L’s
Birth Story
Here
I am, almost a year and a half later, finally sitting down to write L’s
birth story. It isn’t because I never
wanted to, it isn’t because it was some horrific experience (although, my
husband may sing a different tune), it is simply because I have not had
time. I am now making time. This story is
important to me-it is probably one of the greatest stories I will ever
write. I want L to be able to see
this in her baby book years from now and smile.
Her smile makes me smile. Her
smile is a gift. She is our ray of
sunshine.
I
should begin this by saying that she isn’t even supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be born from my womb. My womb was “broken”. My womb had been “broken” since the doctors
told me in my early 20s that I wouldn’t have children. They tossed around words like tilted uterus, polyps,
endometriosis, and ovarian cancer. I sat
in each exam room and died a little more each time another doctor said the same
thing as the previous ones had, “I’m sorry, but it just won’t be possible.”
So
I grieved. I shut down. I died a little. A few years later, in the midst of getting my
teaching degree, I became okay with not having children. I had grown as a person since the
diagnosis. I had stopped letting it
cripple me. I lavished other’s children
with love, attention, gifts, etc. I
thought, “Damn it, if I can’t have children, I am going to be the best Aunt
Sara ever!” I was. I still am. I also concentrated on the students I met
constantly. They were my kids. I loved every
single one of them. My heart broke along
with theirs when classmates died too soon, first loves dumped them, or colleges
didn’t accept them. My years spent substitute
teaching were some of the most fulfilling years of my life. I still love those kids. I miss those kids. I hope I impacted them in some way.
In
my late 20s, nearing the end of my college years, engaged to my now-husband, I
was concentrating on getting through my student teaching and getting a
job. That’s when I found out I was
pregnant. I was so tired all the time,
constantly hungry, light headed if I didn’t keep eating, and I was starting to
not be able to get into my jeans. I then
skipped my period. I waited another
week. I then took an at-home test that
came up positive very quickly. I then drove myself to Planned
Parenthood.
I
will be brutally honest here: I.
freaked. out. The nurse that came back to
the exam room and confirmed I was, indeed, pregnant probably thought I had lost
my mind. I burst into tears and I became
consumed with fear. I started shaking
and thought I was going to lose my lunch.
I don’t remember anything until I got back to my car and I sat there,
still crying. I said, out loud, “God,
why me? Why of all people did you pick me to mother a child? I can’t even take care of myself! What am I supposed to do with a baby?”
And
it hit me. Why not me? I am a good person,
I have good morals, I am going to college to be a teacher, and many other
thoughts were flying at me at once. I
became so overwhelmed that I didn’t know if I could drive home. I was pregnant. I was pregnant. I was pregnant. I was preg….”Oh my God! Eric is going to shit! My parents….MY DAD! is going to SHIT!” I was
talking to myself all the way home. I still
can’t quite describe that drive from Planned Parenthood to my apartment. I don’t remember a lot of it. I don’t even remember what I did once I got
home.
My
pregnancy was pretty uneventful, except for the worst sinus infection I have ever had that lasted for almost a whole
month and how I gained fifty pounds. I
swelled, I peed a lot, I ate a lot, I slept a lot, I itched a lot….you know,
your normal pregnancy things. I went to
school and I worked two part-time jobs.
My life was a ball of stress and I cried a lot at night. I always
hoped that it wouldn’t affect her. I
read to her (Shakespeare, Poe, Oates, Eliot, and Cummings) and we listened to
music together (Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Ingrid Michaelson, Regina
Spektor, and Tori Amos) and she loved all of it. She would move around and kick to the beat of
the music. It was joyous and I loved every
minute of it. I was thankful for her
movement. I was thankful for her.
 |
| Me-31 Weeks |
July
1st, 2011 I felt like crap. I
had to go to work that afternoon, but I was throwing up and so tired, I wasn’t
sure I was going to make it. That was to
be one of my last shifts that night before I went on maternity leave. L was due July 15th and I
wanted to make sure I had time to do last minute preparations in our apartment
before she arrived. About three o’clock
in the afternoon, I was sitting on the couch, sneezed, and I instantly felt
warmth. I immediately thought, “Uhh,
that was not pee,” so I got up to
waddle to the bathroom. When I stood up,
I knew what it was: my water broke.
I
called my mom since she was the first person I thought of and she told me to
call my doctor. Well, my doctor was on vacation! I had seen her a few days before that, she
told me she was going on vacation, but that she would be back in time to
deliver L. So, I called the doctor’s
office and they told me to go to Labor and Delivery. I then called my husband’s work where I told
one of the office girl’s what was going on and she made sure Eric got the
message. He called me five minutes
later. I told him I wasn’t having
contractions, that it was okay, and to be careful coming home. My husband worked an hour away at this
time. He was home in 40 minutes. I don’t want to know how fast he drove, ever.
We
checked into the hospital at about 5:30-6 pm on July 1st, 2012. I didn’t actually start having contractions I
could feel until between 8 and 9 pm
that evening. That’s when I started
begging for the drugs. My mother gave
birth to me and my brother naturally. My
mom is pretty tough, I am a wuss. I
wanted drugs. It took what seemed like
forever for the epidural to get there. I
was in pain. Then, everyone cleared out of the room except
my mom and the medical staff. Ladies
(and gentlemen if you are reading this), I had a contraction in the middle of receiving my epidural! You have to hold still when getting an
epidural. When you are having
contractions, you don’t want to hold
still. I was squeezing my mother’s hand
and we were nose to nose and I said, “I am never doing this again”, to which
she replied, “Oh honey, I said that too and we have your brother.” Thanks, Mom!
I instantly
started feeling the effects of the drugs.
I got toasty. I got
comfortable. I got lovey. I got stupid loopy. Before my nurse left after the epidural, she
told me that whenever my blood pressure cuff went off (about every 30 minutes
or so, I believe) I was to hit the button for my epidural and that would make
sure I stayed comfortable. People, I
didn’t miss a dose! I would wake up from
dead sleep and hit the button, roll over to the other side (to keep the
medicine even) and go back to sleep.
There was no way in hell I
wanted to feel those contractions again-I hit the button.
They
would come in and check me every hour or so.
I was in the hospital all night long.
She never came. I could feel her
moving down, I could feel the pressure intensify, but she just didn’t want to
come out. I remember telling her at one
point in my head, “L, this is your eviction notice. Out!
Now!” She didn’t listen. Her
heartbeat didn’t even change. She
thumped in my room all night long. That’s
what I slept to-L’s heartbeat.
July 2nd, 2011 at about 7:30am I finally dilated
to the 10 I needed to be at and they called the doctor who was going to deliver
L. I was already sad that my doctor wasn’t
going to be able to deliver L, but once I saw the doctor that was going to
be delivering L (30 minutes later),
I was depressed. This man came in with a
gold chain and reeking of Old Spice. The
only thing I could think of at the time was, “You have got to be kidding me!” If you know me, you know that’s how my luck
runs. At least I have a sense of humor.
At one point they asked me if it would be okay if some
medical students watched my delivery, I said sure, no problem, I was going to
school to be a teacher after all and who am I to keep someone from learning
something? A medical student in that
group passed out during my delivery.
Yea, that happened. I am telling
you, strange things happen to me.
It was time to push.
Pushing is hard. Breathing, pushing, concentrating, and
finding a focal point…it’s all hard. Parenting classes don’t prepare you well
enough for labor, they don’t. There are too many things going on around you and
inside you to concentrate on everything that you heard in parenting class or
read in the countless books and articles you read while pregnant. (Yes, I was that kind of pregnant lady.) So, while
pulling my legs practically over my head, pushing, and screaming, I vomited. I am not talking a delicate lady vomit, I am
talking the kind of vomit that happens when your body is under massive amounts
of stress, you haven’t eaten in over twelve hours, and you are drugged to the
hilt. I still apologize to my husband
for that. He was right there. Bless him.
LRH arrived at 8:36 am on July 2, 2011
weighing in at 7 lbs. 3oz. and measuring 19 ½ inches long. She sounded like a kitten mewing when she
came out. It was the best sound in the
world. They got her cleaned up and
passed her back to me swaddled like a little baby burrito and I said, “Hey
there, my beautiful baby girl. I have
been waiting for you,” and in that moment, I felt it. I felt the universe click and settle. There was a void in my life and she was what
was missing. I cried. (No surprise there-I am a big bawl bag. Ask my best friend. HA!) I cried and I
silently promised her that I would do the best I could, always, when it came to
her. I told her I would probably screw
up so many times she would wonder how intelligent I really was, but that I
would try and I would always have her best interest in mind.
 |
| LRH |
Our meeting was short as L had to go down to NICU for
a couple of days. Someone got so excited
coming out, that she inhaled some fluid and she needed to get that all dried up
and out of her lungs before she could come hang out with Mommy and Daddy in our
room. It was terrible seeing her all
hooked up to monitors and oxygen. Eric saw the worst of it, I was in recovery. She fought and she fought hard. She was so tiny and looked so helpless in her
little crib in NICU. I hated it. However, I couldn’t have asked for a better
staff. They genuinely cared about L, us, and our family
members. The nurse on duty even consoled
me when I was allowed to leave the hospital, but L wasn’t. Eric and I went home alone on July 4th,
2011 and people joked and said, “Get your sleep now! You are going to need it when she comes home!” I didn’t sleep. I laid awake most of the night worrying about
her there, alone, without me. I sent a
silent message to my daughter in the night.
I told her that I was with her even if she couldn’t see me. I told her that we would get there first
thing in the morning to bring her home.
 |
| December 2012-17 months |
And now, a year and a half later, you wouldn’t even know
she spent the first three days of her life in the NICU. Her lungs are fine, believe me, I know! J
She is a very happy, healthy, smart, creative, funny little girl. We have silly nicknames for her like Boog,
Booger Butt, Baby Girl, and Sug Boog. She
gets mad at me because I tell her to use her words. She loves her books and her favorite things
to say are, “What is that” and Who is that?”, she loves her Ellie (her pink
elephant lovey) and Tigger, and she has hollow legs because I swear she could
eat her father under the table, and she likes routine. She spends her days “reading” books, chasing
the cats, asking me what is that and who is that, and blowing raspberries at
me. She likes to play in the kitchen
with all of the plastic ware and splash in the cat’s water bowl. She is my shopping buddy, my bathroom buddy,
and my playmate. She is constantly
teaching me things every day.
And I thought I was
going to be the teacher…. J
What a little cutie!!
ReplyDeleteThank you Jamie!
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