Birth Stories, part 5

The Amazing Supermom Rides again, sort of

17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007

1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).

Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.

My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.

My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.

So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.

When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.

Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.

He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.

Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.


Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009

There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.

So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.

I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.

So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.

At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.

So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.

Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.

The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.

So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.

The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.

But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.

I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.

My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.

And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.

I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.

So help me God.

Getting closer

I am 33 and a half weeks pregnant. Not sure if that's any kind of milestone, but it feels like getting closer to me. I was looking at one of my youngest, who is, today dressed in layers - a really loud purple, pink, orange and white paisley dress, a dark purple velvet dress up dress, pink long johns, the teal butterfly print skirt of a swimming suit, and a red shirt with royal blue sleeves and small white polka-dots (don't let yourself imagine that any of those pinks and purples compliment each other, either)and enjoying the uniqueness of her. She has pale blue eyes, dimples that rival the perfection of a cabbage patch kid, fair skin, and blond whispy hair that explodes into a puff of curls on the back of her head (reminds me of Sally from Peanuts). She is delightful.
She is still nursing, which for me is bizzaro, since none of my other children made it past 10 months nursing, and she has kept going through a week without mom (Bermuda:) and another 2 when we went to get our precious #11. But she is, and I think there is good in that - maybe helping get my body ready to deliver a little early.
I'm pretty convinced that this baby will be early because of my blood pressure (and the irresponsible way I've managed it this pregnancy, gaining much, exercising little) and potentially because of my potential to have a potentially chromosomally enhanced bundle of potentiality.
As I look at her, I find myself counting up in my head, then on my fingers, and at last breaking down and getting a piece of paper, how many of my darlings have blue eyes, hazel, chocolatey brown; how many have curls; and all the varying statistics that quantify the uniqueness of God's creation in my house, and wondering . . .

Who will this baby, this #12, this Doze (Portuguese for 12, hence the nickname Dozer) be? Will we have a boy, a girl, blue eyes, brown, green, blond, brown, curly, straight? Who is coming to meet us? Dozer is very busy these days, moving, kicking, hiccupping, rolling, exercising for his or her debut.

And I wonder, even though I think I've found some peace either way, boy or girl, 46 or 47 chromosomes, what manner of child is God giving us? Do we have the typical model, or the enhanced? I don't know. Some 50% of women who have a baby with Down syndrome had NO markers whatsoever on their ultrasounds. And I've never had any, until now. On the other hand, there are women who have all the markers I have and deliver babies who have the typical # of chromosomes. I don't know.

But I'm getting closer to knowing. I am 33 and 1/2 weeks today. 2 of my last 3 were born at 37 and 1/2 weeks. Four weeks left, maybe? I will start having non-stress tests at my next visit. Never did that before.

One thing I've done on my little journey with Down syndrome is read blogs of women who have had babies with Ds. Here are my 3 favorites. Not easy to read, but worth reading, worth knowing, worth feeling.

www.theblessingofverity.com
www.babynumber10.blogspot.com
www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it...

The third one is doing a fundraiser for the national down syndrome society (at least I assume that's what NDSS stands for). I'm not asking you to give, not sure I'm giving, but I am passing it on. Whether my baby has 46 or 47 chromosomes, I don't think God has called me to be an advocate in the way some moms are. But I do have eyes that are opener than they were, and I think it is worth giving you the chance to have your eyes be opener too. (I know that's not proper grammar, just being funny)

Birth Stories, part 4

17 months and 2 weeks later . . .

Jambo, Fall of 2004
Having experienced the nearly perfect birth of number 6, I had finally figured it all out. There was the meconium thing, and waiting for the doctor, but having a baby without pitocin, in God's timing was definitely the way to go, and I was committed to it.

So, as #7's due date came and went, I was not troubled. As we approached the 41 week mark, I was at peace. At my 41 week appointment, I was not concerned. Until my doctor took my blood pressure.

Up until that appointment, my bp had only been high when I was in labor. Not a big deal. We had since come to an understanding that if my blood pressure was under a certain number, I could still get out of bed to labor, so I wasn't worried about it. But that Monday afternoon at my appointment, my doc said, I'm sorry, but we need to have this baby, I can't let you leave with numbers like this.

I cried. But my husband came, I got hooked up, and from the first drop of pitocin until they said it's a boy it was only 2 and 1/2 hours. Not only that, but I did almost all of it out of bed, and the pain was manageable. I love watching that birth video. It was a real struggle deciding whether to get in bed and be checked, but when I did, they said I was pretty much there. My doctor let me wait until I wanted to push this time. It was quiet and peaceful, no stirrups, the doc, a nurse, a couple friends taking pictures and video, just waiting. Each contraction came and went. (it hadn't taken much pitocin, by the way, being 41 wks) Finally there was a contraction that lasted maybe 3-4 minutes. In the video you can see the people checking their watches. But by the end of that contraction, we had a baby boy, God's gift, and he was perfect and marvelous, 8 lb, 7 oz.

So I thought, okay, maybe pitocin isn't the devil, just trying to have a baby early is the actual devil. Hmmn.



17 months and 2 weeks later (same spacing to the day) . . .

Bibith, Winter, 2006
Like any pregnant woman with children, I enjoy a little break now and then, so when my OB began sending me to the Women's Evaluation Unit (hereafter referred to as the WEU, pronounced Wee-U, which is what my daughter calls the Wii) to be observed, it didn't bother me too much. It was exciting, knowing baby would happen soon, the pregnancy was almost over. I would be okay, I'd stand up during labor, it would be fine. And at 37 weeks 3 days, when my blood pressure was causing my liver enzymes to elevate (that's all I know, don't know which enzymes or how high or anything else) and my ob said we have to do this, I was okay with it.

The problem was that it was the middle of the night, I hadn't eaten, or slept, and I was being induced 3 and a half weeks before my body really wanted to have a baby. And it protested. For hours I would have contractions, get up, and not have them. On. Off. Frus. Trating. Finally, I agreed to an epidural, I thought so they could turn the pitocin up higher and speed things up. But they didn't. I had a sweet little nurse who could see that I was having contractions (It's my 8th baby - I have contractions all the time - means NOTHING!) so she didn't want to turn it up. So nothing happened.

It was morning, the cotton candy nurse left, I had an epidural but was not in labor. I was not progressing, not nothing. Finally, the getturdone team showed up, including Val from my 4th labor, to make things happen, turn it up. I had way too many people there for that baby, which doesn't help with progressing. I was hungry and bored.

Blah, blah, blah, eventually contractions picked up. I should mention that in the 10 or so years since my first, the epidural has changed and now does not take away all feeling, and this is good. Eventually I was feeling them, and finally felt like pushing. right. now. Again, Val trying to keep me from giving birth, again waiting for my doctor to get there, but finally (about 16 hours after we started) we pushed out a tiny 6 lb 2 oz baby girl. She was so tiny we called her baby for years.

She also had a hard time nursing, maybe because she was sleepy, maybe because she was little, maybe because my body was no more ready to make milk than it was to give birth at that point, maybe because she was jaundiced. But she only became more jaundiced because of not eating. And eventually Roberta, the old battleax from the newborn nursery, came and let me know that we had to give her bottles or she couldn't go home with me.

And I wept long and hard and looked like crap. It was the final straw in the labor that didn't go my way. Not my due date, not my labor, not my baby - they were taking it all away. Melodramatic? Maybe, but I also think when you jump start labor weeks early it throws the hormones into a huge lurch and the emotions run wild. I was a mess. Eventually I pumped and worked through it, but it was really rough.

I did not want to do that again.