Birth Story Part 1

On Saturday evening, Jeff and I dropped the boys off at Aunt Steph’s and headed to Boise to have a sushi dinner. I wasn’t feeling great—just really uncomfortable. I’d had a feeling the baby might come a little early, which was strange since she (and consequently I) seemed so much smaller than with either of the boys. However, my pregnancy had gone so smoothly that I had no reason to think that birthing Keira at 37 weeks would be a big deal. In fact, her brother Ronin, was born at about 37 ½ weeks. My pregnancy had been “boringly healthy” according to my OB. So, when we sat down at Shige and I began having regular contractions, I was fairly excited and Jeff said, “Ok, fine, you can come tonight.” The contractions didn’t really hurt, but were so regular that I had Jeff start timing them. They were actually 5 minutes apart and we joked about whether we’d get a free meal if my water broke in the restaurant. We decided that if my contractions continued, we could go to a hospital there in Boise, thus evading my OB.

My doctor had been fine, but not my favorite doctor ever. I had wondered whether he was dishonest with me about local birthing facilities. He had an ultrasound machine in his office, which he used many times with us, always seeming mostly interested in getting a great portrait of K in utero. We had wondered whether he cut corners a bit. However, we stuck with him and weren’t really concerned. Why would we be? My first two pregnancies and deliveries had gone wonderfully and I had no reason to believe my third would be any different. This OB also made us laugh. He reminded us of Joey from Friends. He looked Italian, had big muscles, and usually wore tight jeans and a muscle shirt to our appointments. To top it off, he drove a little white Porsche to work and parked it conspicuously for others to admire. We laughed and called him Dr. Drake Ramoray behind his back.

So anyway, we finished up dinner, but on the drive back to Nampa the contractions waned so we picked up the boys and went home. Before bed, I had Jeff snap a quick picture of my pregnant belly- thinking I better not push my luck any longer and just have him take one before it was too late.  I had a good night’s sleep. In the morning, similar contractions started up again. I took a shower, told the kids to pack for a day with Grandma Janie, rather than getting ready for church, but then the contractions ceased.

Feeling exhausted, I went back to bed. I remember feeling so conflicted. On Monday, I was to have two feedback appointments at the office and needed to get those reports written. I slept until about 3 o’clock, waking briefly every once in a while because of a contraction, then going back to sleep. When I woke I laid in bed, texting Anneke about the frustrating false alarms. Anneke was quite jealous, because she was due three weeks later than I was and wished her due date was yesterday. When I got up, the contractions seemed more regular again, this time about 7 minutes apart. They still weren’t bothering me much, but the regularity was concerning, so I told Jeff we probably should go to the hospital.

We got the boys geared up again and I wrote an email to Cathi and Heather, letting them know what to do should my maternity absence be starting early. While writing, I wondered whether I was making too big a deal of these contractions and would get the office staff worked up over nothing. But, then I went to gather my last things from my room and on my way back up the stairs I had to pause with the force of a contraction. “Yep,” I said, “Let’s go to the hospital.” It was 4:20.

We dropped the boys off at Grandma Janie’s and took the short drive to the hospital. We walked upstairs and checked in. The maternity ward was very quite. We were introduced to Katie, our nurse for the night. She was a tall, blonde woman who resembled Heidi Klum, I thought. I changed into a gown and hopped up on the hospital bed so that Katie could strap me to the monitor and ask me intake questions. Jeff was kidding around, texting friends, and remarking about his super shoes, which he had worn for his wedding and the birth of each child. I was texting Anneke again, as she seemed to be cheering me on.

We talked with Katie. She almost immediately asked if I might want Pitocin to speed up my labor, which surprised me so much. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said. I remember her telling me about her 4 children and her remarks about being way more susceptible to skin cancer if you’d been in a tanning bed even once. I asked her, “So does the monitor look like a woman in labor?” She laughed. “It looks like a woman who is handling labor very well,” she said. “Oh good,” I said, “because part of me still feels like I should be at home writing reports for tomorrow.” She laughed, assuring me that I wasn’t going to be at work tomorrow. She asked about a birthing plan, which was ironic cause it was the first time I didn’t have one but also the first time anyone in a delivery room had ever asked me about one. I told her my plan was just to go as natural as possible. I told her I’d found that a plan wasn’t much needed because my labors were so short. She assured me that the doctor had been paged already but in the worst-case scenario she was a pretty good baby catcher. “Really? You’d let me deliver even if he wasn’t here?” “Of course,” she said, and I was immediately relieved.

I was at the point where the contractions were indeed feeling regular and uncomfortable. It occurred to me that I was hungry. My stomach growled so loudly that Jeff and Katie both heard it. Katie surprised me again, saying that I could eat. She offered to bring me a sandwich and said Jeff could go out quick and bring back a “big juicy burger.” As good as that sounded, I said “Don’t go,” and Katie brought me a turkey sandwich.

Katie judged that I was at 4 cm. “Oh yea, she’s right down there. How cute,” she said, “I touched her head and she floated away.” The contractions were more painful now and only 2 to 3 minutes apart. I think this is when I told Jeff to stop making me laugh, lose his phone, and have his hand readily available for me. Katie had me turn on my side because she wasn’t getting a great oxygen rating on the baby. Right after I turned, I felt a pop and there was a hot gush of liquid. I remember saying, “Now I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared.” That sandwich wasn’t going to get eaten.

Katie, of course remaining calm, checked me again—7 cm. She informed us that the fluid was greenish, which meant meconium in the fluid. She gave us the heads up that this was probably no big deal, but might necessitate an extra day’s hospital stay. Katie was ready to move me to my room. At this point, I really didn’t want to go anywhere. After my previous deliveries, I was scared that baby would drop right out onto the floor in the hallway, or that I would lose control and not be able to walk. She asked if I wanted to walk or take a wheelchair. Still trying to be tough, I said I’d walk. But just then another whopper hit and I changed my mind.  Katie was scurrying a bit, having the doctor paged again, getting me a wheelchair, and whatever else they do to get ready. I warned her it was going to be quick now.

I was scared. The contractions were hard. The doctor wasn’t there. I could barely handle the bump of the chair over the threshold of the door. Then they wanted me to stand up and get into the bed. Ahh! And here came the part when I knew without a doubt that this baby was coming. Gosh. It seemed to go from 0 to 100 in 60 seconds. I was in pain, but more than that I was scared. In fact, I kept saying that over and over. I climbed into the bed with Jeff’s help, but couldn’t even make myself comfortable because the contractions were so hard. I caught Katie bolting out the door to go get something or someone and I yelled, “Don’t go! She’s coming!” Bless her heart, she came back immediately and taking one glance under my gown said, “Oh my gosh, you aren’t kidding. Fully dilated and effaced, Katie could see the head. I was writhing in pain now, finding no relief. I was telling Jeff, “I just want to pass out. I just want to pass out,” and he was encouraging me to breath and keep my eyes open.

My body started to push then- it was no decision of mine. The bed was still fully made, but Katie was at the other end. “I can’t help it. I can’t help it,” I said. Katie assured me it was all right; I could go ahead and push. So I did- hard- and with a shloop shloop shloop---she was out. It was 5:22.

“Oh thank God it’s over thank God it’s over thank God it’s over,” I kept saying in huge relief, and I suppose, trying to sooth myself. The pace of that labor was terrifying. I don’t remember seeing much. Even though my eyes were open, I think my brain was too preoccupied to register much. But- I did see my tiny baby girl, purplish looking, get whisked away to the far side of the room. One other person had come into the room- a “baby nurse” Katie called her and she set to work on Keira. I wasn’t concerned about her, just trying to catch my bearings, still repeating my mantra over and over. However, in the next seconds or minutes, I realized that Keira wasn’t crying. They said, “4 lbs. 13 oz.” “Whoa, that’s small,” I said, though not concerned, as I would have/should have been if I were in my normal state of mind in that moment. They said she was having a hard time keeping her temperature up and there was “something else…,” Katie said vaguely. Jeff filled in…”She had a nucal cord?” I saw Katie nod her head yes.  

I was still laying there, legs spread. No doctor. Katie was now talking about paging a different doctor. Apparently she wanted a doctor to deliver the placenta. Katie put the bed into birthing mode now, which seemed kind of silly at this point, but allowed me to rest my legs in the stirrups. I was vaguely uncomfortable laying there in all my glory for what was, I don’t know, maybe 20 minutes, but during that time I laid back and listened to what was going on with Keira. She finally cried. A little mewing sound like a cat. Jeff took pictures and brought them over to me. I could see her tiny features from where I was laying. So precious. Katie and the other nurse both were busy with her, but she calmly told me that Keira was just having a little bit of a hard time because she was small and that they’d probably take her into the nursery so they could keep her warm. It was strange that Jeff and I had not held her at all yet. There was no talk of trying to get her to nurse.

Finally, my OB came in. He was all sweaty in bike shorts and a t-shirt. “I go out for one little bike ride…” he said. “I told you they were fast,” I couldn’t help saying. I got nervous again as he fixed to deliver the placenta. At the doctor’s direction, I pushed a couple of times and this mini birth was over too. He said I looked fine save for a couple of “skid marks.” My legs had grown so tired and I was craving being able to just lay on the full bed with some warm covers. It seemed that just as quickly as the doctor had come in, he was gone again, saying very little, but that he’d see me later. Whatever. I was a little annoyed at him, but put it out of  my head.

When the doctor left, they were still messing with Keira. I asked if I could hold her before they took her to the nursery. They granted me this, going out of their way to roll my bed closer to her so I could hold her without disrupting her various attachments.  She must have had monitors on for her oxygen, pulse, etc. I finally held her. Sweet, tiny Keira. She looked perfect; just tiny, like a doll. I breather her in and had no concerns. Everything would be just fine. I wanted to try to nurse her, but the nurses seemed to want to get her to the nursery and I trusted them to know what was best.

During the couple of minutes that I was holding her, Jeff shot a picture to send off to friends. Looking back at that picture, I laugh. It was kind of a fluke. For one, I look damn good which couldn’t have been true because I felt a mess. Secondly, I was cuddling my baby, which is something we didn’t really get to do that first day or two, at least not the way parents typically do. I soon gave her back and they wheeled her out of the room and me back to my proper place. It was suddenly very lonely.

The sequence of the next events are blurred in my memory.  Someone gave me a shot of something or other to help my uterus continue to contract. The injection was in my thigh and Jeff laughed at me for complaining that it hurt. It’s all relative, I guess. Alone in my hospital room, I turned to my phone. I texted several friends about Baby’s arrival. I called my parents. They wanted to know everything and I told them, “Just come,” which they did. Jeff felt torn between the baby and me, mostly choosing to stay in the nursery so that he could stay informed as to what the nurses and doctors were doing. I didn’t like being alone in that room, but he wanted to be with her. Finally, I went to see her in the nursery. I wasn’t sure whether I was “allowed,” having just given birth, to get up and walk down the hall on my own. But, since nobody was there, I did. I was welcomed into the nursery and when I asked if I could try to nurse her, they turned a rocker toward the corner, away from the work stations of the other nurses. My parents came. Then they came again with food for me. There was some concern, we were told, with Keira’s initial blood work. The platelet count was very low, so they were testing it again. Janie came with the boys. That was stressful. At that point, we didn’t know exactly what was going on with Keira and I was trying to stay positive. The boys were excited but could only see Keira through the glass. Janie was concerned about getting some preemie clothes purchased for our unexpectedly tiny girl. Jeff and I met with Tom Patterson, a wonderful pediatrician who, as it turns out, goes to our church. He asked questions about my pregnancy, my health, and prenatal ultrasound findings. He told us that they were trying to figure out why Keira was born so small and why her head circumference was small, even for her size. He had noticed little dots on her skin and along with other symptoms, he was concerned that she may have a TORCH infection. However, given that I’d had a cold last weekend, chances were good that Keira had gotten that and so they started her on antibiotics right away. Dave came separately, later. The second platelet count was up a bit, but not much. A head ultrasound would be needed to help diagnose what was going on. Finally, I lay down to try and rest. No sooner than I’d closed my eyes, the phone rang. It was my OB. He said that he was going to discharge me so that we could follow Keira, in an ambulance, to the NICU in Boise where there was a tech who was certified to do head ultrasounds was located. Dr. Patterson came back. He’d been running all over the hospital and spent lots of time on the phone trying to do what was best for Keira. He kept talking about her “precipitous” birth. He’d talked to Dr. Borghese at the NICU, who was concerned about Cytomegalo Virus or CMV. If, in fact, we were to find that Keira had this, she’d be hospitalized for 6 weeks for treatment. Ok. Still, this wasn’t registering as overly concerning for Jeff or me . Just an infection to be cleared up. Jeff and Patterson talked shop for awhile. The pediatrician’s concern for Keira was comforting. He was relying on God and praying.

So here it was, just 5 hours after her birth, I was being discharged from the hospital.  But I wasn’t really taking it all in; not really. I could still barely wrap my head around the fact that I’d given birth….and so dramatically (like a rocket launched from my___), let alone grasped the thought of my baby being only 4 pounds. Oh man. Well, ok. She has to go to the nursery? Oh man. Well, ok. Blood problem? Oh man. Well, ok. And on and on and on.

The weird thing was, once I’d put on my not-normal-but-not-maternity jeans, I realized I didn’t even feel like I’d had a baby. Not particularly achy or uncomfortable. No feeling like if I stood too long, my guts might drop onto the floor (as I described it to my husband after the boys). All the better, I suppose, for being discharge and having to run off to Boise; but, it just added to this strange, disoriented feeling I had. I asked Katie for a big hug and thanked her for all of her care and concern. She promised she’d be praying for us. Other staff members chimed in, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” “Just a precaution.” And with that I was swept out of there. No wheelchair for me. No baby.