Part 3 :: "Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world

I watched as the team from Brenners Children's Hospital wheeled my 6 hour old son out of my room, hooked to more monitors, IV's and tubes than I could count. In my mind I was calling out to him to hang on, just hang on until I was dismissed from the hospital and could travel to be with him. My father in law followed the team out of the room down to the ambulance. I desperately wanted to jump out of the bed and follow them, despite the fact that I had just had my abdomen cut in to to get him out. Despite the fact that I still really couldn't feel my legs from the drugs they had given me. I would have dragged myself down the hall with my arms if I thought I had been physically strong enough to do it. But instead, I laid there and kept my mind from racing. I focused on somehow connecting to my son, I wanted more than anything to tell him that I was sorry I didn't know something was wrong earlier. I just didn't know. "Please hold on till I can touch you... I know thats all you need to want to stay here. You need to feel your mommas touch. Just hold on till then. Don't decide to give up yet."

Soon after, my visitors left so that my husband and I could get some rest. The Brenners team said they'd call as soon as they got him admitted to let us know how he did and what the doctors thought. Somehow, between the stress of what had happened and the nurses coming in to check on me and give me pain meds, I fell asleep. Dreamless. Dark. Sleep.

About 2am, much later than it should have taken for the ambulance to get to Winston-Salem, the phone rang. The most shrill, jump out of your skin ring that I had ever heard. I answered, still groggy from the deep sleep I had been in. "Hello?"

"Tara? This is one of the Paramedics that was with Chase in the ambulance. Is your husband there? Can you put me on speaker phone?" She asked. Hearing, but not comprehending in the least what she had just said to me, I handed the phone to my husband so that he could talk to her. It seemed that my brain had stopped processing, I felt as if I were in a tub of gel with no desire to break free. The world was muffled. My husband had the phone held partially to his ear, partially to mine so that we could both be updated on our sons condition... but all I heard was seizure.

Once the paramedic had hung up, I laid there quietly for a minute before I asked, "Did she say he had a seizure?" My husband nodded, explaining that he had what seemed like 2 seizures on the trip down and they needed our approval to do a spinal tap on him. Silent tears began streaming down my face. Two seizures. Two. What had I done to my son? How had I been so bad at growing him? I was made to grow babies... my body, my hips... they were built for this. So how had I done such a bad job?

I was thankful that the room was dark and we were both exhausted so that my husband couldn't see my tears. I didn't need him worrying any more about me when we both had our son to worry about. The same dark, dreamless sleep overtook me quickly.

The next morning, we had both agreed that he would go to Winston-Salem to be with our little boy. As he left, he stopped at the door, slowly turned around and said, "But I dont want to leave you here." I managed a smile, and told him that our son needed us, and since I couldn't leave, he had to. "He needs at least one of us, you have to go. I'll be ok, and when I get discharged, we'll both go be with him." He came back to give me one more kiss and turned to leave just as I was unable to hold the tears back. I was having a hard time finding that strength I'd held on to so easily less than 24 hours before.

My phone rang and beeped at me multiple times that day. People wanting to check on me, make sure I was ok. I hardly answered any of the well wishes, wanting nothing more than the day to be over so that  I could wake up the next morning to have them discharge me. My in-laws visited by my husbands request, bringing me lunch... although I did not want visitors, I knew this made them and my husband feel better to be able to check on me. A good friend brought me a Starbucks coffee, knowing my love for the chain, and knowing coffee would calm me. My mom came by, encouraging me to get out of bed and take a shower. Everyone was cheery, obviously trying to distract me from the situation. I was cheery, obviously trying to distract me from the situation. More people requested to visit, but I couldn't handle the company. I politely declined, thanking them for the offer.

Nurses and family kept asking if I heard anything from my husband, or from the doctors, curious why I wasn't pushing for more information from both sources. All I could think of was, "They'll tell me when they know something. Bothering them just gets in the way." I couldn't understand why more people didn't get that... from people wondering why I was so calm prior to his birth, to people wanting more information of his condition. My interrupting those who had a job to do wouldn't help them do their job. I needed everyone to do their job, and do it well.

Dusk finally arrived, along with my husband, obviously emotionally exhausted from seeing our son in the condition he was in. He showed me a photo he'd taked with his cell phone, knowing that I desperately wanted to see our son. We sat and talked for a while, him updating me on what he had been told. They were keeping him alive and running as many tests as they could think of to figure out why he wasn't thriving on his own. There were plenty of babies that had merconium in utero that once the lungs were cleared were fine, and never once dealt with not being able to regulate their blood sugars and blood pressure on their own. They weren't really sure what they were looking for.

It started to get late, and my husband turned to me and asked if I would be ok if he went home to sleep that night. I wanted to scream, "No, I need you here with me! I need you." but my logical self took over, knowing that, of the two of us, he was the one who was going to have to be physically prepared to take care of a sick baby, in addition to a wife who was physically weak and emotionally wrecked. He was going to have to be strong enough for all of us, and he wouldn't have a chance at that if he didn't have quality sleep.

After bouts of restlessness, mixed with dreamless sleep, I woke the next morning with mixed feelings; I wanted nothing more than to just fall back into that dark, dead sleep, never leaving the bed, never waking up... ever again. But being all too familiar with the feeling of depression creeping in, I made myself crawl out of bed, trying to ignore the pain at my incision, the ache in my chest, and the rush of sadness. I knew if I didn't make myself get up right then, it would be that much harder to do later. After a few slow laps around the room, I sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for my husband to arrive, waiting for my doctor to discharge me, waiting for this nightmare to be over.

Within the hour, I was being wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair so that we could go home, pack a bag for what I couldn't have imagined would have been more than a weeks visit, and hit the road so that I could FINALLY see my son. I knew he just needed my touch. "Just hang on Bud..." I thought, "just hang on long enough for mommy to get to you and everything will be ok. I promise."

(continued here)

Part 2 :: "Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world"

 "We cant push a baby out of a closed cervix, and he needs to come out now. Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world." my midwife reassured me after telling me that I needed to have an emergency c-section... now.  "Call your husband and have him meet you at the hospital. He doesn't need to run red lights, but he needs to get there right away because we are going to take you in whether he is there or not."

I nodded, still calm, mind wasn't racing, heart wasn't pounding. Calm. "Okay," I said, "I'll see you at the hospital."

I left the practice, pulling my cell phone out of my purse, pressing and holding the "R" button, the speed dial for my husband, not noticing that only a few minutes before, he'd sent me a text jokingly asking if our baby was on the way yet. "Hey! Did you get my text?" he answered,  a smile dancing around his words. 

"Don't freak out." I stated, the situation suddenly becoming a reality. My hands and voice began shaking as I told him what had happened and that he needed to leave work and come to the hospital. I was going in for an emergency C-section. Emergency. C-Section. 

I hung up, got into my car, knowing that although I had a handle on the situation, there was no way I could drive AND do anything else. I had to call my mom, but that would have to wait. I had to get to the hospital. 

I parked in the hospital parking lot, got out of my car, grabbed my purse, left the frozen items I had purchased at the grocery store only an hour before, and calmly walked to the front entrance of the Watauga Medical Center as I dialed my mom. "Mom, don't freak out." I dont know why I was telling people not to freak out... I have always been great in emergency situations, keeping calm, managing the car accident, the motorcycle accident, broken bones and bleeding wounds,  making sure those involved were safe as I dialed emergency crews or stopped bleeding. I always kept calm, knowing that someone needed to manage the situation... to take charge in times of chaos and fear. This was my emergency, and I was the only one around to manage it. I had to organize those involved and allow people to do their jobs. "I'll leave now and be there in 2 hours doodlebug." Doodlebug, my nickname from childhood, seemed to come from afar.  I was no longer a part of the situation, I was watching it all happen. Somehow, I became an observer, watching the next 2 hours happen, while somehow maintaining my level head.

I hung up the phone and walked in to the hospital. "Hi, i'm here for an emergency c-section. I just came from my doctors office." The receptionist stared at me, seemingly confused by my statement. She directed me to check in, and the guy at the computer tried to make light of the situation, telling me that I was to be in room #1, where his child was born. Next thing I knew, there was a nurse guiding me up to the 3rd floor (I didn't find out what floor the birthing suite was on till much later. Somehow I missed the elevator ride and the walk down the hallway to room #1.) I was handed a gown and after changing,  guided to my bed. Suddenly, there were 5 or 6 different nurses coming and going from my room, hooking me up to IV's, asking questions and taking statements. At some point, my Husband walked in to the room... and although the rest of the details remain slightly fuzzy, I do remember the worry on my husbands face. I remember trying to smile at him reassuringly, letting him know that everything was going to be ok. Everything had to be ok. Yes this was an emergency, but everything ALWAYS worked out for me. This had to be one of those things too. 

After I was hooked up to IV's and had every fact they needed on paper, I was wheeled into the operating room, my husband following. I know at some point, someone made a comment about how calm I was. This comment was made again later by my doctors, and my response was this: "I need you to do your job well, and if I am freaking out, then it interferes with you doing your job." 

Once in the O.R., I listened as surgical techs counted the number of towels and rags they had prior to the surgery. I listened as they counted them multiple times. The counting was calming; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

The anesthesiologist arrived and introduced himself, but I couldn't tell you today what his name was. What I can tell you is that he was kind, concerned and had reassuring hands. He inserted needles into my spine to give me the drugs, as I hugged a pillow, or pretended to hug a pillow (I honestly dont know which) to get the curvature on my spine where he needed it. They laid me back down, and I watched as my doctors eyes peered over her blue mask, explaining that all I should feel is tugging, pulling and pressure during the procedure... but no pain. "Don't worry, I'll make sure its a cute little bikini scar." she said. The blue cloth divider was raised and my husband grabbed my hand. 

They tugged and the pulled, and tugged, and pulled a little more. It was such a strange feeling... my brain knowing that there should be pain, but instead it was what only can be described as blurry... tugging. There was nothing clear or definite about it... it was blurry. Then I caught a glimpse of the pediatrician taking a tiny limp body over to another table, I heard my doctor say something about there hardly being any amniotic fluid, and I heard silence where the cries of a baby should have been. Flashes of scenes from TV shows and movies played in my head, where the scared mom on the table starts crying, frantically asking if everything was ok with her baby because she hadn't heard him cry. I kept quiet, watching the little that I could see, the top of my babies head as a team of doctors worked on him. "I need them to do their job well, they'll tell me if he's ok." I kept thinking. I need them to do what they are here to do. 

Then I heard the very weak first sounds of our son. Strained and uncomfortable. I took a deep breath, he was alive. I was waiting for them to bring him over to show him to me, I mean, thats what normally happens in a C-Section right? Instead they whisked him out of the room, telling my husband that he could go with them if he wanted. He looked at me, the worry from earlier still on his brow, and I reassured him that I was ok, and he needed to go with our son. And then they were gone... and for an instant, I felt alone. And for an instant, I was scared. There I was, lying on a table, cut in to, being stitched up, blood leaking from me, feeling as if my baby had just been ripped out of me and taken away, and my husband was suddenly gone. 

And I was hot. I felt like I had sweat beaded on my forehead. 

Then the anesthesiologist asked how I was doing. He placed his hand on the top of my head and asked if I was ok. I felt less alone. My calm returned. I told him I was hot, that I had sweat on my forehead and needed something done about it. He touched my forehead, and I could tell that it was dry, but he grabbed a paper towel soaked in cool water and placed it on my head, and then on my neck. Somehow, being who I am, I still felt comforted by this man I didn't know, who was only there to make sure I felt no pain. Then I listened as nurses commented that my doctor was the best stitcher that they had ever seen. I listened as my doctor and midwife discussed their kids, and their experiences. Then I remembered the comment about my low Amniotic fluid levels, so I asked. My doctor told me that I hardly had any amniotic fluid and there had been meconium in the fluid.

My mind raced over everything I had read about and learned about pregnancy and birth. Low amniotic fluid means there was something wrong... maybe a leak in my fluid sack. Meconium, the passage of stool by the baby while in utero, meant that he was either post term, which he was not, or that he was in distress in utero. I again listened to the surgical team counting towels and rags, making sure none were left somewhere they shouldn't be... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

I was soon returned to my room where my husband joined me, and my mother and brother showed up soon after. The air in the room seemed lite, everyone assumed everything was ok. I was just waiting for them to bring him to my room, place him on my chest, and then the bonding could begin... and then the pediatrician came in and introduced himself. 

I immediately could tell something was wrong. He explained that since there had been meconuim in utero, it had gotten in to his lungs, coating them so that he was having a hard time breathing on his own - the walls of his lungs were essentially sticking to one another. Not only that, his blood pressure and blood sugars were not regulating on their own. He was sick, his stats were far too low, and while the team was doing what they could do here, there was a chance that he would have to be transferred to Brenner Childrens Hospital in Winston-Salem, an hour and forty minutes away. If that were the case, I would have to stay in Boone to recover, and would be unable to go with my son. The pediatrician left the room, and my "everythings going to be ok" attitude took over. Everything always works out for me. Hes not going to have to go down the mountain, he'll be fine here, they are just giving me the worst possible senario so that we'll be prepared. He's going to be fine.

He wasn't fine. Somewhere I heard that had we waited another 1/2 hour to get him out, the story would be grimly different. The only time I got to see my son after he was born, was when the team from Brenners arrived, put him in a clear plastic container, hooked up to monitors and oxygen, and tubes and wires, and brought him into my room for 2 minutes to allow me to touch his tiny hand through the box, his face blocked from view, before they took him. 

And then he was gone.

(continued here)

Part 1 :: "Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world"

Chase Alexander was born on Friday, August 3rd at 4:57pm. He was 6lbs 1oz and 19 inches.

His birth, the way it happened, and his life, is a blessing... he almost didn't make it.

While it had been my plan to wait to go in to labor to start maternity leave from work, I had decided earlier in the week he was born that I needed to take a few days to prepare for his birth. While his bedroom was ready, and we as his parents were eagerly waiting his arrival, I still felt the need to take some time. I didn't know until 2 days later why I needed this, why Chases life depended on it.

I arrived at my weekly appointment with my midwife around lunchtime on Wednesday August 1st. Everything was fairly normal. Since I was 39 weeks, we discussed what would happen within the next few weeks if labor did not start on its own... stress tests, monitoring, and eventually induction. I left the office 75% effaced, not at all dilated, but convinced that I would have a natural birth within the next few days. My birth plan was all laid out and printed. I had been telling myself all along that there was nothing to worry about, I was MADE for this. My body, as a woman, was made to birth babies. Everything would happen the way it was supposed to.

Friday morning arrived, the day before his due date (based on his measurements, not on my last menstrual period.) After breakfast, and after my husband had left for work, I realized that I had not yet felt Chase move that morning. I didn't think too much of it, since his movements had gotten fewer and far between since he dropped 2 weeks earlier. But then by 11am I became concerned that I had still not felt him move that day. I drank something sweet (I cant even remember what it was at this point) and laid on the couch, poking at my belly, shifting him from side to side, waiting to feel him move. I did this for a 1/2 hour, and there was still nothing. My immediate thought was that I was just being overly concerned, he was fine. Sometimes babies shift in a way that moms cant feel them move... I'd read story after story about it. So I continued with my day. Until around 1:45pm, when my blood sugar bottomed out...

What does that mean? I have had multiple doctors ask me that. I have had people with blood sugar issues ask me, and people who have never had an issue ask me. What does that mean? Before getting pregnant, that meant that I suddenly felt jittery and hot and nauseous all at the same time. But I hadn't had an experience with my hypoglycemia since becoming pregnant. In fact, any issues - physical, digestive, etc - i'd ever had completely stopped during my whole pregnancy. I immediately got online, googling "Low Blood Sugar at 39 weeks pregnant." The results had nothing to do with what I was feeling, and there were no suggestions to call my doctor. Blood sugar, pregnancy and doctors didnt seem to relate unless someone was diagnosed with gestational diabetes (for which I was negative.) So I ate and drank... again something sweet... as I had always done to correct my blood sugar. I had always dealt with this on my own, and always fixed it. "I should be fine in a few minutes," I thought. But my mind was racing, my brain kept flashing over all the horrible outcomes that could come from this situation. I had to distract myself, so I went to the grocery store. I was thinking too much in to this.

By 2:30 I was still shaky, still nauseous. Standing in the freezer aisle trying to fight the hot flashes, I called my midwife, and got a receptionist in training. I explained my situation and asked if I should come in. She put me through to the nurse, which was actually a voicemail where I left a message. As I hit end on my cell, I headed for the check out, for my car, and then for my doctors office. Something was wrong and I needed to find out what.

I arrived, and was in with one of my midwives by 3pm. After testing my blood sugar levels, which tested normal, I relayed my experience and she listened for my babys heartbeat. His heart beat was loud and clear, everything seemed fine. She asked if I had felt him move yet, I shook my head no. She pointed to my rounded belly and said she had just seen him move, so it was strange that I had not felt it. "I am probably just being overly cautious, but hearing his heartbeat makes me feel better. He's fine."  I got off the table, both of us convinced that it was safe for me to head home. Then my Midwife decided, just for the heck of it, to hook my belly up to a system to monitor his heart rate and movements. I laid there alone, listening to his heart rate, and watching the numbers... fall. And keep falling, and falling until alarms went off, screeching that something was in fact, wrong.

My midwife came in, convinced that he had moved away from the monitors. She repositioned and reset the system and took the reading that had previously been recorded. Little did I know, she was taking them to one of the doctors, voicing concern for the readings. Within a few minutes, my midwife re-entered the room, "We need to go ahead and do a c-section, we need to get him out, his readings are too flat," she said.

Having read multiple studies where doctors were constantly performing c-sections to fit their personal time table, and not having wanted a c-section, my next question was this: "You're going to do a c-section, rather than just inducing me?" I wanted to make sure I was protecting my body and the development of my baby. I surely didn't want the scar.

"Yes," her kind eyes reassured me, "We cant push a baby out of a closed cervix, and he needs to come out now. Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world."

Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world. Mine was one of them. 

(continued here)