Birth Story

May 11, 2016

A year ago today I was lying in a hospital bed, having contractions, and feeling ridiculously nervous that my baby was going to come 6 weeks early. Just thinking about it all makes me want to cry. It brings back feelings of fear and wonder. Happy tears, scared tears, grateful tears, helpless tears, all of it. It was quite the whirlwind of craziness. I would never wish my birth experience on anybody else, but at the same time, I feel extremely blessed with how it all turned out. I know there are people who haven't had a happy ending, but I also know that families are forever and anybody who feels like their ending hasn't been happy, well, it's not the end yet! Happiness will come.

THE PREGNANCY

I found out I was pregnant in October of 2014. I was nervous. I have anxiety, so I'm pretty much nervous about everything, always. But I was also excited. It was my first time being pregnant and I downloaded at least 5 pregnancy apps on my iPhone. Each week, they would tell me how big my baby was and what developmental milestones he was going through.

When I was 28 weeks pregnant, my doctor ordered a non-stress test (NST) to be done once a week. My blood pressure had been consistently high at my visits, so she wanted to keep an eye on baby and me to make sure I wasn't developing preeclampsia. Physically, I felt okay so I didn't think I had preeclampsia, but I also had an uneasy feeling in the back of my mind telling me something wasn't right. Soon, I would find out why.

As my pregnancy progressed, so did my blood pressure. It usually went down after resting for a bit, but after some weeks, even the rest didn't help. Under my doctor's orders I began taking my own blood pressure at home each day. One day it was quite high even after resting for 30 minutes and when I told the nurse, she told my doctor right away. Dr. Bowman said she wanted me to go to labor and delivery to get some lab tests done and to check for pregnancy-induced hypertension.

I was there for a couple of hours, but still my blood pressure was not going down, so my doctor ordered a 24-hour urine sample (yes, I had to collect ALL of my pee for 24 hours and then take it back to the doctor the next day). Sometimes there is protein in the urine of somebody with preeclampsia. So that's what they were checking for. I was also given a prescription for Labetalol, a medication to lower my BP (blood pressure).

The test for protein in my urine came back positive. That, combined with my high blood pressure, was a sure diagnosis of preeclampsia. So, at 31 weeks pregnant, I was transferred to a new doctor at a new hospital. My doctor had sent me to Maternal Fetal Medicine (MFM). I guess that's where you go when you have pregnancy complications.

My husband, Chris, and I went together to the doctor at MFM. She said she would tell us absolutely everything she knew about preeclampsia. It took her about 3 minutes. Literally. There just isn't a lot of info about the disease. They don't really even know what causes it!

"So, what now?" I asked her. She said the next step was to find out if my preeclampsia was mild or severe because it is treated differently depending on the severity. With mild preeclampsia, they would deliver the baby at 37 weeks. Early, but still full term. With severe preeclampsia, they would deliver the baby at 34 weeks. Too early for my liking. To know if it was mild or severe, they needed to see how high my blood pressure readings were at 2 different times, 8 hours apart.

So the doctor asked me to come check myself into the hospital that night to be observed. I asked how long I should plan on staying and she said I'd need to stay for 24 hours. Then as Chris and I were getting up to leave, she added, "I should warn you that if your blood pressures are high and we determine it to be a case of severe preeclampsia, we'll be keeping you at the hospital."

"Okay. Keeping me for how long?" I was thinking a few extra hours maybe.

"Until you deliver."

Until I deliver? What?! Was she serious? She said I wouldn't even be able to go back home to pack a bag. She expected me to check myself into the hospital that night with the possibility of living there for the next month!? I was only 31 weeks pregnant! And I also had a job to get back to. And plus, I didn't even feel sick!

Chris and I discussed the situation. Should I pack a long-term bag? Should I even go to the hospital that night? Was I really going to have to deliver at 34 weeks? Was the baby going to be okay? Would he have to be in the NICU? Was this really that serious? When it came down to it, we decided that everything would be fine. My preeclampsia would be declared mild, and I'd leave the hospital after the 24 hours were up. So I packed just a small backpack and off I went.

THE HOSPITAL

I checked myself into the hospital on April 23, 2015. When I got there, they hooked me up to a blood pressure monitor, to keep an eye on me, and an NST machine, to keep an eye on baby. After a few hours, they told me that my blood pressure was too high and that the doctor had prescribed some medication to lower it. But that made no sense. The doctor had specifically told me that morning during my appointment that they needed to monitor my blood pressures unmedicated, to know what the real readings were. They didn't want to cover any symptoms with medications. But now she was prescribing medication to lower it. How could they do the necessary tests if they couldn't get the proper readings?

Something wasn't right. I told the nurse I wasn't supposed to take any medication because then they wouldn't know my actual blood pressure, but she said that my blood pressure was too high to not take medication. I didn't know it at the time, but the medical staff had thrown plan A out the door without informing me. I was there for the long-haul.

The nurse started talking to me about the "what ifs" of delivery. Delivery?! Even if I had sever preeclampsia, they told me I could deliver at 34 weeks. My baby needed those 3 extra weeks to grow and develop properly. I couldn't deliver that night! I didn't come to the hospital that night to deliver my baby. I came for a test! That's it. Yet they were preparing me for delivery. Nobody had said it straight out, but I wasn't stupid. Deep down I knew I wasn't going home.

The whole process freaked me out, which probably didn't help my blood pressure issues. Over the next few hours, they kept upping my medication until I couldn't go on a higher dose. Then they told me that if my blood pressure kept going up, I could have a seizure, which wouldn't be safe for me or my baby. So they put me on magnesium to prevent any seizures. The magnesium sucked. Literally. It sucked the life out of me. I can't say it any other way. It is what it is. It turned me into a zombie. It took all my energy, both physically and mentally. I couldn't even get up to go to the bathroom without help. I couldn't think straight. I could barely lift my hand to scratch myself. And I definitely couldn't care about simple things like making phone calls or checking texts.

That night they gave me a shot of steroids to help my baby develop his lungs faster. I prayed that he wouldn't have to come that night, but knew that the steroids would be good to have anyway since he was coming early no matter what.

Fortunately the magnesium helped to lower my blood pressure and I didn't have to give birth that night. I spent the next 3 weeks in the hospital on semi-bedrest. It felt like 3 months, but I can't complain because I heard of other women who actually were there for 3 months. I don't know how they did it. I passed my time by watching TV, reading, sewing, painting my nails, and talking with my visitors. My sister and her family came to visit me often. And I was also blessed to have my amazing husband pass most of the days with me. And he slept there with me most of the time, too.

During those weeks, my blood pressure was taken every 3 hours, even in the middle of the night. Every couple of days my blood pressure medication was upped as the higher dosages stopped working. My urine was tested every day and once the protein levels started getting high, they started testing my blood every day too (I guess the protein starts contaminating your urine and then moves to the bloodstream as the disease progresses). I was asked at least 5 times a day if I had a headache or abdominal pain. It wasn't a matter of if I would get the pain, it was a matter of when. There's no cure for preeclampsia... Except to deliver your baby. So it was just a waiting game.

The abdominal pain came after about 2 weeks and that sucked, but it was the least of my worries. I had to find strange positions to sit in (like curled in a ball with my butt up in the air) to ease the pain.

The goal was to get baby to 34 weeks, which would have been on Saturday, May 9th. I was starting to feel a little more confident since they had done an ultrasound the week before that day and said Jake was about 4 pounds. I figured with a week to grow he'd be around 5 pounds at birth. The doctors said they would plan on inducing me on Monday, the 11th, unless my blood pressure got too high or there were any other complications. As it got closer, they decided to take me down to labor and delivery on Saturday night to get the whole process of induction started since it usually takes a little longer for first-time births.

THE BIRTH

They took me down to labor and deliver and the labor process started. They hooked me up to some monitors so they could hear baby's heartbeat and monitor my contractions. Then they gave me Cytotec (a pill that goes in the cervix to help get the processes of dilation started). It wasn't really working very well and our nurse told us that there's a balloon-thing they can put up there that will help with dilation, but some doctors don't like to use it. She explained that if my induction didn't progress fast enough, then a c-section would be likely. And luckily the nurse was not passive. She was totally my advocate and did everything she could to make sure this was the best possible experience for us. She kept telling me, "We are gonna have this baby vaginally!" So she got the doctor to use the balloon, which is when I started feeling my contractions. They basically felt like really strong period cramps. Once I was dilated to 4 cm, they took the balloon out and accidentally broke my water in the process. Then we waited. I think this is when they gave me the Pitocin to really start the contractions. Or maybe it was before the balloon. I don't remember. But anyway, I stopped progressing and was dilated to a 4 for the whole next day. This whole time, while waiting for my body to progress, I was on magnesium, the same stuff they put me on when I first came to the hospital two and a half weeks earlier. It made me feel so horrible. I could barely keep my eyes open and I couldn't even lift up my own hand. I just kept thinking, "if I can't lift my hand, how will I possibly push a baby out?!"

The doctor warned me that if I didn't progress they may have to do a C-section. Monday came and my contractions had been normal and strong since the day before. I had already gotten my epidural so they didn't bother me too much. And I was FINALLY dilated to a 7 (after about 36 hours). I was progressing, which meant no c-section. Relief.

Then the doctor came to check on baby and me. She did her exam and seemed a little unsure if the baby's heartrate monitor was accurate. They noticed his heartrate wasn't being consistent and he wasn't moving around much. They thought that maybe the monitor was reading my heartrate instead of baby's. So they decided to use internal monitoring (they go inside the vagina and put a wire in baby's head to measure his heartrate). I definitely didn't like that idea at all. I was still on magnesium and had no energy to fight or ask questions, but I was feeling quite nervous (someone with anxiety can always find the energy to be nervous). They insisted it was safe and that they needed to do it to know my baby's actual heartrate. When they put in the internal monitoring, they found that his heartrate was much slower than it should be. They guessed that the external monitoring had just been doubling my own heart rate instead of reading his. I'm sure the magnesium was affecting him similarly to how it was affecting me. So it made sense to me that his heartrate was low.

The doctor came in and said they'd feel better about doing a C-section than a vaginal birth. I had heard stories about doctors preferring c-sections, so I asked if that was really necessary. She explained that it was a matter of safety for the baby. I asked when they would do it and she said, "right now."

I was pretty out of it with the magnesium, but Chris later told me that the doctor was clearly in a hurry to get Jake out. Chris could tell that she was trying to act calm for our sake, and make it seem like they just wanted to do a c-section, but it clearly was not a choice. They needed it done, and now.. It was an emergency C-section and I was too out of it to even notice. Chris was rushed to put on his O.R. shower cap thingy and foot booties and they hurried us into the O.R. They numbed me up good and I couldn't move a single muscle from my waist down. I could feel that they were touching me, but there was no pain at all. 

I started panicking because I couldn't feel my feet or move my toes. It's hard to explain, but I have OCD and basically for some reason I felt the need to move my toes, but I couldn’t. So I was mentally freaking out and my only hope was knowing that I would have feeling again soon. I even asked Chris to please move my toes for me. I'm sure the doctors thought I was crazy. I had on an oxygen mask, but Chris could tell I was very upset about it and he kept telling me to breathe. Chris watched them cut me open, which I think is disgusting. When Jake was out, they passed him straight through the NICU window and not even Chris could see him. He said he got a quick glimpse of a blue blob and that's it. The feeling I had was so strange. I was kind of freaking out inside because I wanted to be with my baby and know if he was okay, but the magnesium didn't allow me fight for any of my feelings too much. I told Chris to go be with Jake, but he stayed with me. He probably knew I would freak out if he left me, but ever since then, I've felt so guilty about not making him go. I am a grown adult and Jake is a helpless baby who had never even met either of his parents before. He needed Chris much more than I did. I feel so horrible about that and I hope he wasn't lonely or scared in his new world. If I could go back in time and change the way that happened, I would. I don't even like to think about it and I will spend my whole life making it up to him.

After they stapled me up, they rolled me to the recovery room and that's when Chris felt comfortable leaving me since my sister and my mom were in there with me. He went to see Jacob and I'm sure he fell in love with him on the spot. I had to stay in the recovery room for awhile, just sitting there and being tortured of thoughts of my baby and if he was okay. Once it was time to go back upstairs to my permanent recovery room, they rolled my bed in to see Jake on the way up. I didn't get to hold him because of that stupid magnesium (I guess I was too weak), but I saw him and almost died of love. I couldn't stand how perfect he was. I never did believe in love at first sight until that day.

He was born on Monday, May 11, 2015 at 3:44 p.m. He weighed 3 pounds, 15 ounces, and was 17.5 inches long. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my entire life.

I asked when I would be able to go back down to visit Jake and they told me not until I could walk. I regret just going along with what the nurses said. I didn't know any better, but now I do, and if this ever happens again, I will demand to see my baby. No, I might not be able to walk or get into a wheelchair, but if my bed could be rolled into the NICU once, then it could be rolled in again.

By Tuesday I still hadn't got to go see Jake. But there was a nurse in the NICU named Cindy who told Chris she would bring Jake upstairs to see me. Chris told me what she said and I hoped and prayed it was true. And it was! She brought him upstairs and laid him in my arms and I cried. I wept and I fell in love again. I don't remember anything except just staring at him and thinking how much I loved him. My friend who was there visiting at the time said that I just kept saying how handsome he was, over and over again. And he sure is. I will be forever grateful to Cindy for bringing me my baby and letting me hold him. She said that all the other nurses were asking her if she was allowed to take a baby out of the NICU and asking if it had ever been done before and she just said, "there's no rule against it."

Oh how happy I am that she did that. I am eternally indebted to Cindy. I hope I never ever, ever have to be on magnesium again because, till this very day, I still feel guilty for not being with my baby during his first days in this life.

Finally on Tuesday night, my wonderful nurse, Vanessa, got me up and to the bathroom. Once I could stand up on my own and pee on my own, they would let me be with Jake.

THE NICU

The next 2 and a half weeks were spent mostly in the NICU. I only left to eat and sleep. The night I was discharged (but Jake was not) was a very difficult night... One of the hardest of my entire life. And it didn't get any easier. Some nights I slept at the hospital, and some nights Chris was able to convince me to go home to get some real rest. But every time I left my son's room, even if it was just to eat in the parents' lounge, it was like taking off a bandaid slowly.

Seeing an IV in a tiny hand and a feeding tube in the smallest nose is hard. Every day I looked at my son with love and with guilt. It's a hard thing to explain.

Jake was mostly learning to eat and to keep his body temperature, and then he could come home. In the meantime, I had to learn that every day would be different. Some days were days for him to fight hard. He would eat most of his food without using the tube and he would stay warm. Other days we had to go backwards a little as he rested and got the strength he needed to try again the next day. It felt so hard. There were some days when I just cried and cried and couldn't stop. But there were also moments when I saw the light. After a few days, Jake got a roommate whose parents only spoke Spanish. The hospital was hours from their home and the mother had another child to care for at home. Her situation helped me to be grateful for mine. I spoke English, I didn't have to struggle to understand what the nurses were doing to my baby (it was hard enough seeing my baby in the NICU, and that was without the language barrier). My home was only 30 minutes from the hospital. And I had no other children at home to care for, which meant I could spend more time at the hospital with Jacob. How blessed I truly was.

After the longest 2 and a half weeks of my life, he was discharged and we came home as a family! It was exciting and scary all at once. Exciting because I could finally live a (semi) normal life with my husband and son. I could sleep in the same room as my baby. I could let him meet his cousins. I could fall asleep with him on my chest. I could stare at him for hours without the interruption of beeping noises and tests from machines. I could change his diaper without worrying about IVs and cords getting in the way. But then, it all seemed so scary, him coming home, being around more people, not being monitored constantly. How would I know if his heartrate was too slow? There would be no machine to beep at me if that happened. How would I know if he was eating enough food? What if he wasn't? There would be no tube to feed him the rest. Or what if his oxygen levels were low? No alarm would go off. And what if someone close to him were sick? What if he got sick? All the NICU doctors made it very clear that he could not get sick. He would end up back in the hospital and possibly worse than the first time around. And then there was trying to get people to understand that. I won't even go there. I washed my hands so often that they bled. And I asked others to wash theirs too. My worry for Jacob's wellbeing was constant. But my joy for having him home and healthy and with me was also constant.

Overall, our experience was hard. It taught us patience. It taught us the importance of family and friends for support. And it taught us love. There's a type of love that people talk about. They say it's indescribable. They say you just can't understand it till you have a child of your own. And they say it consumes you completely with perfect joy. Well, they're right.