Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Kate!

Warning: this birth story is long. However, I write for me, and for remembering these moments and vividly as I can... so keep that in mind. If you get bored, skim! Or just skip it all together :) Just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.
 
Although our sweet baby girl was scheduled to stay warm and snug in mommy's tummy for another three weeks and one day, I guess she just couldn't wait. She arrived on Sunday, May 12 at 12:38 a.m. -- the best (and most surprising!) Mother's Day gift!

The day started with our alarm going off at 8:30, as it always does on Sunday mornings. Andy gave me my Mother's Day gift -- a necklace with baby girl's initial on it and a sweet card that now serves as a print in baby girl's room -- and I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen and looked out the window at our front lawn. I noticed something funny in the front yard, so I called for Andy -- and just after I called for him, my water broke. Now, I wasn't completely sure at that moment that it was my water breaking. They explained to us at child birth class that sometimes, women can think their water has broken, when in reality, it's just that their baby moved and pressed on their bladder, causing a little bit of an accident. When Andy came to the front of the house where I was, I told him what I'd intended to initially, and followed up with, "and by the way, either I just peed myself, or my water just broke."

At this point, I think we both were pretty skeptical. I mean, I was three weeks early! We thought she might arrive early, but not this early! However, I should have believed it; I wiped up the fluid on the floor and saw that it was colorless... Andy told me to call my mom (because she knows everything!) and see what she thought it was. Meanwhile, I could feel the fluid continue to come out -- another sure sign that it was, indeed, my water breaking, according to child birth class. My mom told me to call the hospital, so that was my next call. When the nurse answered, I explained to her what happened and she asked me a few questions, from which she determined that my water broke and asked me to come in and get checked.

Again, still the skeptic that I was and because I wasn't having any contractions, I asked the nurse if we could go to mass and then come in. After all, I figured that even if I were in labor, first babies take a long time to come, so why bother going in so early? I figured I could get to mass, get checked at the hospital and get sent home on account of not being far enough along, so I could have Mother's Day dinner with my family at Grandma's house and spend some time in my classroom to get ready for my sub, all before returning to the hospital around six o'clock that evening, to wait for my baby to arrive by around two in the morning. Like I said, everyone says first babies take a long time to arrive... so I figured we were in this for the long haul!

Anyway, the nurse said I could go to mass and to come afterward. Naturally, we didn't have a bag packed for me (Andy told me we should pack one a few weeks ago, but I figured we'd get around to it sometime... which, apparently, we never did!), but Andy helped me out and put some things in a bag for me while I got ready for mass. None of baby's things had been washed yet, because my plan was to wait until baby was closer to being here so we would have an idea of how much newborn stuff to keep, if any, depending on her size when she got here. So I picked out a couple of outfits for Andy or my mom to wash for her to come home in. All of this happened in a very calm fashion on my part -- Andy was definitely a little more shaken up than I was at this point. I think this was because I hadn't really had any contractions yet (probably two over the 45 minutes since my water had broken), so I thought we had lots of time! We were all set, so out to the Escape we went to drive to mass.

While on the way, I noticed my contractions increase in both quality and quantity. The two I'd had over the last 45 minutes weren't even uncomfortable, but the ones I was having now were a little more noticeable and amounted in two contractions that were about five minutes apart on the way in to town (I learned later that five minutes apart = get to the hospital!). We walked into mass and knelt to pray, at which point I noticed another, stronger contraction -- three minutes from the last one. The priest walked in, and I had another one -- two minutes from the last -- that caused me to grab onto the pew in front of me and focus on my breathing. Realizing that we probably should be at the hospital, I asked my mom how far apart contractions should be before going to the hospital. When she told me "five minutes", it was a done deal -- we were on our way just a couple minutes into the gathering song at the beginning of mass.

Luckily, the hospital is a very short drive from the church, but I was still feeling really good -- the contractions that followed were three and four minutes apart, and didn't hurt like that one in mass. Because I figured there was plenty of time and because I wasn't feeling anything, I decided to take it as a photo opp and had Andy snap my photo at the entrance to the hospital :) Silly, I know -- but I like photos of just about everything. We went in the ER doors and they promptly put my pregnant self in a wheelchair. I definitely protested, insisting that I could walk, but the admitting clerk told me it's a hospital policy because pregnant ladies "scare" them :) So away we went, me feeling like a lazy bum for not walking myself up to the Birthing Center.

When we arrived upstairs around 10:20, they asked me to change into one of those nice, backless hospital gowns (barf) and put a couple of plastic monitors on my tummy to measure baby's heart rate and my contractions, just like we had done a few weeks ago when we came in and had that non-stress test. Her heart rate was low, but we figured she was fast asleep in there. My contractions were making rolling hills on the chart as they came and went and continued to be about three minutes apart without too much pain. Sometime around 11:10, they checked me and learned that I was dilated to almost a four and my cervix was almost paper thin, with baby's head very low -- the nurse was impressed with my progress already, though I wasn't really sure what it all meant because I hadn't read much about it -- this was supposed to be happening in three weeks, remember? Anyway, they let me get out of bed and took me off the monitors so I could walk the floor to "get things moving". We called my family to have them pick me up a sports bra at Target for me to sit in the birthing tub in (my plan was to sit in the tub for awhile and then have an epidural for the birth) and started our walk around the floor.

We made it about 30 feet, and the hallway gave us two options: walk further and take a left turn for a longer walk, or turn right now and cut the "lap" in half. My contractions had really started to make themselves known at this point and were coming two minutes apart and causing me to stop in the hallway, grab on to the railing with both hands, and breathe through them. For this reason, we chose to cut the lap in half, because I had in the back of my mind that my mom had very fast labor and deliveries, and I wanted my epidural -- so I didn't want to miss the window of opportunity for it! So we took a left and could see the nurse's station close to where we were, at which point I decided I would need to ask for my epidural.

"I need an epidural, please," I moaned.The nurse looked at me with her eyebrows raised, like she thought I was a total wimp. She kind of smiled and told me I couldn't have one yet because I wouldn't be far enough along and that we would see if I could have one in 20 minutes, at 12:10 p.m.

"Twenty minutes?" I whined. I was about to protest further when I had another contraction that caused me to put my head down on the nurse's station and breathe through it... which was followed by another contraction, and then another, without any break in between. In the midst of this, my family delivered my sports bra -- and I didn't even acknowledge their presence because of the amount of discomfort I was in, which should say a lot about my level of pain -- I don't miss opportunities to talk to my family! Anyway, I think the nurse at this point realized that I wasn't being a weakling and she told me to walk to my room and she'd meet me there to start an IV for fluids. Unfortunately, her 20 minute promise for an epidural came true because that's how long it took me to walk probably 60 feet to my room because I kept stopping to get through the contractions.

When I arrived, in my room, it was about 12:15. I was getting through another contraction when they asked me to stop and give my thumb prints for baby's birth certificate -- which Andy found ridiculous, and in hindsight, I do too! Really? I'm in the middle of hard labor, and you ask me for my thumb prints? Too funny.

I got back on the bed in my room, and my nurse came in to start an IV for fluids. I asked about whether or not she had called an anesthetist to give me my epidural, because in child birth class, they told us to ask that because sometimes it can take them a long time to arrive -- and, again, I didn't want to miss my epidural window! The nurse got a little snippy with me, and told me that after she started the IV for fluids, I had to have the entire bag in my system prior to getting the epidural. Andy asked how long that would be, and she told me it would be another 30 minutes. I looked at the clock. 12:20. So much for having an epidural by 12:10! Anyway, she placed the IV (in the weirdest place ever, by the way, along the bone of my left wrist!) at the same time I was having a contraction, which hurt a lot, but at least took my mind off the contraction. I also ended up having a really weird charlie-horse type pain running from my left wrist up through my forearm and into my elbow at the same time, so I was a pain machine at that point.

I'm not sure where the nurse went at this point, but Andy and I ended up alone in the room together when I had the mother of all contractions along with a new, different, and pretty strong feeling that I would describe as an "urge". This feeling wasn't anything I had felt so far in labor, but from what others who had been in labor before had told me, I knew what it meant... it meant that this baby was coming and that she was coming now. I told Andy just that, and he pressed the nurse call button, saying, "I think the baby is coming..." His voice was very calm, a little cautious almost, as if he didn't really believe me.

My nurse came in, obviously not in any rush. I'm thinking she didn't think this baby was coming yet, either. She hadn't checked me yet since when I first came in at a four, so I think she still thought I was just a whiner. But at that point, she did check me -- and her eyes got big. She looked me in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry, Megan. You're too far along for your epidural." Now, luckily, I wasn't an angry pregnant lady in labor, or things could have gotten real ugly. Mostly, though, I was kind of scared. I as afraid of what was coming -- I'd never done this before! How much would this hurt? How much harder would these contractions get? There were no tears, just a little bit of pleading on my part to give me something. At which point, a lightbulb went off in Andy's head and he remembered the other pain options we'd discussed at child birth classes.

"There are other options! There are other options!" he said in a pretty frantic, but assertive, way. As if she had forgotten all about those, her eyes lit up and yelled to the other nurses who were now in the room out of the sudden urgency of the situation, "GET HER SOME FETANYL!" I was relieved to know that I'd get something soon to take off the edge, but remember that "urge" I was talking about? It was still there. And it was impossible to ignore, no matter how many times I was told to "blow it out" (which helps a person not push). The nurse checked me again at this point, and looked at me one more time with big eyes.

"Megan, listen to me," she said. "You can't have anything anymore. Your baby is coming now." I again, pleaded for something, but it was completely in vain. This wasn't what I wanted! I wanted to sit in the tub in that hot pink sports bra! I wanted to get an epidural! But it didn't matter. And it also didn't matter that my doctor wasn't there to deliver my baby yet, either.

My room was a completely chaotic scene, with a room full of nurses trying to get ready for baby's sudden arrival and people trying to find a doctor to deliver this little one. "GET DR. ERICA!" they yelled -- she is another OB in town who happened to be next door, delivering another baby. Unfortunately, she was at a point in the delivery that she couldn't leave her patient. "GET THE ER DOCTOR!" I heard them shout a number of times.

While all of this was happening, my nurse finally gave me the okay to push because I just couldn't not push anymore. I am a vocal pusher, my friends. Kind of like a body builder when they lift a super heavy barbell. Unfortunately, my nurse didn't like that -- she told me to quit, because I was wasting my energy on that and not putting it towards the pushing. I completely thought she was ridiculous -- I was in labor and she's going to tell me that I can't make any noise? Regardless, I am a good girl and a rule follower, so I did just as she asked, and within a couple of pushes, Andy said with more joy than I've ever heard in his voice, "She has hair Meg! She has lots of hair! I can see her!" He told me later that at this point, she was an inch or two out, and we were still without a doctor.

When I was about to give another push, I heard footsteps running down the hall and my doctor ran through the door. She dove into her  scrub top and assumed the baby-catching position. I gave my first good push with the doctor there, and they told me not to push anymore and to instead, look! Baby's head was out! One more little push (by comparison to the previous pushes for that little head!), and she was out and placed on my chest, and all of the pain was gone -- I felt like I could suddenly run a mile!

"My baby! My baby! My baby!" I shrieked, over and over and over. She was here. At 12:38 p.m., three weeks and one day early, my baby was here. Elizabeth Kate was 5 pounds, 4.7 ounces and 19 inches long. This baby we had prayed for, for so long, was in my arms. She was perfect. Daddy cut her umbilical cord, and I looked at her in awe. My baby.

It was at this point that I realized all I'd heard out of her was one tiny squeak. It wasn't long after that she was taken from my arms and rushed over to a little area where I prayed my baby wouldn't go after delivery. It's an area with oxygen masks and things like that to help a baby get resuscitated, if need be. Unfortunately, she did need to be. However, I was still on a complete high from child birth and it didn't phase me (which is lucky for us, because I would have been a basket case otherwise). I called over to Andy from my bed, where I was delivering the placenta and getting cleaned up, "how is she?"

He looked at me and gave me a thumbs up with a big smile and said, "great!". Little did I know, that wasn't so much the case. Praise God, there was a pediatrician making rounds on the floor at the moment, so he was there to help ours sweet peanut and get her going. Poor baby girl had a pulse of just 20; this was quickly corrected on her own and shot up to where it should have been, but very scary to be a daddy watching your sweet baby have such a low pulse. She also needed lots of help breathing -- at one point, I heard the pediatrician say, "we need to intubate!" Now, I've watched enough Grey's Anatomy that intubating means bad news. However, adrenaline and mommy hormones must be an amazing thing -- because I didn't think twice about what I'd heard. Andy told me later that the doctor was doing all kinds of jostling her around to get her to breathe on her own. Luckily, they did not end up needing to intubate her -- she finally realized that it wasn't mommy's turn to do the breathing for her anymore... now it was her turn! The doctors and nurses told us later that all of this happened because she came out so quickly that her little body didn't have time to recognize what its job was so suddenly.

In hindsight, not being able to have any pain medicine was, without a doubt, best for Lizzie. The medicines can affect babies, and with her situation, we wouldn't have wanted anything else that would have made breathing on her own more difficult. If I had to do it all over again, I would want my labor and delivery to go exactly the same -- without pain medicines. Sidenote: when I do this again next time, I anticipate delivering again without anything -- assuming, of course, that my deliveries all go this quickly. I don't think I'll be going for a non-pain med birth if I'm in labor for ten hours!

I watched Andy watch them work on her, and it was the sweetest sight my eyes had ever seen. He stood over her, smiling in a way I'd never seen him smile before, as if his heart were melting. He touched her little feet, and I could see him touch her left hand. It was a moment that I honestly think was love at first sight. I'll never forget his face.

I also realize now that my OB knew what was going on over there but tried to keep me focused on her instead. She knows me well enough from this pregnancy to know that I'm a worrier, so I'm sure she was trying to distract me by telling me that she almost got pulled over on her way to the hospital to deliver my baby. She told me that if the cop had turned his lights on her, she would have called and said she wasn't pulling over -- she had a baby to deliver! Which would have been good, because otherwise she wouldn't have made it in time! Andy or one of the nurses would have delivered this little girl!

The pediatrician also thought she wasn't 37 weeks -- she had so much vernix on her (a waxy, white, lotiony substance that covers babies' skin in the womb to protect it that goes away the closer you get to delivery) that he thought the due date was incorrect. He was wrong, though -- I guess she just had a lot left on her.

They brought her back to me after about five minutes of this, and she was breathing just fine. Her little eyes were almost a brown color, which I remember thinking, "you can't have brown eyes, that's not possible!" because Andy and I both have blue eyes. Regardless, those little eyes were bright and wide, looking up at mommy and daddy. My baby. I'd never seen something or someone so beautiful.

Throughout all of this, I never cried. When she was placed in my arms, I think I was caught up in the "magic" of it all. The fact that I had just pushed, and that this little baby had just come out of me. That a new life came from me. She was the most amazing thing in so many ways. She was just magical. How could anyone not believe in God after seeing something like this? It was just incredible.

Unfortunately, she had to be taken away from us again to go the nursery because of her rough start. I had dreams of doing kangaroo care and nursing her right away, but they said that wasn't an option -- she had to go for tests and x-rays to ensure that her lungs were where they should be because she was early and because of what happened. They told Andy he could come along, but that I had to stay behind. I was, obviously, crushed.

My doctor completely came to the rescue, however. She was awesome. She told the nurses that I didn't have an epidural, so there was no reason for me to not be able to go see my baby. She got me a wheelchair, told the nurses to get me another robe, and she pushed me in the wheelchair to the nursery to see my baby. I honestly don't think I would have been able to see my sweet baby at that point, had my doctor not been there to be an advocate for me. I am so grateful that she did this for me.

We saw our little girl, hooked up with three leeds to a monitor to watch her heart rate, respiration and oxygen. Everything looked perfect. Unfortunately, I could only stay a few moments, because pregnant people who just gave birth should really not be up and moving after delivery so quickly because of bleeding risks, so I was moved to our new room. This was probably for the best -- Andy told me later that they were trying (very hard, by the way) to collect blood from her to run lots of tests to make sure she was okay after all of the stress that went on in her first few minutes of life. I learned later that her first APGAR score as a four -- which is scary. However, her next two were an eight and a nine, so she is completely fine.

We found out later that her x-rays and blood work came back perfect. She finally got to come into our room and out of the nursery a few hours later. She still had her leeds on her to monitor all of those this as a precautionary measure, but when her pediatrician came the next morning, he said she no longer had a need for them -- so she was taken off of them and I officially got a roommate :) No more nursery or monitoring for her!

On that first full day in the hospital, I spent the entire day just holding her and looking at her -- and I don't think I've ever had any day in my entire life go by so quickly. Andy had a few meetings in the morning at work, but then took the rest of the week off with us. We were discharged from the hospital, without any extra days added to our stay for our little one, on Tuesday. Baby weighed in at five pounds. The week was the sweetest one of my life. Being a little family, snuggling with her, loving every move she makes -- we both still feel like it's too good to be true. She is perfect.

At night, when I have to wake her to nurse, I snuggle her tight and rub my nose in her hair and thank God a thousand times over for her. It might be the pregnancy hormones coming down, but I can't look at this little lady without tears in my eyes many times throughout the day. We are so in love.

My baby!