Andrew's Birth Story

Better late than never. I started to write this birth story soon after Andrew's birth but didn't manage to finish it until this week, when it was required for one of the classes Andrew and I are taking together. Well, here it is...

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was eager for the baby's arrival. Mark and I ran out and bought a week-to-week pregnancy book. Initially, we read the "weekly development" every Thursday, to coincide with the baby's due date. Then I convinced Mark that Wednesday nights were "almost Thursdays," and eventually, that Tuesday nights were "almost Wednesday nights." Every night I went to bed thanking God for the miracle that was growing inside of me.

I did not expect the baby to come on time, but I did not expect him to be so late either. By the last month of my pregnancy, I had gained 45 lbs. I was persistently achy and crampy, and I was exhausted.

The weeks leading up to Andrew's birth were spent negotiating and re-negotiating the induction date. As a first-time mom, a scheduled induction seemed so mechanical. In my romanticized version of the birth, I had imagined gently nudging Mark in his sleep and whispering, "honey I think it's time." Instead, I was given a choice between Wednesday at 6pm or Friday at 7am. We settled on a Wednesday morning. It would have been a day shy of 42-weeks of gestation and my favorite doctor in the medical group, Dr. Clawson, would be on-call.

The evening before the scheduled induction, I started feeling significant menstrual-like cramps. Then the cramps became regular. Around 6pm, I started thinking to myself, "maybe this is it."

Knowing I had a long night ahead of me, I wanted to get some sleep, but the cramping kept waking me up. The contractions were not approaching the 5-1-1 rule taught in the birth classes. Rather, they were 10 minutes apart lasting for 1-minute each. By 4am, I told Mark we should head to the hospital. I knew the car ride was going to be bumpy and I did not want to be any more uncomfortable before I got into the car. In the 4-mile ride to the hospital, we stopped three times for me to bear through my contractions. I finally settled into the Labor and Delivery room at Lucille Packard Children's Hospital at 4:45am. In the initial exam, the nurse declared I was 5.5cm dilated and 90% effaced. I had been "maybe 1cm" dilated for more than a month by then, so I was elated to learn that I was finally in the active labor territory.

One of my foremost concerns about the delivery process was not getting to the hospital in time to get the epidural. The nurse reassured me that I could get the epidural whenever I wanted and that the anesthesiologist would get there quickly. Prior to getting to the hospital, I had ideas about how I was going to speed up labor by walking and bouncing on an exercise ball. We had even packed the exercise ball into the car! But at 5:50 in the morning after a sleepless night, I was tired, cranky, and in pain. I asked for the epidural, and by 6:08am I was feeling great. The nurse dimmed the lights and I slept all morning. I even had the energy to ask the nurse about what got her interested in becoming a labor and delivery nurse.

Dr. Clawson checked on me from time to time. In one of her exams she popped the forebag of water that was directly below Andrew's head. Surprised, she commented that it was meconium stained. The morning nurse had noted that my water was clear. So some time between when I checked into the hospital and early afternoon, Andrew had managed to poop in-utero.

I was fully dilated by early afternoon, but because Andrew was still "high" in the birth canal, Dr. Clawson preferred that I "labor down" some more. This was not a problem, since "labor down" translated into "more sleeping" for me. At 2:15pm, I started pushing. My mom held up my left leg and Mark held up my right leg. I remember thinking to myself, "uh, ok, I have no idea how to do this. But I'll push, whatever that means." The doctor and the nurse exerted pressure near the exit. That helped me focus my pushing. The nurse brought in a mirror to help me see Andrew's hair peeking through. Nevertheless, I did not make good progress. Two hours later, I was still pushing. I felt great pressure and pain, but I did not realize that's what I was experiencing. The doctor asked me if I was in pain. I did not know. She asked if I wanted more pain medicine. I did not know. She asked me if I wanted to take a break. I did not know. I was in a haze. I just knew I did not want to push any more. The doctor said I could decide to go to c-section any time. In my delirious state, I asked her if she thought the baby was going to fit. Solemnly, she said, "I don't know."

We took a 20-minute break while waiting for the anesthesiologist. I had passively consented to getting an epidural bolus - a booster to the pain medicine I was already getting. I remember turning over to Mark and telling him I didn't want to do this any more. He encouraged me to give the epidural bolus a chance.

After the epidural bolus was administered, I felt like myself again and could actually process the information coming at me. I felt so good I might even have smiled. We got set up to start pushing again. I was empowered and felt equipped for the task at hand. Maybe it was because of the pain earlier, but this time, I knew exactly what to do. I could feel myself pushing but it was not hurting as much, so I pressed on. The pushing got so intense my mom and Mark had to switch sides to continue holding up my legs. The room livened up again. A team from NICU got set up in the corner in preparation for the baby's arrival. At one point, someone noted that my epidural drip had run out. Dr. Clawson said, "he's almost out; there's no time to get more; just push through it." The excitement in the air was palpable. And in one final push, Andrew came into the world. Dr. Clawson noted the time. It was 6:14pm.

"He isn't crying. Why isn't he crying?" I repeated over and over. Dr. Clawson explained that because there was meconium, they did not want the baby to aspirate. In a few minutes, the NICU team cleared up his airway and Andrew started to cry whimpily. Mark asked me for permission to go see the baby. I said, "ok." I looked around in the room. Below, Dr. Clawson was massaging my abdomen to deliver the placenta, then suturing up my 2nd degree tear. Everyone else had abandoned me and was hovering around the baby. I was glad at least my doctor stuck by my side.

Andrew scored a whopping 2 in his 1-minute apgar test. Thankfully, they did not tell me this at the time or I would have gone berserk. He recovered nicely to a 9 at the 5-minute test. After cleaning him up, the nurse placed him on my bare chest. Andrew was so tiny and fragile I was afraid I might break him. I remember feeling lost. I had talked to and sang to Andrew for 9 months, but when I finally met him I felt like I had no idea who he is. We only had a few minutes to spend together before the medical team whisked us all out of the labor and delivery room.

The engineer in me wanted the birthing process to be well-planned, precise, and efficient. Instead, it was strenuous, haphazard, unpredictable, and gory. In spite of the difficulties, or perhaps because of it, a miracle unfolded right in front of my eyes. I am in awe of the millions of things that have had to happen just right for Andrew to rest peacefully in my arms. I see God's blessing throughout my pregnancy and birthing and my heart is full of thanksgiving and praise because of it.