I had no idea 18 years would
fly by so very fast, but 18 looks good on you, McLain! This past year has been
big: playing bass in Q2, earning a spot in the academic booster club, rocking lots
of AP classes, getting your drivers license, driving your first truck, and
thriving in your senior year. Feel free to pump those brakes and slow time down
for your mama. Love you bunches!
McLain’s
Birth Story
By His
Mommy
As long
as I can remember, I wanted to be a mommy and have lots of babies. I dreamed of getting married and being a mother
more than I ever fantasized about going to college and becoming a teacher. Growing
up, I practiced mothering on my two little brothers, my two younger cousins,
and my multitude of baby dolls. I baby-sat almost every weekend for a decade
and loved every minute of these opportunities to fine tune my diaper changing, bottle
warming, and soothing baby skills. Babies were my joy!
In the sweltering month
of July, I learned that I would be able to use this expertise in the spring of
2001 on a sweet baby of my own. This baby was a surprise (as most of my six
babies would later prove to be) but was very much wanted. I was equally nervous
and absolutely thrilled to learn of God’s plan for Clay and me. We acknowledged
that our little family’s future was completely in His hands.
Rapidly, my pregnancy
hormones increased as did my cravings. I yearned for sandwiches more than any
other food. Turkey sandwiches with extra pickles from Blimpie, Sonny’s pulled
pork sandwiches, and especially chicken salad sandwiches on sour dough bread
from Atlanta Bread Company made my pregnant heart so very happy. Clay was a
good husband and humored my cravings by picking up sandwiches and repeatedly
taking me to Atlanta Bread Company whenever the urge hit. I had no idea until
after the baby was born that Clay didn’t even like that particular restaurant. It
was many months before he would even consider eating there again.
Despite how many
sandwiches I ate, my baby bump was very slow to show as my body was not yet an
expert in shifting into position to house a baby. Elastic waist pants and loose
fitting shirts made it easy to disguise my little belly. As the end of fall
approached, I finally transitioned into maternity jeans, and I was excited to
look pregnant instead of chubby.
On November 7th,
Clay and I went to the OB/GYN for our baby’s five month sonogram. We were so
excited to find out our baby’s gender! As the ultrasound tech scanned our
baby’s body, we learned that we were going to have a little boy. We were
ecstatic, realizing that God had given us a SON. Knowing we had a baby boy on
the way made the idea of parenting a lot more real. Clay and I couldn’t stop
smiling as we drove home.
 |
| Our gender reveal ultrasound! |
Because these were the
days long before gender reveal parties were the norm, we simply went home from
the doctor and told our parents that their first grandson was on his way. They were
all completely thrilled as well! It was time for the grandmothers and this
mommy to start purchasing all things baby blue.
While I felt
comfortable taking care of a baby, I was less sure of what to do during labor
and delivery, even though I had witnessed my baby brother being born when I was
14. After discussing my uncertainty with my midwife, she encouraged me to sign
up for a birthing class at Kennestone hospital, and Clay and I registered for an
eight hour Saturday course for young parents. We were ready and excited to take
this next step!
We got up early on a Saturday
morning in January, and Clay drove us to the hospital. When we first entered
our class, we were surprised to discover that we were the oldest couple in the
room. At 22 and 23, we were the dinosaurs amongst the many teenage couples that
ranged in age from 15-18. Clay and I were taken aback by the superficial nature
of so many of the teenage parent questions, such as “Is it true that if you go
to the tanning bed after you have a baby that your stretchmarks will go away?”
and “Should she cut her long hair before the baby is born? I don’t think she’ll
have time to blow dry it.” We didn’t even know how to respond, except to discretely
pick our jaws up off the floor.
Despite feeling somewhat uncomfortable with
our classmates, we were receptive to what the instructor shared with us. One of
the activities she had each of us do was to draw a picture of what we thought
labor would be like. I drew a picture of me screaming while Clay drew a picture
of me grasping the hospital bed sheets while uttering profanities. Who knew that
our joking predictions would come true in just a few short months? Perhaps, we
should have drawn something more positive!
 |
| Our art work from our first parenting class. |
After completing the young
parent class, Clay and I decided to sign up for a traditional Lamaze class. For
three sequential Saturdays, we met with parents in their 20s, 30s, and 40s to
learn how to have a successful labor. I practiced laboring on a birthing ball,
breathing slowly through the discomfort of an ice pack on my back, and swaying
in positions that Clay could hold me in if I decided to be vertical during
labor.
Our new instructor detailed
the differences between vaginal births and c-sections, emphasized the pros and
cons of getting an epidural or having a natural delivery, and outlined the gruesome
reality of what a woman’s body goes through as it recovers from birth. With a
few flinches and grimaces, we watched a video of a woman delivering a baby
naturally. By the end of three week course, we definitely felt more informed
about labor and delivery, and I was unwavering in my determination to have an
epidural as I wanted no part of any avoidable pain.
 |
| Baby Bump's First Christmas |
 |
| Mommy got to see you on her 23rd birthday! |
 |
| Baby shower! |
At the end of March, Clay
put the car seat in the back of my Honda Civic, and I packed my new diaper bag
with the baby blue coming home outfit that both my brothers had worn. In my own
duffle bag, I packed my camera, rolls of film, our new video camera, and my favorite
overalls to wear home from the hospital. With all the essentials packed, we
were ready to meet our little boy and were waiting on God’s timing.
At 6:00 am Monday, April 2nd, I awoke briefly to cramping in
my lower back. As these cramps were not too uncomfortable, I went back to sleep
until 10:00 that morning. At this time, I awoke and noted that the cramping had
not stopped. I put in a recorded tape of Survivor as it was Spring Break, and I had no reason
to rush and get up. Snuggling with my
husband, we watched the reality show while I continued to experience mild contractions.
As I lay in bed, I felt my baby make a big turn, rolling over and moving his
head in the necessary position for exiting. At that point, the contractions shifted
from my lower back to my abdomen.
As I was
still six days from my due date and this was my first child, I was uncertain if
these contractions were truly the early part of labor or a false alarm. Clay
began timing them at 10:23, and we noticed that while they were not spaced
perfectly apart, they were consistently coming. I called my mom to let her know
what was happening, and she agreed to go with Clay and me to my previously
scheduled doctor visit later that afternoon.
Hoping
that we could speed labor along, my husband and I decided to take a walk. We
dressed in shorts and t-shirts, and then I slowly waddled up my street with
him, holding his hand. Every two to three minutes I had to pause for a
contraction. I was surprised at how close together they were, having expected
them to start far apart like all the books, Lamaze instructors, and doctors had
said they would.
After
finishing our mile long walk, I went back to our house to shower. My
grandmother had since learned from my mother that I suspected I was in labor
and was convinced that if I took a shower that I might very well have the baby
in the bathtub. Instead of letting me relax in the shower, she stood her ground
in the bathroom and talked to me while I shampooed, conditioned, and shaved my
legs. There was no privacy as I readied myself for my OB/GYN appointment.
After dressing, I
gathered my hospital bags in the living room, just in case the doctor sent me
to the hospital as I was hoping he would. As Clay moved them to our front
porch, I waved goodbye to my Grandmother as she headed next door to her house. Waiting
for my mother to arrive to go with us to the appointment, Clay and I took an
old fashioned selfie with our camera, realizing that this could be the last
picture we took of ourselves as a family of two.
 |
| Time to head to the doctor. |
 |
| We were good at taking selfies before selfies were a thing. |
At 3:00,
nine hours after my first contraction, I arrived at my scheduled doctor visit
with Clay and my mom. I was nervous in the waiting room and even more anxious
in the exam room. While I waited alone for the doctor to enter the room, my
contractions continued, and I lay down to ease them. They were not very painful
yet, but they were nothing I could ignore.
When the
doctor came in the room, I detailed my morning to him. He then examined me and
determined that I was a “loose” one centimeter, 25 percent effaced, and
probably in labor. All I could think was NINE HOURS of contractions and only ONE
centimeter? This first time mama was not at all happy. I had been one
centimeter at my 36 week checkup. My OB/GYN gave me directions to come to the hospital
if my water broke or when my contractions became strong and consistent.
After my disappointing doctor’s
visit, Mom, Clay, and I went to Chick-Fil-A. I ate chicken noodle soup
and French fries, feeling both annoyance and contractions throughout our meal.
I knew in my heart that my baby was on his way, but I had no idea how long it
would be before he arrived.
When we
got home, Clay and I went for another walk in an attempt to encourage my body
to fully embrace labor. Again, I experienced a contraction every two to three
minutes while we walked, but their intensity wasn’t strong enough to even
justify a call to the doctor. My contractions continued throughout the
afternoon and into the evening.
At dinner
time, we went next door to my mom’s house. My mother had made my favorite
vegetable soup, which I ate a big bowl of not knowing that this would be my last
meal for the next 26 hours. While we were there, Clay talked on the phone to a
friend, giving him the details of my labor. As my contractions continued while
I ate, so did my frustration with Clay being on the phone. Fed up with being talked about, I snapped at
him, and he quickly ended the conversation. Saying goodbye to my parents, we
headed next door to our home to try to get some rest.
Throughout the day, my
contractions had slowly increased in intensity but not drastically. Despite
this mild early labor, I was exhausted from the day’s emotions and 18 hours of
contraction scrutiny. I feel asleep around midnight and slept until
my bladder woke me up at 3:30 AM. Initially, I thought my water may have
broken, but this being my first baby I wasn’t sure. 21 and ½ hours of
contractions prompted Clay and me to ready ourselves for the hospital, whether
it was my water or my bladder that had broken.
After
making this decision, I called my mom to give her the update. She said that she
would get ready and shortly be over. Clay called his parents, and they made
plans to meet us later in the morning at the hospital. My dad would follow with
my youngest brother.
I waddled to the shower and
again shampooed, conditioned, and shaved through continued contractions. I went
through all my rituals and routines of getting ready, but I felt odd as this
was the middle of the night. As I sat in my rocking chair and curled my hair, I
wondered when exactly my baby was going to make his appearance. This journey to
motherhood was lasting so much longer than I expected. A few minutes after I
finished my hair and put on a comfy, maternity dress, my mom knocked on the
door, and we all piled in our car. I was praying that I would not come back
home without my baby.
On the
way to Cobb hospital, Clay mentioned that he was hungry. He stopped at the Quik
Trip that we were passing and went inside to buy powered doughnuts. I was so annoyed
with him! That was my rookie mistake, and I learned from this experience to
pack Clay snacks in my hospital bags for all my future labors. No more gas
station pit stops!
At 5:00 AM, we arrived at the hospital, a very long 23 hours after my first
contraction, and I checked in at the registration desk on the first floor. We
all rode the elevator to the labor and delivery floor. My mom stayed behind in
the waiting area while Clay came with me to triage.
Promptly, I was assigned
a triage room, and after I changed into a gown, a nurse entered to ask me about
my contractions and how far dilated I had been at my doctor’s appointment. She
then checked me and determined that my water had not broken (apparently it had
just been my bladder) and that I was still at one centimeter. I was so
disappointed!
As I talked to my nurse, she
witnessed multiple contractions and could see that they were painful. Instead
of sending me home for being only one centimeter, she instructed me to walk the
maternity floor for an hour to see if I could further my dilation. I was naïve and excitedly said “Yes, please,” having no idea how this walk would trigger active labor and
one of the most painful hours I would ever experience as a laboring mother.
Clay
helped me to my feet, and we walked to the waiting area to collect my mom. Around
and around the labor and delivery floor, the three of us walked. Each time a
contraction gripped me as I walked, it was stronger and longer than the one
before. Having had so many hours of mild contractions, I was shocked by this
onset of fierce pain. Trying to use what the instructor taught us in Lamaze, I attempted
to hold on to Clay and swing my body to relieve some of the pain but that
proved absolutely useless. I wanted to be back in bed.
The more I walked the
stronger the contractions became. At one point, I claimed to have to use the
bathroom and just went into the waiting room restroom alone to escape having to
walk. I was truly stunned by how horrible the pain was and was ready to run
away if there had been any way for me to do so. I realized in that moment that
having a baby was going to be truly awful. That was a scary reality check. Reluctantly,
I left the bathroom to continue the most painful walk of my 23 years.
Because
my contractions had developed a steady pattern while I was walking, I would
experience one every time I passed the triage station. The nurses witnessed my
being able to neither walk nor talk through the pain of my contractions. I was
oblivious to their observations of me at the time, but their seeing my physical
distress while walking convinced them that I was not experiencing false labor.
When the
hour was up, Clay and I returned straight to my triage room, and I crawled into
the bed, curling up into the fetal position. Walking even one extra step was
not an option to me. Almost immediately, I was checked by a triage nurse. She
stated that I was still a “loose one,” but she also said that I was now 80%
effaced and my cervix was soft. She further explained that because my
contractions were clearly regular that I was in labor and here to stay. I was
so grateful that a medical person finally believed that I was in labor,
something that I had known since my first contraction 24 hours earlier.
Briefly, my in-laws came
in the triage room to check on me. Clay explained that I was being admitted and
that their grandson was on his way. They were thrilled! I tried to be social
but was irritated and distracted by my continued contractions.
Because I
was not eligible for an epidural yet, the nurse offered me a narcotic shot.
After having experienced such horrible contractions while walking, I gladly
accepted her offer. I was desperate for any relief. She gave me the shot in my
right hip, and I could feel the medicine’s impact almost immediately, feeling
both sleepy and intoxicated. The nurse forbid me to try to walk from triage to
my labor and delivery room, even though I had just been doing steady laps
around the hospital floor. In the words of my nurse, “You’re drunk, and you’re
not walking anywhere.” Without argument, I sat down in my wheel chair with her
assistance and rode to my new room. Once there, she helped me climb into my bed
where I went promptly to sleep.
The
narcotic shot was not what I expected. The nurse had told me that that it would
“take the edge off” my contractions. However, my pain did not diminish but my
ability to stay awake did. Instead of being able to try to relax as the
intensity of each contraction built, I would awaken at the peak of each one,
groggy and bewildered by the intense pain. I would yell at Clay to hold my hand
as I tried to endure the inescapable tightening and then would promptly shove
him away, so I could go back to sleep as soon as the contraction was over. This
cycle continued for TEN hours. The frustration of being unable to relieve my exhaustion
or interminable pain was the most difficult part of my labor for my husband.
Throughout the morning and afternoon, my parents, in-laws, siblings, and
friends were in and out of my room. This long stretch of labor was painful and very
hazy to me, especially after I received a second narcotic shot. I remember
waking to see my mother-in-law in a rocking chair, my husband eating Taco Bell
(which he was forbidden to ever bring into a labor and delivery room again!),
and my baby brother and little sister in law telling me how they had snuck away
from the waiting room to play on the elevator and had gotten in trouble.
Brandi,
my best friend from high school, was at the hospital and didn’t want to miss
her opportunity to video the birth. She asked the doctor if she could go to
class without missing it. The doctor said, “You could drive
to Tennessee and back and this baby still won’t be here.” She went to
her class and made it back with hours to spare.
At 3:00,
the labor and delivery nurse checked me. After 33 hours of contractions, I was
finally deemed to be four centimeters. I was equally grateful to learn that my
body was progressing and that I was ready for my epidural. However, I had to
endure another hour of contractions before the anesthesiologist arrived at 4:00
to give me the relief I so desperately wanted.
As the
nurse and anesthesiologist set up my room and readied me for the procedure, I
became extremely nervous. My mom told me, “Don’t worry. As soon as you get the
epidural, you won’t feel any more pain. The hard part will be over.” I clung to
what she said and was later relieved when her comforting words proved to be
true.
Receiving
the epidural was nerve wracking. As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed with
a pillow in my lap, I tightly gripped the hands of my nurse. She encouraged me
to stay curled up like a ball so that the needle could be easily inserted into
my spine. However, staying relaxed and in this uncomfortable position while
being hit with a contraction was almost impossible. Thankfully, the
anesthesiologist was patient and able to place my epidural between
contractions. The procedure was quickly finished. More importantly, the
contractions I experienced while I received my epidural were the last ones I
felt during this labor. My mother was right. The pain was over.
 |
| Epidurals are everything during labor. |
After
receiving my epidural, I was happier and more willing to interact with my
visitors between my drug induced naps. My family and friends periodically came
in to talk to me. However, I was still very tired because of the narcotics and
slept the majority of the evening, waking periodically to scratch my face or my
chest. Itchiness proved to be a side effect of the medication in the epidural,
but I hid that information from the nurses as I feared they would turn it off.
I much preferred itchiness to pain!
Not long
after getting my epidural, my body began to relax and my contractions grew less
frequent. My nurse followed my doctor’s orders and added Pitocin to my IV to
help regulate my contractions. In less than four hours after this medicine was
administered, I went from four to ten centimeters. I was ready to begin pushing,
but unfortunately the medical staff was not prepared.
Not
surprisingly, multiple women were in labor at the same time I was. Because
of them, I had to wait until other women delivered their babies before my
midwife or nurse could prepare my room and me for my son’s delivery.
During this time, I started uncontrollably shaking. My exhaustion and
nerves were reaching their peak. I was ready for this long labor to be over and
to meet my baby. Irritability began to overwhelm me before I even began to
push.
At 7:45,
I was finally prepped and directed to start pushing. My labor and delivery
nurse sat on the end of my bed and instructed me when to breathe, when to push,
and when to relax. Clay and my mom stood on either side of me while Brandi
stood back and to the left of the bed with our video camera. Through my sleepy,
narcotic haze, I began pushing. It was awkward. It was difficult. It was also
extremely embarrassing to be that exposed to so many people in my room.
 |
| My support team |
I pushed
and was encouraged. I pushed and was cheered on. This cycle continued and still
I had no baby after an hour had passed. The nurse coached me to try long pushes
while holding my breath. Still no baby. The midwife told me to try short pushes
with every other contraction. Still no baby. My frustration could not be
contained as I told everyone in the room to be quiet and threatened to kick my
mother out of the room if she made one more joke. This exhausted mama was about
to lose it.
 |
| Sleeping between pushes |
Because
my laboring was taking so long, my midwife and nurse could not stay in my room
the entire time. They began checking on other mothers, leaving me in the room
with just Clay, my mom, and Brandi. Despite their absence, I continued my
pushes with each contraction and finally the top of my son’s head appeared. I
was so completely ready to be finished with this labor that I was unconcerned
if there was any medical staff in the room to deliver my son or not. I kept
pushing, and the top of my son’s head began to emerge.
The nurse
returned and saw that the baby was crowning. She immediately summoned my
midwife who was surprised by my obvious progress when she reentered my room. As
she quickly slipped on her gloves and delivery garb, she told me to relax and
not to push. I was aggravated and just wanted this delivery to be over. After
what seemed like an eternity to me, my midwife instructed me to push with my
next contraction.
With Clay
and my mother each holding one of my legs, I pushed with every ounce of
strength I had remaining. Slowly and through several more long pushes, my baby
finally made his entrance with a great rush of amniotic fluid that sprayed all
over his daddy’s arm. He was here, and I was overwhelmed at the sweet sight of
him.
After 39
very long hours of labor and an hour and twenty minutes of pushing, Bryan
McLain entered my world, weighing 7 pounds 4 ounces and measuring 20 inches
long. God blessed his father and me with a strong, healthy, incredible son that
captured my heart from the moment I first looked at him, forever changing me
from daughter, sister, and wife to mom.
When I was a little girl tucking
my dolls together into their little baby beds, I couldn’t have fathomed what
real motherhood would be like or the intense feelings I would have for my first
son. I had no idea that I would be immediately and completely consumed with love
and protectiveness for this tiny baby I held in my shaky arms. As I stared down
at my perfect miracle, I was so grateful that God chose me to be McLain’s
mother long before I knew what His plan was for our family.
Bryan McLain Brooks, you were
a perfect first born baby, have proven to be a fantastic big brother, and are
thriving as a leader in so many aspects of your life. I love you more than you’ll
ever understand and am eternally grateful that God made you mine. Happy
birthday, baby!
 |
| Official hospital picture |
 |
 |
| Just a mama and her boy…18 years later. |
No comments:
Post a Comment