazed at the depth that poured through my finger tips. I checked out "Birthing From Within" from the library, and was devouring it. Even if it is on the extreme end of the "Hippie" scale, even from my point of view. I've learned through the years to take what God wants to give me and leave the rest. And that's what I did in this book.
We left on vacation for our sons spring break, and went to the Dallas, TX area to visit my in-laws. We had a nice visit. It's the perfect time of year there, humid enough to heal the sores in our nose from living in the desert highlands, but not yet hot enough to be miserable. The company was superb, and I sat for a few hours with my Mother-In-law and we designed the quilt she would make for the baby. It was so easy....
We left on Tuesday to go back to my family, about at the halfway mark between home, and my husbands family. That night, I discovered I had started spotting. It was slight, I had no cramps. The mid-wife was reassuring, and told me that if it stayed as it was, all was most likely fine. The spotting stopped the next morning. We were relieved, but cautious. Friday, we went to the zoo. It's a small zoo, but I noticed the walking induced some slight cramping. I took it easy that night, and had one small spot.
Along came Saturday. My husband had just finished loading the van to come home, right down to the kennel and dog food for our puppy. We were saying goodbyes, and I went to the bathroom. I had started bleeding. We immediately left for the ER, taking all of our stuff with us, not even leaving my parents with a pair of shoes for our daughter. We were bumped to high priority, and given a room almost immediately. They were not busy. The lab work, and then the sonogram. The tech kept the screen away from us, and could not tell us anything more than we would have an answer as soon as we got back to our room. We stared blankly at the ceiling.
After we were taken back to the room, the waiting started. I guess the doctor was waiting for the labs to come back before talking to us. I slept and my husband watched the small TV. Then the news, we already knew, but it was confirmed. There was no longer a heartbeat. The baby had grown and even measured a couple of days big compared to the previous ultrasound. There are no answers as to what happened.
It is devastating to go through a mis-carriage. It truly is losing a child. Our child. We were already a family of 5. I was dreading having to tell anyone what happened. To un-live the excitement. I've always felt a kind of kindred-ness with those that have lost babies. Tho I'd not lost one, my mother lost 2. One of my best friends lost 2, and never had a biological child, tho she has adopted 3 beautiful children and is a mother in every sense of the word. Just 2 weeks ago, a dear friend from the online world lost her 3rd in less than a year. My heart broke with each of their losses, and they are now a comfort to me.
A birth right of passage.
Years ago, mis-carriage was not thought of as the loss of a child. A grieving mother was given a few days, and expected to go about life as normal and not talk about what happened. I believed until a few days ago, that this was still the case. I am happy to say, that it has not been so for me. The out-pouring of love and hope we've received from family and friends, and even complete strangers, has been amazing. If there is a bond between mothers, there is an even stronger bond between mothers who have lost a baby. The deep sense of loss one feels at the loss of a child, is shared by all who've tread this path before. I have been bathed with virtual hugs sympathy from an online world of friends I've never met face to face. Its deeper than that, because not only have they expressed sympathy, for us, they have cried with me and are grieving the loss of my baby too. Living where we do, we don't have many friends close enough for a hug. So virtual hugs become as close as the real thing.
The ranks of those who've lost a child are not one anyone wants to join. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. I am happy to say, that we have been embraced and allowed to grieve and weep openly for the precious wee one we won't meet until we see Jesus face to face. Altho I deeply miss and am mourning the loss of my baby, and indeed physically am still in the process of doing so, I feel treasured and deeply loved by my family and friends that have been so available to comfort me and let me cry. I also feel deeply loved by my Papa, who is holding my precious child in His hand, to love and nurture him where he belongs. With those that have gone before, playing in open fields of wild flowers, face to face with the creator that gave him to us for such a short time.
For Isaiah. My son, you are loved, and will never be forgotten.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Fresh Thoughts
After Finally writing my birth stories, One and Two, I just wanted to write a few thoughts about life.
Life takes turns that no matter how hard we try, we cannot prepare for. Every one says it, but you don't really think anything can or will happen to you. It can. I learned that in the birth of my son. I learned that seeing a dear friend grieve for her 4 month old angel girl lost to SIDS. I learned that it doesn't matter what we do, sometimes there is no changing or stopping circumstances. I've also learned how truly amazing Papa is. When we lose hope, when we give up, He is still there, loving us. In all that we've been through since becoming a family, Papa has always been faithful. He's not left our side. He's been an ever present, faithful provider and protector.
I'd like to tell you that I wake up everyday and live in a happy peaceful world full of perfect children and a clean house. Most of the time I live in a delicate balance of chaos and dirt. Between the food allergies that follow us, the temper tantrums of my 5 year old and the toddler that adores to empty cabinets and drawers, some days I quite literally want to pull the hair out of my head. Honestly, I've tried. It hurts, and I don't recommend it.
What I've come to understand about Papa, is that He will never, ever leave me. It is His very nature to be faithful. He provided when we didn't have enough money left after bills to buy groceries. He gave my mom, and others, dreams and burdens to pray throughout both of my pregnancies. I am here today because Papa is faithful.
When I am despairing, depressed and hurt, Papa is faithful. He has never left me to sit in my filth and suffer. He picks me up, cleans me off and sets me back on my feet. I can imagine that sometimes He smiles as He does it, just as I do when I watch my toddler wander off to get into another mess. She's learning the world around her. I am learning the world around me.
Life takes turns that no matter how hard we try, we cannot prepare for. Every one says it, but you don't really think anything can or will happen to you. It can. I learned that in the birth of my son. I learned that seeing a dear friend grieve for her 4 month old angel girl lost to SIDS. I learned that it doesn't matter what we do, sometimes there is no changing or stopping circumstances. I've also learned how truly amazing Papa is. When we lose hope, when we give up, He is still there, loving us. In all that we've been through since becoming a family, Papa has always been faithful. He's not left our side. He's been an ever present, faithful provider and protector.
I'd like to tell you that I wake up everyday and live in a happy peaceful world full of perfect children and a clean house. Most of the time I live in a delicate balance of chaos and dirt. Between the food allergies that follow us, the temper tantrums of my 5 year old and the toddler that adores to empty cabinets and drawers, some days I quite literally want to pull the hair out of my head. Honestly, I've tried. It hurts, and I don't recommend it.
What I've come to understand about Papa, is that He will never, ever leave me. It is His very nature to be faithful. He provided when we didn't have enough money left after bills to buy groceries. He gave my mom, and others, dreams and burdens to pray throughout both of my pregnancies. I am here today because Papa is faithful.
When I am despairing, depressed and hurt, Papa is faithful. He has never left me to sit in my filth and suffer. He picks me up, cleans me off and sets me back on my feet. I can imagine that sometimes He smiles as He does it, just as I do when I watch my toddler wander off to get into another mess. She's learning the world around her. I am learning the world around me.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My VBAC birth story
If you've read my son's birth story you will fully understand the depth and healing in this one.
After my sons traumatic birth and the difficult year that followed with a preemie, we were scared to say the least of ever becoming pregnant again. It was a desire deep within me, but after my body rejected itself while pregnant another baby wasn't a good idea. I researched, I sought answers as to a cause for the severe Pre-Eclampsia and H.E.L.L.P Syndrome that almost cost me and my son our lives.
Answers were few and far between. There is no known cause or test for what happened. Pre-Eclampsia, or Pregnancy Induced Hypertension happens in roughly 20% of pregnancies. H.E.L.L.P syndrome accompanies about 2% of those. Another pregnancy would be considered high risk. There was a 30% chance of the same complications, and that was enough. The fear of going through that again, or leaving my husband with two children to raise alone if I didn't make it.... haunted me. It caused me to decide that I would ignore the desire for another baby.
When my son was 3 1/2 I went with my parents to church. I don't go often, but when I hear Papa say "go" I go. I don't remember much about the service, but I will never forget what happened after. There is a couple there that ministers prophetically, my dad said "you should go talk to them" Papa said "go" so I went. They were ministering to someone else, so I waited. Others came to talk to me, but I said "no, I'm supposed to talk to them" When I got to speak with them Papa had a lot to say through them. After some time of prayer, we were just visiting. My son ran across the stage chasing his pa-paw. I smiled and said, "He's mine, he's my miracle baby" The reaction from them was immediate. Their heads snapped to attention like soldiers awaiting orders from a general. They waited for more. I told them that he had been a preemie, born 9 weeks early and only 2lbs 11 oz. Christine looked at me and asked if it was Pre-Eclampsia. She KNEW. It was deeper than prophetic insight, they had been through it. Their daughter was then 8 years old and had dealt with complications throughout her life.
Christine told me that when she was hurting she would ask God "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why won't You help me? Can't you see me hurting?" I knew those feelings well. It was 3 years after my sons birth and I still couldn't look at pregnant women or women with healthy babies without jealousy and anguish. Christine told me something Papa had revealed to her, that when she had been hurting He was never up there in Heaven allowing her to hurt. His love isn't like that. When she was despairing and in pain He hurt too.
God was hurting for me?
It was a paradigm shift that changed my entire outlook on life. As a parent, when my child is sick or hurt, I ache for them. When they are in the hospital and being held down for every needle stick with wires attached, it hurts me on a deeper level than if it were me. There is something deep in the heart of a parent, a protective instinct to keep your child from harm. When your child is sick or has special needs and you have to stand aside, or even hold them down while they receive medical care you feel like you are ignoring that instinct. They are looking at you with eyes that say "Why are you letting them do this to me? Why won't you make them stop?" And with everything in you, you want to make it stop. But you can't. God's love for His children is no different. He is not some aloof priest sitting in a throne room un-touchable. He is Papa. Abba. Daddy. Father. In every way He is a Father. When His children hurt, He is not "up there" allowing us to hurt. He is with us, loving us and hurting because we are hurting.
As this realization took hold in my spirit on that February day, the couple I had been talking to prayed with me. I prayed with them. I had to let go, and tell God it was okay with me if He wanted me to have another baby. That statement, aloud in that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was also full of healing.
For the next year the healing continued. My marriage was healing, I was walking with Papa, learning how to be the wife and mother my family needed me to be. It was time. It was Papa's time. Before we ever got the positive test, we knew we were having a little girl. One day, Papa told me her name was Abigail.
We were not in the least surprised to see the positive pregnancy test, nor were we surprised when the 20 week sonogram said girl. Again I dealt with the nausea, sciatica and back pain, but it was different. I was quite happy with normal pregnancy complaints. I was actually excited to see my first stretch mark. This pregnancy was progressing beautifully. My body was doing what it was created to do. Growing a miracle.
I read all the books again, this time reading all of the "what if's." I researched online about VBAC's, and knew that I not only wanted a VBAC, I didn't want any interventions or medications.
As I sought for information on birth, and later cloth diapering, I was introduced to Diaperswappers. An online forum for cloth diaper trading and forums about life in general. I joined the discussion group of other women due in the same month I was. I found mama's there that have become true friends. I found the support there to believe in my body's ability to give birth naturally.
In discussions with my new OBGYN I went over what I hoped for the birth of our daughter. He always listened carefully and answered my questions. Validating my concerns and easing my fears. I was not convinced that he was totally on board with my drug free VBAC wishes, he was just very laid back and had a "wait and see" mentality. I was ok with that. I worked on my birth plan. Wrote it, re-wrote it, trashed it and started from scratch, then touched it up. I didn't finish it until about 6 weeks from my due date. It was straight forward, simple and flexible. I didn't want an Epidural, but understood that if my blood pressure was sky high again, I would accept one. I didn't want to be continuously monitored, but giving birth in the hospital, I figured I would be.
As each week passed I was further relieved. Especially around 28 weeks. I wasn't sick. I could barely walk, but I wasn't sick.
31 weeks came. I had made it. I was farther along in my pregnancy than I had made it with my son.
32 weeks. Not sick
33 weeks. Blood pressure was behaving.
34, 35, 36, 37.
Thirty-seven weeks. I was full term! I could breathe. I had made it! My body had arrived at what is medically accepted as full term. Sweet peace. Strangely enough as the baby began to drop the pressure on my sciatic nerve and coccyx lessened and I could walk normally. I felt pretty good! I was huge, pregnant and miserable from heartburn but I was 37 weeks and elated that I was STILL PREGNANT.
That week I finally got around to packing the hospital bags, sterilizing the breast pump, setting things in order. I felt settled, peaceful.
38 weeks
39 weeks, it was Thursday and I woke up full of energy. I had to clean. I scrubbed the kitchen cabinets. All of them. When I got to work that night I cleaned everything I could find. I was quite obviously nesting! Saturday came and it was my last day at work, a short shift. I walked around like always, my due date less than a week away. I had a couple of contractions that were different than the others. They were the real ones, the kind that started in the small of my back and wrapped around to my lower abdomen and felt crampy. They made me stop and take notice.
After work I went to my parents for dinner, I laid on the couch eating fresh pineapple and then had Pepperoni pizza. We headed home and I was noticing a few more sporadic contractions. By about 9 PM they were more intense. We headed to bed but I was waking with contractions so I got up and started to time them. This was IT. I could rest between the contractions, they were 3-7 minutes apart but not completely regular, and I couldn't sleep. Finally about 2am I had taken a shower and woken my husband. I was having back labor. The contractions weren't terribly painful in themselves, but the back pain was quite noticeable.
Around 3am I thought I was closer to going to the hospital so I called mom and dad. They came over, we sat around and waited. I fell asleep, but still woke with contractions, now 10-15 minutes apart. 7am came and there was the sunshine! I knew I'd meet my girl on November 15th. A good day to have a baby! Finally around 10 I called the nurse, and she told me to go ahead and go in to be evaluated. I had lost some of my plug through the night. I was only a 2 when we got there, but I was a 2! I walked the halls for a couple of hours and got checked again. A squishy 2, I was making SLOW progress. We went home, I had some soup. I had to signal my husband with every contraction for counter pressure on my back. I was resting after having been up all night. I still wasn't really sleeping, but dozing between contractions. At about 7:30 I was really working to get through contractions, but I was handling them with counter pressure. My husband said "lets go" So back to the hospital we went, I was a 4 1/2. More progress, but SLOW progress. They admitted me, and I sat in the rocker for an hour or so and rocked and breathed through my contractions.
After the rocking chair I sat on a birthing ball and bounced lightly, swaying my hips. Still needing counter pressure to help cope with each contraction. My nurse was fairly quiet and content to let me do my own thing. I allowed the monitors while I was sitting close enough for the cords to reach. I was very pleased that my nurse and the doctor on call for mine, who was out of town, were working to follow my birth plan to the letter. They made sure I understood the risks of proceeding with a VBAC, I assured them I understood.
I was controlling my own hydration since all I had was a Hep-loc in case of a true emergency. The nurse was reluctant to give me much water at first, but complied every time I needed a refill. At some point I was a bit more than a 5, and decided to sit for a while in the jacuzzi tub. That in itself surprised me a bit, as I had been told that particular hospital didn't allow you in the tub after a 5. It was nice in the tub, and I stayed for quite a while. It was 3 or 4am when I got out of the tub and decided to lay down for a bit. I was exhausted. I was about a 7 1/2 by that time. An hour later I was an 8, and sleeping between contractions. It was about an hour later and I was only an 8 1/2. Moving very slowly. I was still having the back pain, and my mom was using counter pressure and massage to help me cope.
After being "stalled" for a while the nurse mentioned rupturing my membranes, and that it "might" help the last of my cervix to "melt away" I was so tired at this point that I decided to let them do it, even tho I had previously decided I didn't want that. It was an hour later when the doc came and checked me and broke my water. I was still an 8 1/2. Very very soon, as in minutes after they broke my water I needed to push. The urge was over whelming. I was checked again, 8 1/2. They had me turn on my left side, it was extremely hard not to push. In fact I was pushing, but not bearing down. I couldn't help it. The only thing they ever told me in class was to blow if you need to push, but aren't complete. So I blew. I blew to the point I finally got oxygen between contractions because I was hyperventilating. In all I fought the urge to push for an hour and a half or 2 hours. During each contraction I was holding onto the railing for dear life and blowing to try not to push. I remember asking God to let me push!
FINALLY I heard the word, "complete" I could push!!!! I would push!
I was pushing! The nurse offered to bring the squatting bar in, and I declined because it felt so good to not fight my body. So there I was, pushing in the typical hospital position, but by my choice. The nurse was following my plans and stretching my perineum while I was pushing. I pushed for a long time. I pushed when my body told me to, and that was even more than they were telling me to. My mom and my husband were holding my hands and helping me through it. I pushed, and pushed. I pushed. After nearly an hour of pushing the baby was no longer travelling back up the birth canal, and she called the doctor in for delivery. I pushed and pushed some more. She was crowning. It was in this moment, I realized that a miracle was coming out of me. I wasn't just giving birth, I was part of a miracle. My body was bringing forth a tiny little person.
She was here. The doctor waited for the cord to stop pulsing, my husband cut it. I had expressed my wish to hold her immediately after birth, and so he asked me if I wanted her, all naked and gooey. Indeed, I wanted her. She was crying the most beautiful newborn cry you can imagine. I laid her on chest and spoke to her, she immediately calmed down. With the help of the nurse from the nursery, she was latched on and nursing beautifully within minutes of being born. She nursed on both sides, and then they checked her out, by my bedside. I did tear a little, but not on my perineum. My baby girl was born at 6:48am, November 16th 2009. After 34 hours of labor, she was here. She was healthy. I did it! I had no drugs, and little intervention. In a hospital proud of its 98% epidural rate, and wing built for C-section recovery, I had a successful, drug free Vaginal Birth After Cesarean.
Are there things that I could've done differently? Yes. I could've said YES to the squatting bar, and NO to them rupturing my membranes. But I was so tired at that point, I didn't care. In the end, my body was left to do what it is supposed to do. Labor and birth a baby. My body took it's time in doing so, but looking back now I am almost thankful for the long labor. I got to treasure it. I never got the chance to labor with my son, and as hard as it was, it was a very healing experience. My body grew, labored and delivered a healthy, full term baby girl.
My baby girl, was 8lbs even, 20 inches long and perfect.
After my sons traumatic birth and the difficult year that followed with a preemie, we were scared to say the least of ever becoming pregnant again. It was a desire deep within me, but after my body rejected itself while pregnant another baby wasn't a good idea. I researched, I sought answers as to a cause for the severe Pre-Eclampsia and H.E.L.L.P Syndrome that almost cost me and my son our lives.
Answers were few and far between. There is no known cause or test for what happened. Pre-Eclampsia, or Pregnancy Induced Hypertension happens in roughly 20% of pregnancies. H.E.L.L.P syndrome accompanies about 2% of those. Another pregnancy would be considered high risk. There was a 30% chance of the same complications, and that was enough. The fear of going through that again, or leaving my husband with two children to raise alone if I didn't make it.... haunted me. It caused me to decide that I would ignore the desire for another baby.
When my son was 3 1/2 I went with my parents to church. I don't go often, but when I hear Papa say "go" I go. I don't remember much about the service, but I will never forget what happened after. There is a couple there that ministers prophetically, my dad said "you should go talk to them" Papa said "go" so I went. They were ministering to someone else, so I waited. Others came to talk to me, but I said "no, I'm supposed to talk to them" When I got to speak with them Papa had a lot to say through them. After some time of prayer, we were just visiting. My son ran across the stage chasing his pa-paw. I smiled and said, "He's mine, he's my miracle baby" The reaction from them was immediate. Their heads snapped to attention like soldiers awaiting orders from a general. They waited for more. I told them that he had been a preemie, born 9 weeks early and only 2lbs 11 oz. Christine looked at me and asked if it was Pre-Eclampsia. She KNEW. It was deeper than prophetic insight, they had been through it. Their daughter was then 8 years old and had dealt with complications throughout her life.
Christine told me that when she was hurting she would ask God "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why won't You help me? Can't you see me hurting?" I knew those feelings well. It was 3 years after my sons birth and I still couldn't look at pregnant women or women with healthy babies without jealousy and anguish. Christine told me something Papa had revealed to her, that when she had been hurting He was never up there in Heaven allowing her to hurt. His love isn't like that. When she was despairing and in pain He hurt too.
God was hurting for me?
It was a paradigm shift that changed my entire outlook on life. As a parent, when my child is sick or hurt, I ache for them. When they are in the hospital and being held down for every needle stick with wires attached, it hurts me on a deeper level than if it were me. There is something deep in the heart of a parent, a protective instinct to keep your child from harm. When your child is sick or has special needs and you have to stand aside, or even hold them down while they receive medical care you feel like you are ignoring that instinct. They are looking at you with eyes that say "Why are you letting them do this to me? Why won't you make them stop?" And with everything in you, you want to make it stop. But you can't. God's love for His children is no different. He is not some aloof priest sitting in a throne room un-touchable. He is Papa. Abba. Daddy. Father. In every way He is a Father. When His children hurt, He is not "up there" allowing us to hurt. He is with us, loving us and hurting because we are hurting.
As this realization took hold in my spirit on that February day, the couple I had been talking to prayed with me. I prayed with them. I had to let go, and tell God it was okay with me if He wanted me to have another baby. That statement, aloud in that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was also full of healing.
For the next year the healing continued. My marriage was healing, I was walking with Papa, learning how to be the wife and mother my family needed me to be. It was time. It was Papa's time. Before we ever got the positive test, we knew we were having a little girl. One day, Papa told me her name was Abigail.
We were not in the least surprised to see the positive pregnancy test, nor were we surprised when the 20 week sonogram said girl. Again I dealt with the nausea, sciatica and back pain, but it was different. I was quite happy with normal pregnancy complaints. I was actually excited to see my first stretch mark. This pregnancy was progressing beautifully. My body was doing what it was created to do. Growing a miracle.
I read all the books again, this time reading all of the "what if's." I researched online about VBAC's, and knew that I not only wanted a VBAC, I didn't want any interventions or medications.
As I sought for information on birth, and later cloth diapering, I was introduced to Diaperswappers. An online forum for cloth diaper trading and forums about life in general. I joined the discussion group of other women due in the same month I was. I found mama's there that have become true friends. I found the support there to believe in my body's ability to give birth naturally.
In discussions with my new OBGYN I went over what I hoped for the birth of our daughter. He always listened carefully and answered my questions. Validating my concerns and easing my fears. I was not convinced that he was totally on board with my drug free VBAC wishes, he was just very laid back and had a "wait and see" mentality. I was ok with that. I worked on my birth plan. Wrote it, re-wrote it, trashed it and started from scratch, then touched it up. I didn't finish it until about 6 weeks from my due date. It was straight forward, simple and flexible. I didn't want an Epidural, but understood that if my blood pressure was sky high again, I would accept one. I didn't want to be continuously monitored, but giving birth in the hospital, I figured I would be.
As each week passed I was further relieved. Especially around 28 weeks. I wasn't sick. I could barely walk, but I wasn't sick.
31 weeks came. I had made it. I was farther along in my pregnancy than I had made it with my son.
32 weeks. Not sick
33 weeks. Blood pressure was behaving.
34, 35, 36, 37.
Thirty-seven weeks. I was full term! I could breathe. I had made it! My body had arrived at what is medically accepted as full term. Sweet peace. Strangely enough as the baby began to drop the pressure on my sciatic nerve and coccyx lessened and I could walk normally. I felt pretty good! I was huge, pregnant and miserable from heartburn but I was 37 weeks and elated that I was STILL PREGNANT.
That week I finally got around to packing the hospital bags, sterilizing the breast pump, setting things in order. I felt settled, peaceful.
38 weeks
39 weeks, it was Thursday and I woke up full of energy. I had to clean. I scrubbed the kitchen cabinets. All of them. When I got to work that night I cleaned everything I could find. I was quite obviously nesting! Saturday came and it was my last day at work, a short shift. I walked around like always, my due date less than a week away. I had a couple of contractions that were different than the others. They were the real ones, the kind that started in the small of my back and wrapped around to my lower abdomen and felt crampy. They made me stop and take notice.
After work I went to my parents for dinner, I laid on the couch eating fresh pineapple and then had Pepperoni pizza. We headed home and I was noticing a few more sporadic contractions. By about 9 PM they were more intense. We headed to bed but I was waking with contractions so I got up and started to time them. This was IT. I could rest between the contractions, they were 3-7 minutes apart but not completely regular, and I couldn't sleep. Finally about 2am I had taken a shower and woken my husband. I was having back labor. The contractions weren't terribly painful in themselves, but the back pain was quite noticeable.
Around 3am I thought I was closer to going to the hospital so I called mom and dad. They came over, we sat around and waited. I fell asleep, but still woke with contractions, now 10-15 minutes apart. 7am came and there was the sunshine! I knew I'd meet my girl on November 15th. A good day to have a baby! Finally around 10 I called the nurse, and she told me to go ahead and go in to be evaluated. I had lost some of my plug through the night. I was only a 2 when we got there, but I was a 2! I walked the halls for a couple of hours and got checked again. A squishy 2, I was making SLOW progress. We went home, I had some soup. I had to signal my husband with every contraction for counter pressure on my back. I was resting after having been up all night. I still wasn't really sleeping, but dozing between contractions. At about 7:30 I was really working to get through contractions, but I was handling them with counter pressure. My husband said "lets go" So back to the hospital we went, I was a 4 1/2. More progress, but SLOW progress. They admitted me, and I sat in the rocker for an hour or so and rocked and breathed through my contractions.
After the rocking chair I sat on a birthing ball and bounced lightly, swaying my hips. Still needing counter pressure to help cope with each contraction. My nurse was fairly quiet and content to let me do my own thing. I allowed the monitors while I was sitting close enough for the cords to reach. I was very pleased that my nurse and the doctor on call for mine, who was out of town, were working to follow my birth plan to the letter. They made sure I understood the risks of proceeding with a VBAC, I assured them I understood.
I was controlling my own hydration since all I had was a Hep-loc in case of a true emergency. The nurse was reluctant to give me much water at first, but complied every time I needed a refill. At some point I was a bit more than a 5, and decided to sit for a while in the jacuzzi tub. That in itself surprised me a bit, as I had been told that particular hospital didn't allow you in the tub after a 5. It was nice in the tub, and I stayed for quite a while. It was 3 or 4am when I got out of the tub and decided to lay down for a bit. I was exhausted. I was about a 7 1/2 by that time. An hour later I was an 8, and sleeping between contractions. It was about an hour later and I was only an 8 1/2. Moving very slowly. I was still having the back pain, and my mom was using counter pressure and massage to help me cope.
After being "stalled" for a while the nurse mentioned rupturing my membranes, and that it "might" help the last of my cervix to "melt away" I was so tired at this point that I decided to let them do it, even tho I had previously decided I didn't want that. It was an hour later when the doc came and checked me and broke my water. I was still an 8 1/2. Very very soon, as in minutes after they broke my water I needed to push. The urge was over whelming. I was checked again, 8 1/2. They had me turn on my left side, it was extremely hard not to push. In fact I was pushing, but not bearing down. I couldn't help it. The only thing they ever told me in class was to blow if you need to push, but aren't complete. So I blew. I blew to the point I finally got oxygen between contractions because I was hyperventilating. In all I fought the urge to push for an hour and a half or 2 hours. During each contraction I was holding onto the railing for dear life and blowing to try not to push. I remember asking God to let me push!
FINALLY I heard the word, "complete" I could push!!!! I would push!
I was pushing! The nurse offered to bring the squatting bar in, and I declined because it felt so good to not fight my body. So there I was, pushing in the typical hospital position, but by my choice. The nurse was following my plans and stretching my perineum while I was pushing. I pushed for a long time. I pushed when my body told me to, and that was even more than they were telling me to. My mom and my husband were holding my hands and helping me through it. I pushed, and pushed. I pushed. After nearly an hour of pushing the baby was no longer travelling back up the birth canal, and she called the doctor in for delivery. I pushed and pushed some more. She was crowning. It was in this moment, I realized that a miracle was coming out of me. I wasn't just giving birth, I was part of a miracle. My body was bringing forth a tiny little person.
She was here. The doctor waited for the cord to stop pulsing, my husband cut it. I had expressed my wish to hold her immediately after birth, and so he asked me if I wanted her, all naked and gooey. Indeed, I wanted her. She was crying the most beautiful newborn cry you can imagine. I laid her on chest and spoke to her, she immediately calmed down. With the help of the nurse from the nursery, she was latched on and nursing beautifully within minutes of being born. She nursed on both sides, and then they checked her out, by my bedside. I did tear a little, but not on my perineum. My baby girl was born at 6:48am, November 16th 2009. After 34 hours of labor, she was here. She was healthy. I did it! I had no drugs, and little intervention. In a hospital proud of its 98% epidural rate, and wing built for C-section recovery, I had a successful, drug free Vaginal Birth After Cesarean.
Are there things that I could've done differently? Yes. I could've said YES to the squatting bar, and NO to them rupturing my membranes. But I was so tired at that point, I didn't care. In the end, my body was left to do what it is supposed to do. Labor and birth a baby. My body took it's time in doing so, but looking back now I am almost thankful for the long labor. I got to treasure it. I never got the chance to labor with my son, and as hard as it was, it was a very healing experience. My body grew, labored and delivered a healthy, full term baby girl.
My baby girl, was 8lbs even, 20 inches long and perfect.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
My first birth story
I've been asked to write the story of my VBAC for Amy of Amy's Finer Things and her "Why didn't anyone tell me?" series. In order to tell you about my VBAC, I feel I must first write the story of my Cesarean.
I was 21 when I found out we were having a baby, we had tried once and were very excited! The first trimester came and went fairly normal. I had the typical exhaustion and nausea, enough I took a few naps at work! After my first Tri was over, I had 2 weeks where I just felt great. Life was awesome, we were having a baby! I was reading every bit of info I could get my hands on, skipping all of the "what if" sections because, after all, I wasn't going to need them. I was having a perfectly perfect and normal pregnancy.
In comes sciatica, and very frequent visits to the chiropractor. By 20 weeks I was having trouble walking from the sciatic pain, my hands were too swollen to wear my wedding ring, and I was having headaches. I voiced concern to my OBGYN, and he shrugged it all off as normal, and told me Tylenol would help. I made it through the 2nd trimester ok. Tired, but okay.
Third trimester, I was beyond exhausted. Still having headaches, but I didn't think any more of them. I was seeing my Chiropractor 3x a week at this point in order to keep walking. The sciatica never let up.
At 29 weeks I got sick. Sick enough I went to the urgent care clinic with a severely upset stomach. He checked me out, my blood pressure was ok, but I remember the nurse telling me it was quiet. It checked out, but it was very quiet. That still seems strange to me. After visiting, the Doctor thought it was constipation and sent me home. At home I threw up. I called my OBGYN the next day, he agreed with the constipation theory and said to call if it didn't get better. But again, constipation is normal.
I was ok for a day or so, and then kept getting nauseated again. The headaches were worse. I did keep in touch with my OB, but he said everything was normal. The nausea was becoming worse; More like attacks, horrible attacks where I became pale and lethargic. I would get a horrible pain in my right side, around my shoulder. I wondered why this only seemed to happen when the nausea struck, but as this only ever seemed to happen after office hours I was told when I called to take a Tylenol and go to sleep. Even the night when the Tylenol wouldn't stay down, the doctor told me to lay on a heating pad for the pain in my shoulder, he actually told me to sleep on it. "Take lots of hot baths" he said, "This is normal."
This went on for almost 3 weeks. I finally voiced my concern that this wasn't just a bug to the nurse, whom I'd spoken with almost daily over the previous 3 weeks. I asked if she had any explanation for it, or if I should go see my regular doctor. She checked with the doctor and he told me to go see my GP if I wasn't better. I called my GP about 30 minutes later to make an appointment. They got me in right after lunch.
At the doctors office, every person that spoke to me about my symptoms was very puzzled I was there instead of seeing my OBGYN. I told them my OB told me to come see them because he didn't know what was going on. He NEVER ran lab work, or asked me to come in. He only ever spoke to me on the phone to assure me things were "normal." As soon as the nurse took my blood pressure she made me lay down on my left side and turned off the lights. At that point I believe my BP was about 155/95. The doctor came in, again puzzled as to why I was in his office instead of my OBGYNs, he immediately wanted lab work. As I finished filling the clear little cup in the bathroom, I saw brown. I knew something was up, this can't be right. It turns out I had massive amounts of protein in my urine, and with my BP as high as it was I was immediately sent to my OB's office after my family DR called him and told him the numbers.
I was in tears on the way to the office, my husband met me there. The blood work still hadn't come back, but the other signs were enough for a diagnosis of Pre-Eclampsia. I was put on bed rest and told to come back on Monday, this was Thursday. I very pointedly asked if this explained my nausea and right shoulder pain, and was told no. They didn't know what that was about.
That night was miserable. I had been told to drink lots and lots of water, so I complied but it only made me have to get up and pee every 20 minutes, my feet looked like balloons and I was so sick at my stomach I was throwing up. I couldn't get comfortable no matter what position I tried. Sleep couldn't come. I was throwing up what I believed to be stomach acid. Yet another call to the doctor to ask about something called H.E.L.L.P. syndrome my mom had read about. I was assured they were looking into everything and would let me know as soon as my lab-work came back, but this surely wasn't H.E.L.L.P. syndrome, my mom was just paranoid.
Friday morning dawned. I was so sick I couldn't lay down, I couldn't sit up. My head was throbbing and the pain in my side was un-bearable. Mom brought lunch, vegetable soup from Schlotskys. I got it down but it didn't stay. She also brought her BP cuff and checked me. 190/95. Lunch came back up. It tasted sour, like rancid lemons. I will never forget that taste. I called the nurse yet again, and since the doctor was out for the day she told me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.
We got to the hospital at about 1 o'clock if my memory is correct. It was an excruciating car ride, I was in horrible pain, physically and emotionally. It had been raining so hard the streets were flooded. This was Friday, August 12th. I was 31 weeks that day. I was determined everything was fine, and wouldn't even pack a bag for the hospital. They were going to check me out, give me some fluids and send me home because everything was normal. I kept telling myself that, and foolishly believed it.
We got to L&D, explained what was happening, and my mom told the nurse what she thought was going on. She was told politely that she didn't know what she was talking about, and that they would take care of it. After waiting in the waiting room for a room (they didn't bother with triage) mom had to ask for a bucket for me to throw up in. Then the nurse started paying attention, she cleared the waiting room and killed the lights to try and keep my blood pressure down. After I was in a room, I had lab work drawn by about 2 o'clock. They kept a blanket over my head to keep my BP from spiking. It was 199/110 and climbing, even on my left side with a blanket over my head to block the light. I was scared. I was hooked up to monitors, and started noticing contractions. 5 or 6 nurses were in and out of my room, checking my reflexes, pushing on my sides. I was miserable. Miserable and scared. The contractions were not painful, but noticeable. At about 4 my doctor came in to tell me the "news" You have severe Pre-Eclampsia and something called H.E.L.L.P syndrome (he said it like we'd never heard of it, I found out later my mom had called his office the night before because she KNEW that was what was wrong with me) and that they would be taking the baby today. I hit a wall. I absolutely fell apart. Even feeling those contractions, the excruciating pain I was in, throwing up bile (the sour taste) I NEVER thought they would take my baby that day. I thought they could stop it. I was wrong. The head nurse even apologized to my mom for thinking she was paranoid.
H.E.L.L.P. syndrome in a nut shell is where your blood implodes on itself, your liver fails and your platelet count plummets. That explained ALL of the nausea, the excruciating pain. Every time I got sick my liver was going into spasm. The headaches that had been shrugged off as normal were from restricted blood flow. I was 31 weeks, 9 away from my due date and my baby was measuring small. The doctor sent out for more blood work to make sure I could survive surgery, and I was told they would do their best to let me stay awake. After the first bleeding time test, my BP was still rising. They couldn't wait any longer for the second test. They had platelets in the OR waiting for me just in case. I had already been prepped for surgery, and was being wheeled to the OR with a sheet over my head. I remember putting my hand out and waving it around so people wouldn't think I was dead. Any lights made my BP go even higher, and it was far past the danger zone. My sweet husband was dressed in those trademark green surgical scrubbs with blue booties over his shoes. I knew he was worried, but he was being strong for me. The next thing I remember is the mask going over my face and counting backwards, 100...99...98...97.... my eyes opened.
I still had a sheet over my head. I asked if it was over, and they said it was. "Is the baby ok?" They had him in the NICU. I was sent to recovery where they pressed around on my belly and even with the pain meds it hurt. When I got to my room I asked how my boy was. His weight was just 2 pounds 11 ounces. He was breathing on his own. I slept. I was on morphine for the pain, magnesium sulfate for my blood pressure and to keep me from seizing, and potassium. I was hot, and groggy but I slept. The next day when I woke I remember my dad bringing me a picture of my baby. I was so drugged up the room was swimming and I couldn't even see it. To this day, 5 years later it makes me cry. My boy was doing better than I was, I was getting worse. My liver function was over 700, normal is about 30. BP was 190/55 even on the meds. My platelets were about 30,000. They should have been 300,000. My blood count was equally horrid. I do not remember much of Saturday or Sunday other than drug induced hallucinations and people telling me congratulations. I didn't want to be congratulated, I was going through the worst pain and trauma I'd ever imagined. I wanted "I'm sorry's"
Sunday I could see my baby's picture, I had it taped to my IV stand. This one;
Sunday night a specialist was called in to try and regulate my body. I was continuing to get worse, but my momma knew that was normal for this illness. The cure for my condition was delivering the baby, and that was done. After 5 days and 3 blood transfusions I was well enough to meet my son for the first time.
My precious boy. He spent 43 long days in the NICU. He fought an infection, but did remarkably well. He was 4lbs 3 oz when we brought him home on Sept 24th, his daddy's birthday.
The trauma of my first borns birth is something that haunted me for years. 3 years. I was terrified of getting pregnant again. In fact I decided not to. I was robbed of my perfect pregnancy. I was robbed of being present at my sons birth. He was ripped out of me. My sweet husband was only allowed to stand by the door while the doctors worked to save our lives. Neither of us heard our sons first cry.
I can quite honestly tell you that I am grateful for my emergency c-section. It saved my life, and the life of my son. I have been back and forth over the last 5 years as to whether or not a different OB might have listened to my cries for help sooner and what might have happened differently. Those are the "what if's" that should never be visited.
This is MY story.
There is another story deeply seeded in mine, and that is what God did. Early in my pregnancy He warned my mother through a dream. She prayed.
While I was incoherently hallucinating in my drugged induced slumber there were 20 and sometimes 30 people in the waiting room in Labor and Delivery. They prayed. They stayed, for days. They could not come in my room as any stimulation caused my blood pressure to spike. But they were there. They were praying. My family, physical and spiritual family. They gathered, and they prayed. They were what real church is supposed to be. I can never truly express to them how much it still means to me that they were there.
My baby wasn't really torn from me, I allowed that lie to almost destroy me.
No, that day was not the worst day of my life. That day, August 12th 2005 is the day I became a mother and is therefore beautiful. My baby was born in love and bathed prayer from across the country. He is a miracle.
I was 21 when I found out we were having a baby, we had tried once and were very excited! The first trimester came and went fairly normal. I had the typical exhaustion and nausea, enough I took a few naps at work! After my first Tri was over, I had 2 weeks where I just felt great. Life was awesome, we were having a baby! I was reading every bit of info I could get my hands on, skipping all of the "what if" sections because, after all, I wasn't going to need them. I was having a perfectly perfect and normal pregnancy.
In comes sciatica, and very frequent visits to the chiropractor. By 20 weeks I was having trouble walking from the sciatic pain, my hands were too swollen to wear my wedding ring, and I was having headaches. I voiced concern to my OBGYN, and he shrugged it all off as normal, and told me Tylenol would help. I made it through the 2nd trimester ok. Tired, but okay.
Third trimester, I was beyond exhausted. Still having headaches, but I didn't think any more of them. I was seeing my Chiropractor 3x a week at this point in order to keep walking. The sciatica never let up.
At 29 weeks I got sick. Sick enough I went to the urgent care clinic with a severely upset stomach. He checked me out, my blood pressure was ok, but I remember the nurse telling me it was quiet. It checked out, but it was very quiet. That still seems strange to me. After visiting, the Doctor thought it was constipation and sent me home. At home I threw up. I called my OBGYN the next day, he agreed with the constipation theory and said to call if it didn't get better. But again, constipation is normal.
I was ok for a day or so, and then kept getting nauseated again. The headaches were worse. I did keep in touch with my OB, but he said everything was normal. The nausea was becoming worse; More like attacks, horrible attacks where I became pale and lethargic. I would get a horrible pain in my right side, around my shoulder. I wondered why this only seemed to happen when the nausea struck, but as this only ever seemed to happen after office hours I was told when I called to take a Tylenol and go to sleep. Even the night when the Tylenol wouldn't stay down, the doctor told me to lay on a heating pad for the pain in my shoulder, he actually told me to sleep on it. "Take lots of hot baths" he said, "This is normal."
This went on for almost 3 weeks. I finally voiced my concern that this wasn't just a bug to the nurse, whom I'd spoken with almost daily over the previous 3 weeks. I asked if she had any explanation for it, or if I should go see my regular doctor. She checked with the doctor and he told me to go see my GP if I wasn't better. I called my GP about 30 minutes later to make an appointment. They got me in right after lunch.
At the doctors office, every person that spoke to me about my symptoms was very puzzled I was there instead of seeing my OBGYN. I told them my OB told me to come see them because he didn't know what was going on. He NEVER ran lab work, or asked me to come in. He only ever spoke to me on the phone to assure me things were "normal." As soon as the nurse took my blood pressure she made me lay down on my left side and turned off the lights. At that point I believe my BP was about 155/95. The doctor came in, again puzzled as to why I was in his office instead of my OBGYNs, he immediately wanted lab work. As I finished filling the clear little cup in the bathroom, I saw brown. I knew something was up, this can't be right. It turns out I had massive amounts of protein in my urine, and with my BP as high as it was I was immediately sent to my OB's office after my family DR called him and told him the numbers.
I was in tears on the way to the office, my husband met me there. The blood work still hadn't come back, but the other signs were enough for a diagnosis of Pre-Eclampsia. I was put on bed rest and told to come back on Monday, this was Thursday. I very pointedly asked if this explained my nausea and right shoulder pain, and was told no. They didn't know what that was about.
That night was miserable. I had been told to drink lots and lots of water, so I complied but it only made me have to get up and pee every 20 minutes, my feet looked like balloons and I was so sick at my stomach I was throwing up. I couldn't get comfortable no matter what position I tried. Sleep couldn't come. I was throwing up what I believed to be stomach acid. Yet another call to the doctor to ask about something called H.E.L.L.P. syndrome my mom had read about. I was assured they were looking into everything and would let me know as soon as my lab-work came back, but this surely wasn't H.E.L.L.P. syndrome, my mom was just paranoid.
Friday morning dawned. I was so sick I couldn't lay down, I couldn't sit up. My head was throbbing and the pain in my side was un-bearable. Mom brought lunch, vegetable soup from Schlotskys. I got it down but it didn't stay. She also brought her BP cuff and checked me. 190/95. Lunch came back up. It tasted sour, like rancid lemons. I will never forget that taste. I called the nurse yet again, and since the doctor was out for the day she told me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.
We got to the hospital at about 1 o'clock if my memory is correct. It was an excruciating car ride, I was in horrible pain, physically and emotionally. It had been raining so hard the streets were flooded. This was Friday, August 12th. I was 31 weeks that day. I was determined everything was fine, and wouldn't even pack a bag for the hospital. They were going to check me out, give me some fluids and send me home because everything was normal. I kept telling myself that, and foolishly believed it.
We got to L&D, explained what was happening, and my mom told the nurse what she thought was going on. She was told politely that she didn't know what she was talking about, and that they would take care of it. After waiting in the waiting room for a room (they didn't bother with triage) mom had to ask for a bucket for me to throw up in. Then the nurse started paying attention, she cleared the waiting room and killed the lights to try and keep my blood pressure down. After I was in a room, I had lab work drawn by about 2 o'clock. They kept a blanket over my head to keep my BP from spiking. It was 199/110 and climbing, even on my left side with a blanket over my head to block the light. I was scared. I was hooked up to monitors, and started noticing contractions. 5 or 6 nurses were in and out of my room, checking my reflexes, pushing on my sides. I was miserable. Miserable and scared. The contractions were not painful, but noticeable. At about 4 my doctor came in to tell me the "news" You have severe Pre-Eclampsia and something called H.E.L.L.P syndrome (he said it like we'd never heard of it, I found out later my mom had called his office the night before because she KNEW that was what was wrong with me) and that they would be taking the baby today. I hit a wall. I absolutely fell apart. Even feeling those contractions, the excruciating pain I was in, throwing up bile (the sour taste) I NEVER thought they would take my baby that day. I thought they could stop it. I was wrong. The head nurse even apologized to my mom for thinking she was paranoid.
H.E.L.L.P. syndrome in a nut shell is where your blood implodes on itself, your liver fails and your platelet count plummets. That explained ALL of the nausea, the excruciating pain. Every time I got sick my liver was going into spasm. The headaches that had been shrugged off as normal were from restricted blood flow. I was 31 weeks, 9 away from my due date and my baby was measuring small. The doctor sent out for more blood work to make sure I could survive surgery, and I was told they would do their best to let me stay awake. After the first bleeding time test, my BP was still rising. They couldn't wait any longer for the second test. They had platelets in the OR waiting for me just in case. I had already been prepped for surgery, and was being wheeled to the OR with a sheet over my head. I remember putting my hand out and waving it around so people wouldn't think I was dead. Any lights made my BP go even higher, and it was far past the danger zone. My sweet husband was dressed in those trademark green surgical scrubbs with blue booties over his shoes. I knew he was worried, but he was being strong for me. The next thing I remember is the mask going over my face and counting backwards, 100...99...98...97.... my eyes opened.
I still had a sheet over my head. I asked if it was over, and they said it was. "Is the baby ok?" They had him in the NICU. I was sent to recovery where they pressed around on my belly and even with the pain meds it hurt. When I got to my room I asked how my boy was. His weight was just 2 pounds 11 ounces. He was breathing on his own. I slept. I was on morphine for the pain, magnesium sulfate for my blood pressure and to keep me from seizing, and potassium. I was hot, and groggy but I slept. The next day when I woke I remember my dad bringing me a picture of my baby. I was so drugged up the room was swimming and I couldn't even see it. To this day, 5 years later it makes me cry. My boy was doing better than I was, I was getting worse. My liver function was over 700, normal is about 30. BP was 190/55 even on the meds. My platelets were about 30,000. They should have been 300,000. My blood count was equally horrid. I do not remember much of Saturday or Sunday other than drug induced hallucinations and people telling me congratulations. I didn't want to be congratulated, I was going through the worst pain and trauma I'd ever imagined. I wanted "I'm sorry's"
Sunday I could see my baby's picture, I had it taped to my IV stand. This one;
Sunday night a specialist was called in to try and regulate my body. I was continuing to get worse, but my momma knew that was normal for this illness. The cure for my condition was delivering the baby, and that was done. After 5 days and 3 blood transfusions I was well enough to meet my son for the first time.
My precious boy. He spent 43 long days in the NICU. He fought an infection, but did remarkably well. He was 4lbs 3 oz when we brought him home on Sept 24th, his daddy's birthday.
The trauma of my first borns birth is something that haunted me for years. 3 years. I was terrified of getting pregnant again. In fact I decided not to. I was robbed of my perfect pregnancy. I was robbed of being present at my sons birth. He was ripped out of me. My sweet husband was only allowed to stand by the door while the doctors worked to save our lives. Neither of us heard our sons first cry.
I can quite honestly tell you that I am grateful for my emergency c-section. It saved my life, and the life of my son. I have been back and forth over the last 5 years as to whether or not a different OB might have listened to my cries for help sooner and what might have happened differently. Those are the "what if's" that should never be visited.
This is MY story.
There is another story deeply seeded in mine, and that is what God did. Early in my pregnancy He warned my mother through a dream. She prayed.
While I was incoherently hallucinating in my drugged induced slumber there were 20 and sometimes 30 people in the waiting room in Labor and Delivery. They prayed. They stayed, for days. They could not come in my room as any stimulation caused my blood pressure to spike. But they were there. They were praying. My family, physical and spiritual family. They gathered, and they prayed. They were what real church is supposed to be. I can never truly express to them how much it still means to me that they were there.
My baby wasn't really torn from me, I allowed that lie to almost destroy me.
No, that day was not the worst day of my life. That day, August 12th 2005 is the day I became a mother and is therefore beautiful. My baby was born in love and bathed prayer from across the country. He is a miracle.
Monday, July 19, 2010
150 Facebook fan giveaway!
I've wanted to start a blog for Labor Creations for a while at the advice of a friend and fellow WAHM Nina of Shalom Mama. I plan to blog on new products, giveaways and sales, but much more importantly I want to blog about pregnancy, birth and postpartum care from the perspective of just a mom.
So now that I've introduced my blog a bit, I'll get down to business. I've promised for a while now to do a nice giveaway when I reached 150 fans on my Facebook page and I made that goal last week! The items up for grabs are a couple of custom Cooling Scarves from my Store.
Cooling Scarves are rather simple, remarkable little things that can do a world of good. They are commonly made for soldiers and sent overseas to show support for troops. I first decided to make these because I remember how much a cool rag on my forehead helped me as I was struggling in the transition phase of labor with my daughter. These look nice, and they don't have to be re-wet between each contraction, therefore allowing your support person to focus more on you and not re-wetting a wash cloth every 2 minutes.
After making 120 (that's a LOT of scarves) for a local fair on the 4th of July, I started wearing one on these hot West Texas summer days. I must say, I really like them. My husband has even worn them. We stored a few in the cooler last week while camping, and they were life savers in the heat of the day. Especially the first day, when the pool was closed and we didn't know it.
How do they work you ask? That is the most common question I get asked. My scarves are filled with Polyacrylamide crystals (AKA water polymer crystals) that were first invented as a way to preserve water in gar
dens. These tiny little things start out looking like sea salt and then expand up to 500 times their original size when soaked in water. After you soak the scarf, the casing that holds the crystals stays plump and moist all day. Literally, all day. In fact I have one that was soaked over a week ago and the crystals are just now turning back to solid form. They are re-usable, hand-washable and I have many fabrics available.
So now that I've introduced my blog a bit, I'll get down to business. I've promised for a while now to do a nice giveaway when I reached 150 fans on my Facebook page and I made that goal last week! The items up for grabs are a couple of custom Cooling Scarves from my Store.
Cooling Scarves are rather simple, remarkable little things that can do a world of good. They are commonly made for soldiers and sent overseas to show support for troops. I first decided to make these because I remember how much a cool rag on my forehead helped me as I was struggling in the transition phase of labor with my daughter. These look nice, and they don't have to be re-wet between each contraction, therefore allowing your support person to focus more on you and not re-wetting a wash cloth every 2 minutes.
After making 120 (that's a LOT of scarves) for a local fair on the 4th of July, I started wearing one on these hot West Texas summer days. I must say, I really like them. My husband has even worn them. We stored a few in the cooler last week while camping, and they were life savers in the heat of the day. Especially the first day, when the pool was closed and we didn't know it.
How do they work you ask? That is the most common question I get asked. My scarves are filled with Polyacrylamide crystals (AKA water polymer crystals) that were first invented as a way to preserve water in gar
dens. These tiny little things start out looking like sea salt and then expand up to 500 times their original size when soaked in water. After you soak the scarf, the casing that holds the crystals stays plump and moist all day. Literally, all day. In fact I have one that was soaked over a week ago and the crystals are just now turning back to solid form. They are re-usable, hand-washable and I have many fabrics available.Cooling scarves are great anytime you're outside, hot, sticky, or otherwise needing to cool down. In fact I've had more than one customer keep them in a cooler by their bed for night sweats.
Scarves sell in my Store for $6.00 + $1.00 shipping for the first one, $.50 for each additional scarf.
So now that you know more about them, how about winning one??? Leave a comment here to enter the drawing, I will draw two winners using random.org on Thursday July 22nd. Please make sure your email address is visible in your post, example; jamie [at] laborcreations [dot] com
Scarves sell in my Store for $6.00 + $1.00 shipping for the first one, $.50 for each additional scarf.
So now that you know more about them, how about winning one??? Leave a comment here to enter the drawing, I will draw two winners using random.org on Thursday July 22nd. Please make sure your email address is visible in your post, example; jamie [at] laborcreations [dot] com
Extra entries;
*Follow my new blog :)
*Suggest new friends to my Fanpage
*Post about Labor Creations on YOUR facebook, and post here with the link
Please leave a seperate post for each entry!!
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