This, Ryker, is the story of your birth.
It was Wednesday, March 26th and lil man was now three
days "overdue…"
The day dawned absolutely gorgeous—azure blue skies and sunshine greeting
us from every direction as we headed towards our early morning doctor’s appointment,
hoping to hear that we had made some "progress" over the
weekend. Instead, I remember being told
two things: 1.) my cervix was closed and
"not favorable" 2.) baby’s amniotic fluid levels were "dangerously
low," which put Ryker in jeopardy of a stillbirth.
The doctor left it us to us to decide if I should A.) Wait and pray my
fluid levels returned to normal or B.) Induce,
all-the-while, warning me that an induction could mean a "2-3 day labor and
possible C-section-due to my "unfavorable cervix."
This also happened to be the first doctor's appointment that Matt couldn't
make…
I sat in the office, keenly aware that I
am obviously NOT wise enough to be a parent, and telephoned Matt. After relaying to him all I could remember
from the previous five minutes, he decided upon the "lesser of two
evils," and I was scheduled for an induction at 11am at Queens Medical
Center. (This was not our first hospital
of choice, but I, who up until that exact moment couldn't have cared less which
PHD delivered our firstborn son, was suddenly, overwhelmingly convinced that Doctor
B, and only Doctor B, would do. And he
was at Queens. So we were going to
Queens. I’d be there at 11am.)
I was thankful my mom was there with me as I walked out of the doctor's
office and headed home to pick up my "go-bag" and meet Matt. I can't remember if we chatted through my fraying
nerves or sat in companionable silence, but I remember staring aimlessly out
the front window—driving towards those incredible, jungle-green Koolau Mountains
and thinking to myself that today had all the makings of a perfect beach day. I remember being grateful my mom was there, sitting beside
me in the passenger seat.
Now what does one do when they have precisely one hour to get ready to go
to the hospital, to have a baby!!! How
can you really prepare for that? You can’t.
Once home and all ready to set off for the hospital, it hit me: I was one
thousand percent unsure of whether or not we were doing the right thing. I heated up some organic Pad Thai and choked
it down as I tried to stifle back sobs.
Time was passing quickly and it was time to leave. Matt was still M.I.A.
When I called him to get his E.T.A. he was, "just leaving his
account."
... ?!? ...
Let's just say I almost drove myself to the hospital... and our 20 minute car
ride passed in a blur of tears and loud music (most notably John Legend's
"All of You"). The question of
our decision simultaneously playing on repeat inside my head.
We arrived at the hospital at 11:10am
Sidenote: If I'd have known then,
what I know now (that I would be in active labor for 63 hours and that all 3
epidurals I would be given would fail; that I would be awake for 4 days
straight and unable to eat food for 3 days... and that when it came time to
break my water--that my fluid levels would be found "normal"... if I'd
have known that) then perhaps I should have taken this rocky start as a sign
and just turned the car around and tried again tomorrow. But no, I am a terrible at anything that feels
like losing.
My arrival was anticlimactic because labor hadn’t started yet. Once at the hospital, it took all of 10 minutes
for me to check in, get to my room, unpack, gown up and climb into bed. The room was quiet; I felt a flutter of scared
excitement run like goose bumps across my skin and settle a bit like nausea at
the back of my throat. This was followed
by an extremely painful failed IV attempt in my left arm, which was highly distressing to my extremely
needle-phobic self and resulted in lots of whining and requests for warm towels
and cold compresses. I know all you
mammas out there are thinking, "Just you wait..." and, yes, you would be
completely right.
It is also worth mentioning that after this failed first IV attempt, the
nurse looked at my husband (who clearly was not allowed even a two minute
window of opportunity to change his clothes before his wife announced she was
leaving for the hospital with or without him and as such) was still wearing his
scrubs (he's a medical rep) and she sincerely asked him if he (who's highest education level is,
admirably, a bachelors in communication from ASU) if HE wanted to put my IV
in...
!!!!????!!!!! Yes, I start sweating even now as I think about that ever
being a possibility....
Oh, Hawaii… mahalar...
But, strangely enough, amid this “most distressing” escapade, my
contractions began.
Then:
@ 1:53pm Cervidil was administered
Side-note: I was fanatical about all
the cords attached to me. Mostly due to
my completely rational fear that something
would be pulled too tight and items inside my body would be painfully ripped
out. As such, I was forever and endlessly
organizing all the cords about my person, making sure they laid just so.
@4:30pm my contractions were 3-4 minutes apart
@8:00pm wow, hello contractions!
@10:00pm nurse Karen cleared up some of my misinformed thinking and
enlightened me to the fact that epidurals were now given and made to last
throughout the entire length of labor. I
have no idea where I got the misguided notion that I could only be given ONE
epidural and that I needed to save it till we were close to the finale so that
it wouldn’t wear off. I’d never been
happier to be wrong.
@10:40pm we made the call for my first
epidural. I was scared, and the
anesthesiologist impatient. Apparently
she didn’t understand that the risk of possible paralyzation was kind of a big
deal to me.
@11pm I could, blessedly, breathe again.
Why didn’t I do this sooner?
I think all the grandparents spent the night in the waiting room.
Thursday, March 27th 2014
@2:00am Ryker's heart rate suddenly dropped, setting off the monitors and
causing an army of nurses to barge in to remove the Cervidil.
@4:00am there still hadn't been much change to my cervix, which resulted in
the decision to insert a "catheter balloon" into my cervix, an
old-school, Neanderthal attempt to get it to open.
@7:23am nurse Millie started me on my first dose of Pitocin
@10:30am my dad came in, wearing his mask upside down and pacing the
perimeter of the room like he carried the plague, to say his goodbyes. He was sick and his flight was scheduled to
leave that afternoon. If not for the
sickness he would have stayed, but instead he surprised me with a bracelet and a
parting prayer. He prayed and my faith
got brave.
@12:00pm (25 hours in) the "catheter balloon" aka "foley"
was pulled out, which meant we were finally dilated to a 3
@1:30 my sister and Heath arrived from Phoenix. Her first order of business, of course, was
to braid my hair.
@3:15 that 3 became a 5
I sent all the grandparents’ home to get a good night's sleep.
Friday, Marched 28th 2014 (37 hours in)
@6:00am our birth photographer arrived.
I was at a 6. We were just sure
that today would be the day. All the
nurses agreed, definitely by this afternoon, “at the very latest.”
@7:30am the doctor broke my water
@8:00am believing that things were about to speed up, and in an attempt to
prepare for the coming events, Matt ordered me two bowls of miso soup broth off
the approved “liquid diet” selection of the menu. I hadn’t eaten in forever, and by that I mean
two whole days, but yes, I was “starving.”
@8:10am still no soup, so we ordered two more bowls.
@8:20am all four bowls of my soup (that I was now salivating over) were
found, commandeered at the nurses’ station and I was told it was only water for me. Um, for real?
Do you not know that I haven’t eaten in two whole days? Can you not see I’m extremely pregnant? Who can I get to sneak me some grub?
@9:00am I had finally dilated to an 8. It also occurred to me that I was no longer
epidural happy, but that I was increasingly uncomfortable.
@2:00pm I was miserable. Simultaneously, I realized that I had the full
function of my now extremely swollen legs.
I remember telling the nurses that it felt like freezing cold liquid was
running down my back. Was it simply that
I was sweating? Or had my epidural displaced itself? … I’ll never know…
And this, my friends, is where my organized notes, with included time
stamps of the day’s events in my notebook end… and a crescendo of chaos ensues. But, not-to-worry, less than a week after we got
home, Matt, mom and I wrote out the remainder of this saga to the best of our
combined memory…
And so we continue…
A second anesthesiologist is called in.
I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t his first choice to have Matt stand in
front of me in an attempt to keep me calm and perfectly still as he
administered my second epidural, but it was clear that I was unraveling and he
allowed it. Before he left, he explained
“bolisting” to me, i.e. pumping increased amounts of medicine through my
epidural, to counter increasing pain levels.
And so, in an attempt to get my pain under control, I proceeded to push
that little red “bolist” button to its maximum capacity, which caused my
contractions to slow down. So I stopped bolisting
altogether.
And the pain came with a vengeance.
I was now at a 10. Finally.
Wanting things to continue to progress and despite increasing pain, I held
off with the bolisting. Matt, Mom, Jean
and Mel got me through the next hour and a half of level 10 contractions. There was lots of cheering and fanning and
massages. We were a team that rode the
storm of labor together. They helped me
believe that I could do it—that I could run this merciless marathon up and over
the top of Everest one push, one desperate contraction, at a time.
Amidst the chaos, I spiked a significant fever.
Apparently I had an infection in my uterus, Chorioamnionitis, and they
began my first of three rounds of antibiotics.
After a strange series of contractions I felt LOTS of pressure.
The nurses told me it was time to push.
After another hour of pushing I had made “some progress,” but I needed a
break. I was exhausted. I had been awake continuously for three days
now and any adrenaline previously present had worn off.
And when I stopped pushing, with no adrenaline to fall back on, I felt
it. Like a brick wall. Correction, like smashing into a brick
wall. There was ZERO pain relief. ZERO.
I was at a 10. It felt like a
20. The second epidural had failed and
the pain hit and sank into my bones. It
pervaded my entire body and my every thought.
I was so tired. And so hungry. And so beyond tired.
I suddenly exploded out of the quiet calm of adrenaline and into a wild,
raging sea of advanced labor that took my breath away. I held onto the bed rail, looking wild-eyed
at Matt and they paged another on-call anesthesiologist. But the waves kept crashing. The epidural wasn’t working and I was alone
and adrift on the open ocean. I was
terrified. I was disappearing under a
heaving sea that I wasn’t mentally prepared for, and I could feel myself
drowning. I was certain I couldn’t do
it. I wanted out. Out of my body, out of that room, out of the responsibility
of wrestling a human being out of my insides.
I turned my face into the cold plastic of the delivery bed, my hands
gripping that side rail like it was my lifeline while my belly took on a life
of its own.
And then there was the exhaustive Hiroshima level panic and declaration of
my pain to the world…
I begged Matt to get the doctor in here NOW!
I sent someone for my mom and when she arrived only minutes later, I demanded
to know why she didn’t run?
I don’t really remember the next few hours, but I have been told, on good
authority that I was strongly demanding that someone “let me go home,” or
“unplug me,” or “knock me out,” or “cut the baby out,” or “give me a scalpel so
I can cut the baby out,” … because, “I can’t do this… do you hear me, I can’t
do this anymore.”
Doctor B arrived.
He said he wanted to try to get me some pain relief and ordered a third epidural, coupled with some Fentanyl.
I agreed. But doubted it would work.
All I could say, over and over again, through clenched teeth was, “please
hurry.”
The third anesthesiologist came in and gave me the Fentanyl…
Matt held me down for the 3rd epidural because, for reasons
unknown to me, I just wanted to stand.
Amid the craziness we lost Ryker’s heart-beat completely.
But I was too out of my mind, and the procedure to sensitive, for the
nurses to intervene in an attempt to find Ryker’s heart-beat. Honestly, I didn’t even know they had lost
it.
By the time the epidural was in the Fentanyl had given me some relief,
which was relief enough for me, and I began to calm down.
For a moment it was quiet.
And Matt asked the nurse if I was ok?
“Yes”
And then, “Is Ryker ok?”
And the nurses began scrambling, adjusting monitors and forcing me to move.
“Yes. We’ve got him”
And Matt began to cry silent tears.
It was his turn to lose it.
My mom was already crying.
I told them they should take a break.
Later I learned that Matt’s break was comprised of him going into the
bathroom and screaming hot tears into a towel.
And then eating a poisoned ciabatta sandwich, but that set in much
later…
My sister came in and I was actually sitting up, semi-comfortable, other
than that ridiculous fever. She braided
my hair and we talked. Twenty minutes passed
and then… OH NO… NOT AGAIN…
It was coming back, fast and strong, that familiar pressing on my right
side. I knew the pain would be
unbearable again soon. I told my sister
to watch as I could move both my legs, quite easily, once again.
I sent her to find my dream team. If
I was going to push again, it had to be now.
It was now Saturday, March 29th 2014 around 1am (61 hours
in)
I pushed for almost two more hours.
All shreds of decency flying out the window. Birth is hard and risky work. It is intimate and exposed at the same time.
It was getting hard to hold my head up.
I demanded to know where the finish line was. The nurses kept saying “almost there.”
But I knew they were lying and I told them as much. “The doctor is not in here, so that means I
am NOT close. If I was close he would be
here. Stop lying to me!!! If I have two more hours to go tell me. I need to know.”
They immediately started a flurry of activity and began moving stuff in.
My leg muscles were shaking in the hands of my husband and my mom. I can’t do this. This baby isn’t ever coming. I didn’t believe he would ever be delivered
and I needed it to be over. I needed it
to stop. I needed escape. And when I was giving up and trying to find a
way out of myself I will never forget how Doctor B arrived and told me I could
do this in four more pushes. Wildly, I
believed him.
It was getting harder to not only hold my head up, but keep my eyes
open.
And, did I mention that I could now feel absolutely everything. It felt like I
was on fire.
It was my second to last push and I screamed in pain, something I had
previously refrained from prior to this point.
And then there was the final push.
Everyone was elated. I was too spent
to celebrate.
Matt cut the cord.
The nurses held up our perfect baby boy and then rushed him immediately
away. They needed to see how he was.
Matt leaned over me, crying happy tears and whispering sweet words into my
ear.
And then Matt went to check out his beautiful firstborn son.
And then they brought him to me.
They laid Ryker gently on my chest, and I looked down at the face of the
boy who had fought this battle with me. The Creator’s Spirit lingered on his skin,
in his hair. There was a reverence in
the air; he was still so fresh from the making, from the passing of His hands
to mine. There he was, curled up
into the crook of my arm with eyes open, taking it all in. The love beat was so loud in those quiet
moments in our hospital room that I was certain that he must hear it too.
The grandparents came in and were finally able to meet their grandson.
And then they whisked Ryker off to the nursery.
And I had to pee—I mean I’d been on an IV diet for four days now. I remember having the actual cognitive thought
that “there was no more catheter.” And
so, with no nurse around, (clearly our handsome Ryker stole the show and in an instant it had gone from all about me
to him) rather than call for help, I stood my 30-minute-post-partum-self up
and headed for the bathroom.
Standing there, on that cold tile floor, I was struck by the fact that birth
costs. The act of giving life bleeds
life from the giver. It’s so hard that
just standing up again afterward can take one’s breath away. I couldn’t have done it by myself, any of it. And when I couldn’t stand by myself, couldn’t
stop my legs from shaking, couldn’t find my center, Matt held me.
Later that same morning, while perusing instagram, I saw Matt had written
the world to tell them Ryker had arrived safely, all 7 pounds, 2 ounces of him.
His post began with these words, “Today
my warrior princess wife…”
And that, Ryker, my darling, is the saga of your birth...
photos by: Mellissa Stanturf of Serendipity Photography
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