On Having a Baby

Part 1C of my self-indulgent trip down memory lane: Really Committed

(I just realized that anybody tuning in at this point may have the mistaken impression that I've recently given birth again . . . let's clear that right up. This is the conclusion to my long ramblings about my first baby's birth. I still have only two. Maybe in a few weeks, I'll post Part 2. Though Elliot's birth was somewhat less exciting, thankfully.)

My hospital stay began with a bit of an attitude. I felt fine. My pregnancy had been fine. Really, I'm sure my high reading was due to me vacuuming my car on an overly warm spring day. Can I please just go home now?

I think my nonchalance about the whole predicament contributed to the decision to keep me there.

Finally a nurse had to get blunt with me: Last week we had a woman come in fully eclamptic. She and her baby both died. I'm not telling you this to scare you, but you need to realize how serious your condition is.

I began to adjust my attitude. After the first night of watching infomercials (good thing Matt took my wallet home), I started to wrap my brain around the fact that I would be here until the baby was born. Hopefully, that would be at least two weeks. I realized I could either spend that time in utter frustration and boredom, or I could embrace my role as incubator, and enjoy a couple of weeks of being taken care of prior to my future role as caregiver. I opted for the latter. It took some deep thought, some prayer and wonderful friends who dropped by books and movies and a laptop. There were still tense moments like when for a couple of days Matt thought he was losing his job. But all in all, It wasn't so bad.

I don't know what y'all know about pre-eclampsia (I still don't quite understand), but the gist is, your blood pressure goes up, your organs begin to shut down, your body goes into protective mode and can reject the baby. Eclampsia is when you have a seizure and your organs do shut down. It can indeed, if not caught soon enough, be fatal to mother or baby, or both. If they catch it early enough, and if it doesn't onset too early in the pregnancy, it can usually be controlled with bedrest until the baby is healthy enough to be born. If it doesn't respond to bedrest, they will deliver prematurely in hopes of saving both mother and baby. The cure for pre-eclampsia is childbirth. Once the baby is born, symptoms generally disappear. (Though I can say I have had problems with my blood pressure ever since, though not before). The cause is unknown, though there are some factors that increase your risk. (Including being overweight . . . hmmm).

In my case, they caught it early, it wasn't too advanced, and I was well along in my pregnancy. They hoped to keep the baby in me for another two weeks, and planned, once I reached "full term" at 38 weeks, to induce me. Possibly earlier if tests indicated the baby could handle it. Begin week one of hospital stay.

What tests you ask? How about an amniocentesis? If you don't know, this procedure involves a very, very long needle (my distorted memory would say it was about 18 inches long). They stick the needle in your belly and suck out amniotic fluid. Then they analyze the fluid to tell if the baby's lungs are ready for the outside world. The dangers of an amnio are that it can induce labor (more of a danger early in pregnancy) and inadvertently poking the baby (more of a danger later in pregnancy when the baby is bigger). I noticed no one is too concerned about poking the mother. The interesting thing I didn't realize is that they do the amnio while they're doing an ultrasound--this is how they attempt to not poke the baby. They just look around with the ultrasound until they find a pocket large enough to stick the needle. Highly scientific. After that whole involved procedure, the results showed my baby's lungs were borderline, meaning that he might be ready, he might not. Thank you Captain Obvious.

I hunkered down to wait another week to do another amnio. Despite my best efforts at being an incubator, I was beginning to go a little stir crazy. I'd been moved to one of the larger rooms reserved for us long-term residents. I considered myself lucky when they told me the woman across the hall (with the do not disturb sign on the door) had been there about three months. It was about this time that I began to forget what the outdoors smelled like. I was allowed to get up only to go to the bathroom, and to shower occasionally. Once a day I also got an exciting wheelchair ride down to be hooked up to the monitor.

My sweet husband successfully petitioned the doctor to take me on one 10-minute wheelchair ride every afternoon--my daily treat (in addition to the hospital cuisine--thank heavens for friends and take out Taco Del Mar.)

One day shy of 38 weeks, I went in for another amnio. The baby had gotten so much bigger and the fluid level had decreased so much that they were unable to find a safe pocket to poke me. They gave me the option of waiting 24 hours and trying again or waiting 24 hours and just starting the induction--assuming that having hit the magic 38 week number, baby's lungs would be fine. I praised the Lord and chose induction.

I will not go into detail. Suffice it to say that it involved two doses (full 24 hours) of cervical ripener, (which just is not fun), lots of walking and stair climbing after being immobile for 2 full weeks, pitocin, the breaking of my water with a big knitting needle, an epidural which worked in every place but the important one, a second epidural to remedy that situation, a midnight encounter between my nether regions and a gentleman OB I had never before met, a near vacuum extraction, an episiotomy, a hefty dose of magnesium sulfate and a catheter.

But, there was also a lovely, healthy, large baby boy. At 8 pounds 11 ounces, I'm very glad we didn't wait another two weeks, because really, I don't need to birth a 10 pound baby to make me feel complete. We named him Ethan Asher, and he was beautiful.
My ugly baby fears were completely unfounded (lie to me if I'm deluded).

I was wheeled back to my room amidst applause from the nurse's station--we were all old friends by then--as I waved like Miss America--on dope. You see, by then I was fully into the truck-running-over-me effect of the magnesium sulfate. They give you mag after a pre-eclampsia induction to prevent seizure. You can apparently still seize shortly after birth. It prevents seizure by relaxing EVERY muscle in your body. You cannot stand up (hence the catheter), or really move much at all. You are also not allowed eat. So, given the 24 hours or so pre-delivery fast, the energy-sucking birth experience and the 24 hour post-delivery fast, all I did was drool over MickeeDees commercials in my darkened hospital room. I cannot remember what I ate at the end of those, the longest 48 hours of my life, but it was delicious. I was not allowed visitors (or lights) for those 24 hours, so I recall Matt wheeling the baby out to greet guests in the waiting room. It's all a sort of weird, hazy memory.

Here I am, under the influence


Ethan was a bit beat after the ordeal himself


We spent another 24 hours in the hospital and brought our precious baby home on Easter Sunday. I'll save you the breast-feeding fiasco that ensued and the long days filled with diapers, baby talk and the mamma baby code, but it was quite the ride. Friends wondered if I'd ever have another given the traumatic experience and all the courage I had to muster up in the first place. What they didn't realize is that the whole thing was far, far less traumatic than the scenarios I had imagined.

Through all this, I've realized a few things about myself. One is that God understands me far better than I can begin to understand myself--and He understands what will make me happiest, far better than I. I hope you don't read from these posts that somehow my children were unwanted. Quite the opposite. I had to choose to have these children. I had to overcome my fears and inadequacies, and put my faith in my Heavenly Father--to trust that He could make more of my life than I could ever on my own. And it's been quite the adventure. Parenting is not my forte, but I'm so glad I chose it. And I'm getting better at it. Slowly. By the time they're adults, I just might be very good at it.