I am FINALLY going to write a birth story with a happy ending! Here she comes--Jersey #1--our first live-born baby!
Even though I have great trust and respect for Dr. S., our beloved family doctor, I chose to completely ignore his sound medical advice to wait for my body to work through one cycle before trying to become pregnant again. I was still so very mad. Mad as in angry & mad as in crazed! I had been so carefully concerned with my health, nutrition, and safety, for each of my first two pregnancies, and both children died. For crying out loud, drug addicts are capable of having living babies, in spite of the way they mistreat their bodies! Well-meaning family members tried to offer comfort after the miscarriage by suggesting to me, "it was just too soon. Your body wasn't ready." I did not receive that well. Were they actually suggesting I had a hand in causing the miscarriage because I didn't wait long enough to get pregnant? It was all so unfair, and I focused on the injustice. I rebelled against my lack of control in the situation. I told myself, it didn't really matter what I did, because I could not guarantee the life of my child with any of my actions....and I was mad about that. A mature Christian would have rested in the will of God, and waited for his timing. I was not mature. I was extremely immature.....and rebellious. I had only 1 priority--I was going to have a living, breathing baby, or I was going to die trying!!!!
It is not very smart to engage in a battle of wills with God.
I was just like a toddler who repeatedly rams a toy against an obstacle, when it would be so much easier to just move the obstacle. I was struggling for control, instead of just resting in the arms of the One who is in control. I became pregnant for the 3rd time, just two months after the miscarriage, while we were on our vacation. I had not had a regular cycle yet. I was still taking the antidepressants. I was still going through the motions of life, but I was not doing very much living. I was stuck in a depression, because I was stuck in a spiritual struggle.
Dr. S. was cheerful, encouraging, and ready to hold our hands through another pregnancy. He was convinced that if he could just get that baby into my arms, I would be just fine. He was a man on a mission. He shrugged off the "depression-in-pregnancy" diagnosis and did not dwell on it. He assured me that the antidepressant was safe for pregnancy, so he wanted me to continue taking it the entire time. He said it was not safe for breastfeeding, because it was excreted in breastmilk, so I would stop taking it at delivery, and he could prescribe another one that was safe for breastfeeding, if I needed it. He was confident that I would not need antidepressants after the baby was born.
I had no peace during this pregnancy. I knew that I was not in control, so the baby inside me could be ripped away from me at any moment. I was convinced Jersey #1 was going to die. At each prenatal check-up, my heart would race at the sight of the Doppler. I held my breath until her heartbeat was found. Sometimes it was hard to find the baby's heartbeat, because my own pulse was going so fast! I had a prenatal appointment the morning that I had my first ultrasound scheduled. I was 12 weeks along, and Dr. S. could not find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler! I was not surprised. I was expecting doom. He tried to assure us that he was not worried. He suggested we get some lunch and go to the afternoon ultrasound appointment.
Much to my surprise, the ultrasound showed a healthy, living baby, whose heart was beating just fine. The ultrasound tech played the heartbeat repeatedly for us, as I was in disbelief. Jersey #1 turned her face to the camera, and appeared to smile and wave at us. She repeated this very same smile-n-wave pattern for 3 other ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy, where I was convinced she was dead in the womb. Each time, she was alive and well. Dr. S. later credited Jersey #1 with giving him grey hair for the number of times he could not find her heartbeat with the Doppler, and ended up needing an ultrasound confirmation!
I did not dare dream that Jersey #1would live. My friend (and college roommate) offered to host a baby shower for me. I declined her offer and suggested we wait to see if she was even born alive. I did not bother to set up a nursery. We had stored all of the baby gear we had bought and received for Mackenzie, into a closet. We pulled it out into the room that would eventually be the nursery, but we left it in boxes. No need to get our hopes up. I was bracing myself for another loss. I did not want to take another prepared childbirth class. I could not sit with all those innocent, happy, parents-to-be, and dream about our upcoming deliveries. It would not be fair to share my experiences with them anyway...let them keep their innocence. Dr. S did not think another childbirth class was even necessary. It would only be 19 months since I had delivered Mackenzie. Childbirth doesn't change much.
I slept through most of the pregnancy, but I did not give myself much care otherwise. I tend to run strong in the nesting desires in the last trimester. With my pregnancy with Mackenzie, I wanted to landscape the yard. With my pregnancy with Jersey #1, I wanted to tile the bathroom floors (that were previously carpeted). I sat in a strattle position on the floor and glued down sticky tiles, leaning over my big 'ole 7-months-pregnant belly! I almost didn't make it back off the floor. That hormone (relaxin?) that allows tendons and ligaments to stretch further during pregnancy, allowed me much more flexibility than I really had. By the end of that project, I had pulled a groin muscle and a hamstring muscle in my left leg. I also managed to damage the round ligaments that hold the pregnant belly to the point that I was in constant pain with any movement. Dr. S. enjoyed a chuckle as he informed me that those muscles and ligaments would not heal until after the delivery.
I started a new job two weeks before Jersey #1 was born. I actually followed my boss to a new company, where she was given the opportunity to have her own research laboratory. She invited me to be her technician. At least she already knew I was pregnant. I gave very little consideration to the need for leave to take time off, nor did I question if I would I really want to return to work full time after the baby was born. Those were non-issues because I was not expecting the baby to live. I knew I would want that great job to give me something to focus on while I grieved.
My heart betrayed me in the end. Deep down, I knew I wanted Jersey #1 to live. I wanted the opportunity to be her Mom. There was nothing I was going to be able to do to guarantee her life. Regardless of what I tried to tell myself, there was nothing I was going to be able to do to prepare myself for her death, or to make it any easier to handle. My struggle for control hit a climax when I reached 39 weeks pregnant. I was an emotional wreck. I wanted her to live. I was afraid she would die. I prayed to God to bless me with this baby and let her live. I did not think I deserved her. I had been acting so childish and awful. I wanted His mercy, but feared His judgment. I started to fall apart.
Dr. S. had a plan--let's induce labor 3 days before her due date and deliver her. That way, I would not have to endure the time line of Mackenzie's death, wondering each day, if this was the day that my baby would die in the womb. A mercy induction? What a great plan! Unfortunately, the hospital (and probably most everyone) thought he was nuts....but he understood our fears. It was against hospital policy to induce before 40 weeks, when there was no medical problem. Fear that my baby was going to die was not considered a medical problem. Besides, the nurse added, they were booked up and it was a holiday weekend. Aha! Monday was a holiday--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. S. knew the labor & delivery floor would be empty that day, because they would not be scheduling inductions or c-sections on a holiday. He told me to show up for a Non-stress test at 7am that day. He said if they found any concerns, then they would recommend induction anyway. He would meet me up with me there at 8am to see how the test was going.....then he would stroll through L&D and make sure it was empty....and then he would admit me to a room and induce me!
Everything went right as planned except for my unexpected panic attack as soon as I entered the L&D wing of the hospital. A flood of memories of the day Mackenzie's death was confirmed, washed over me. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. The nurse asked if I had problems with high blood pressure. I assured her I did not, but that I was having a panic reaction to returning here. She said my blood pressure was so high that there was no way they were going to let me leave the hospital. So, there it was: an induction-justified medical problem.
Once again, my body was not showing any signs of preparing for labor. No dilation, no effacement. So, what are all those practice contractions doing for me anyway? Thankfully, a little Misoprostol goes a long way for me! Contractions started shortly after the first dose. Then, after the 2nd dose was given 4-hours later, my body kicked in on its own and maintained the contractions and labor progression. I had no pre-planned ideas for labor. I decided to manage it for as long as I could tolerate....more out of curiosity as to how it would be different with a live baby....and then I would get an epidural later (choosing to skip those IV meds that make me loopy). I walked the floors, I rocked in a rocking chair, I sat upright in bed and held the rails during contractions. Since my water had not yet broken on its own, I figured I still had a ways to go, and I was not having any fun managing contractions. So, I decided it might be time for an epidural. Dr. S. wanted to check me first (apparently knowing I was getting close). I was 7cm dilated....(contraction)...oh, wait, 9 cm....(another contraction)....10cm & time to push! Ok, skip the epidural, I'll try pushing now.
I quickly learned that tiling the bathroom floor while pregnant was a huge mistake! With a pulled hamstring, and a pulled groin muscle in the same leg, my left leg was practically useless. The nurse attempted to help me hold it bent for pushing, and those muscles went into spasm! Change of plans, she stuck my left leg in a stirrup and we pretended it did not exist. My pushing positions were a little funny looking, but I eventually figured out a way to be effective. Dr. S. broke my water, since it never broke on its own. I had no idea I could dilate to 10 with the bag of waters intact. Odd. Since my husband is not much of a fan of biological things, we gave him the job of watching the contraction monitors. He preferred to deal with computerized equipment anyway. I was feeling the contractions on my own, but it was fun to watch his reaction to them on the monitor, at first. The closer I got to delivery, the less I was intrigued by the whole labor & delivery process. I became less of an observer and more of a participant. Right at the end, I tuned everyone else out and had a fight with my own mind. "Keep pushing.....No, I don't want to push out another dead baby!.....What if she is not dead yet, Push!....No, I can't go through that again!...Push, Push, Push.....Nooooo!!!!! And then she was born! Alive!
Dr. S. plopped that slippery pile of Jersey #1 onto my torso, and she stared me down! I could not believe that she was alive. She was breathing, she was squirming, and she was intently staring at us with eyes wide-open! My husband leaned over my shoulder and we both just admired her. She was beautiful.
It took me 4 weeks to accept the fact that I was the mother of a live baby. I loved her. I cared for her. I went through all the motions of breastfeeding, diaper changes, holding her, bathing her, ect. I did not want to let go of her, for fear she would disappear. At her 10-day check-up, Dr. S casually asked where she was sleeping. I think he was wondering if she slept in a crib, bassinet, or our bed. I answered, "In my arms." I had not put her down. He tried not to laugh, but a chuckle slipped out. That is when it dawned on me that I was not acting normal. He reassured me that if she was still in my arms at 18 months, we would talk, but for now, don't worry about it.
Breastfeeding is a natural way to feed a baby, but it did not come naturally to me. In an attempt to work out a rhythm, I lounged in bed with Jersey #1, practicing nursing whenever she was awake, and holding her and admiring her when she was asleep. I was watching her nap the morning she turned 4 weeks old--and that is when reality HIT me--she was ALIVE, and I was her MOM, and God had given me the AWESOME responsibility to nurture her, guide her, raise her, and train her in the way she should go! It was at that very moment that I stopped expecting to lose her, and started to think about what if she continued to live? I had a job to do, so I had better get to it. God loved me, blessed me, and expected more from me! My life had purpose! I had a baby girl in my arms! My heart was filled with JOY!
Even though I have great trust and respect for Dr. S., our beloved family doctor, I chose to completely ignore his sound medical advice to wait for my body to work through one cycle before trying to become pregnant again. I was still so very mad. Mad as in angry & mad as in crazed! I had been so carefully concerned with my health, nutrition, and safety, for each of my first two pregnancies, and both children died. For crying out loud, drug addicts are capable of having living babies, in spite of the way they mistreat their bodies! Well-meaning family members tried to offer comfort after the miscarriage by suggesting to me, "it was just too soon. Your body wasn't ready." I did not receive that well. Were they actually suggesting I had a hand in causing the miscarriage because I didn't wait long enough to get pregnant? It was all so unfair, and I focused on the injustice. I rebelled against my lack of control in the situation. I told myself, it didn't really matter what I did, because I could not guarantee the life of my child with any of my actions....and I was mad about that. A mature Christian would have rested in the will of God, and waited for his timing. I was not mature. I was extremely immature.....and rebellious. I had only 1 priority--I was going to have a living, breathing baby, or I was going to die trying!!!!
It is not very smart to engage in a battle of wills with God.
I was just like a toddler who repeatedly rams a toy against an obstacle, when it would be so much easier to just move the obstacle. I was struggling for control, instead of just resting in the arms of the One who is in control. I became pregnant for the 3rd time, just two months after the miscarriage, while we were on our vacation. I had not had a regular cycle yet. I was still taking the antidepressants. I was still going through the motions of life, but I was not doing very much living. I was stuck in a depression, because I was stuck in a spiritual struggle.
Dr. S. was cheerful, encouraging, and ready to hold our hands through another pregnancy. He was convinced that if he could just get that baby into my arms, I would be just fine. He was a man on a mission. He shrugged off the "depression-in-pregnancy" diagnosis and did not dwell on it. He assured me that the antidepressant was safe for pregnancy, so he wanted me to continue taking it the entire time. He said it was not safe for breastfeeding, because it was excreted in breastmilk, so I would stop taking it at delivery, and he could prescribe another one that was safe for breastfeeding, if I needed it. He was confident that I would not need antidepressants after the baby was born.
I had no peace during this pregnancy. I knew that I was not in control, so the baby inside me could be ripped away from me at any moment. I was convinced Jersey #1 was going to die. At each prenatal check-up, my heart would race at the sight of the Doppler. I held my breath until her heartbeat was found. Sometimes it was hard to find the baby's heartbeat, because my own pulse was going so fast! I had a prenatal appointment the morning that I had my first ultrasound scheduled. I was 12 weeks along, and Dr. S. could not find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler! I was not surprised. I was expecting doom. He tried to assure us that he was not worried. He suggested we get some lunch and go to the afternoon ultrasound appointment.
Much to my surprise, the ultrasound showed a healthy, living baby, whose heart was beating just fine. The ultrasound tech played the heartbeat repeatedly for us, as I was in disbelief. Jersey #1 turned her face to the camera, and appeared to smile and wave at us. She repeated this very same smile-n-wave pattern for 3 other ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy, where I was convinced she was dead in the womb. Each time, she was alive and well. Dr. S. later credited Jersey #1 with giving him grey hair for the number of times he could not find her heartbeat with the Doppler, and ended up needing an ultrasound confirmation!
I did not dare dream that Jersey #1would live. My friend (and college roommate) offered to host a baby shower for me. I declined her offer and suggested we wait to see if she was even born alive. I did not bother to set up a nursery. We had stored all of the baby gear we had bought and received for Mackenzie, into a closet. We pulled it out into the room that would eventually be the nursery, but we left it in boxes. No need to get our hopes up. I was bracing myself for another loss. I did not want to take another prepared childbirth class. I could not sit with all those innocent, happy, parents-to-be, and dream about our upcoming deliveries. It would not be fair to share my experiences with them anyway...let them keep their innocence. Dr. S did not think another childbirth class was even necessary. It would only be 19 months since I had delivered Mackenzie. Childbirth doesn't change much.
I slept through most of the pregnancy, but I did not give myself much care otherwise. I tend to run strong in the nesting desires in the last trimester. With my pregnancy with Mackenzie, I wanted to landscape the yard. With my pregnancy with Jersey #1, I wanted to tile the bathroom floors (that were previously carpeted). I sat in a strattle position on the floor and glued down sticky tiles, leaning over my big 'ole 7-months-pregnant belly! I almost didn't make it back off the floor. That hormone (relaxin?) that allows tendons and ligaments to stretch further during pregnancy, allowed me much more flexibility than I really had. By the end of that project, I had pulled a groin muscle and a hamstring muscle in my left leg. I also managed to damage the round ligaments that hold the pregnant belly to the point that I was in constant pain with any movement. Dr. S. enjoyed a chuckle as he informed me that those muscles and ligaments would not heal until after the delivery.
I started a new job two weeks before Jersey #1 was born. I actually followed my boss to a new company, where she was given the opportunity to have her own research laboratory. She invited me to be her technician. At least she already knew I was pregnant. I gave very little consideration to the need for leave to take time off, nor did I question if I would I really want to return to work full time after the baby was born. Those were non-issues because I was not expecting the baby to live. I knew I would want that great job to give me something to focus on while I grieved.
My heart betrayed me in the end. Deep down, I knew I wanted Jersey #1 to live. I wanted the opportunity to be her Mom. There was nothing I was going to be able to do to guarantee her life. Regardless of what I tried to tell myself, there was nothing I was going to be able to do to prepare myself for her death, or to make it any easier to handle. My struggle for control hit a climax when I reached 39 weeks pregnant. I was an emotional wreck. I wanted her to live. I was afraid she would die. I prayed to God to bless me with this baby and let her live. I did not think I deserved her. I had been acting so childish and awful. I wanted His mercy, but feared His judgment. I started to fall apart.
Dr. S. had a plan--let's induce labor 3 days before her due date and deliver her. That way, I would not have to endure the time line of Mackenzie's death, wondering each day, if this was the day that my baby would die in the womb. A mercy induction? What a great plan! Unfortunately, the hospital (and probably most everyone) thought he was nuts....but he understood our fears. It was against hospital policy to induce before 40 weeks, when there was no medical problem. Fear that my baby was going to die was not considered a medical problem. Besides, the nurse added, they were booked up and it was a holiday weekend. Aha! Monday was a holiday--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. S. knew the labor & delivery floor would be empty that day, because they would not be scheduling inductions or c-sections on a holiday. He told me to show up for a Non-stress test at 7am that day. He said if they found any concerns, then they would recommend induction anyway. He would meet me up with me there at 8am to see how the test was going.....then he would stroll through L&D and make sure it was empty....and then he would admit me to a room and induce me!
Everything went right as planned except for my unexpected panic attack as soon as I entered the L&D wing of the hospital. A flood of memories of the day Mackenzie's death was confirmed, washed over me. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. The nurse asked if I had problems with high blood pressure. I assured her I did not, but that I was having a panic reaction to returning here. She said my blood pressure was so high that there was no way they were going to let me leave the hospital. So, there it was: an induction-justified medical problem.
Once again, my body was not showing any signs of preparing for labor. No dilation, no effacement. So, what are all those practice contractions doing for me anyway? Thankfully, a little Misoprostol goes a long way for me! Contractions started shortly after the first dose. Then, after the 2nd dose was given 4-hours later, my body kicked in on its own and maintained the contractions and labor progression. I had no pre-planned ideas for labor. I decided to manage it for as long as I could tolerate....more out of curiosity as to how it would be different with a live baby....and then I would get an epidural later (choosing to skip those IV meds that make me loopy). I walked the floors, I rocked in a rocking chair, I sat upright in bed and held the rails during contractions. Since my water had not yet broken on its own, I figured I still had a ways to go, and I was not having any fun managing contractions. So, I decided it might be time for an epidural. Dr. S. wanted to check me first (apparently knowing I was getting close). I was 7cm dilated....(contraction)...oh, wait, 9 cm....(another contraction)....10cm & time to push! Ok, skip the epidural, I'll try pushing now.
I quickly learned that tiling the bathroom floor while pregnant was a huge mistake! With a pulled hamstring, and a pulled groin muscle in the same leg, my left leg was practically useless. The nurse attempted to help me hold it bent for pushing, and those muscles went into spasm! Change of plans, she stuck my left leg in a stirrup and we pretended it did not exist. My pushing positions were a little funny looking, but I eventually figured out a way to be effective. Dr. S. broke my water, since it never broke on its own. I had no idea I could dilate to 10 with the bag of waters intact. Odd. Since my husband is not much of a fan of biological things, we gave him the job of watching the contraction monitors. He preferred to deal with computerized equipment anyway. I was feeling the contractions on my own, but it was fun to watch his reaction to them on the monitor, at first. The closer I got to delivery, the less I was intrigued by the whole labor & delivery process. I became less of an observer and more of a participant. Right at the end, I tuned everyone else out and had a fight with my own mind. "Keep pushing.....No, I don't want to push out another dead baby!.....What if she is not dead yet, Push!....No, I can't go through that again!...Push, Push, Push.....Nooooo!!!!! And then she was born! Alive!
Dr. S. plopped that slippery pile of Jersey #1 onto my torso, and she stared me down! I could not believe that she was alive. She was breathing, she was squirming, and she was intently staring at us with eyes wide-open! My husband leaned over my shoulder and we both just admired her. She was beautiful.
It took me 4 weeks to accept the fact that I was the mother of a live baby. I loved her. I cared for her. I went through all the motions of breastfeeding, diaper changes, holding her, bathing her, ect. I did not want to let go of her, for fear she would disappear. At her 10-day check-up, Dr. S casually asked where she was sleeping. I think he was wondering if she slept in a crib, bassinet, or our bed. I answered, "In my arms." I had not put her down. He tried not to laugh, but a chuckle slipped out. That is when it dawned on me that I was not acting normal. He reassured me that if she was still in my arms at 18 months, we would talk, but for now, don't worry about it.
Breastfeeding is a natural way to feed a baby, but it did not come naturally to me. In an attempt to work out a rhythm, I lounged in bed with Jersey #1, practicing nursing whenever she was awake, and holding her and admiring her when she was asleep. I was watching her nap the morning she turned 4 weeks old--and that is when reality HIT me--she was ALIVE, and I was her MOM, and God had given me the AWESOME responsibility to nurture her, guide her, raise her, and train her in the way she should go! It was at that very moment that I stopped expecting to lose her, and started to think about what if she continued to live? I had a job to do, so I had better get to it. God loved me, blessed me, and expected more from me! My life had purpose! I had a baby girl in my arms! My heart was filled with JOY!
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