In Honor of Her Birthday
Carolyn
Amelia-Grace’s Birth Story
By Her Mommy
In March 2012, we discovered that God
had blessed us with another baby. Clay and I were shocked. We were stunned. We
were speechless. All I could do as I stared at my positive pregnancy test was
think, “FOUR?” None of our friends have four kids. Teachers certainly don’t
have that many. But apparently this one was about to.
We were apprehensive about telling our
families. Number three had made his debut only ten months earlier, so what on
Earth were they going to think? Clay and I tried to think of a fun way to tell
our families, but truly we were just overwhelmed with the idea of another baby,
especially when we already had one!
One of our favorite weekend traditions
is for both of our families to eat at Wallace’s BBQ, so at the end of March
almost all of us went to dinner there one evening- the four grandparents, two
uncles, one aunt, plus the five in our family. Everyone was in such a good mood
that I looked at Clay across the table and asked, “Maybe today?” He just smiled
and said, “Whenever you want to, baby.”
After we had all finished dinner and
were in the parking lot getting ready to leave, I handed my mom my phone. On
the screen was a picture of my two positive pregnancy tests. She stared at the
phone and then stared at me. To say she was shocked was an understatement.
Standing around in a group in the parking lot, we shared the picture and our
news to the many shrieks of “What?” and “Are you serious?” Yes. We. Were.
That spring I endured morning sickness
that began with nausea as soon as my alarm went off and typically ended with me
losing my breakfast before I headed off to work. That summer passed with a lot
of time spent in the pool, at White Water with my boys, and purchasing anything
pink after we learned number four would be a girl in June. Fall was busy and
hectic as I set up my new classroom and redecorated the nursery to accommodate
my two babies. In typical pregnancy fashion, the first 36 weeks flew by, and
the last five crawled.
During October, I swelled to Shrek-like
proportions. My ankles disappeared, and my hands tingled from the circulation
being cut off by my wedding ring. I couldn’t be ten minutes late taking my
Zantac, or I would be tormented with heart burn. I had lots of head aches too,
which even left me in tears in the middle of Babies R Us one afternoon. Also,
baby girl was so big, and my torso was so small that I couldn’t take a deep
breath no matter what position I tried. Needless to say, I was miserable.
In those final weeks, I experienced a
lot of contractions and not just your typical, painless Braxton Hicks. These contractions
would plague me consistently for three uncomfortable hours and then fade away. My
body’s preparations for delivery were driving me crazy.
At 38 weeks, my midwife Linda looked
at me and said, “You’re done. I’ll write you a note for work, but you are too
stressed out and you need to be off your feet.” Glorious, glorious words. However,
I didn’t accept her advice/directive for three more days when my parents begged
and bribed me to do so. Even when you are 34, you’re apparently still your mom
and dad’s little girl. On October 29th, I worked my last day, turned
in my doctor’s note that required minimal activity, and was blessed by my class
throwing me a baby shower.
During the next nineteen days, I nested
and crafted from my bed. I literally painted nursery décor in my nightgown
while watching endless episodes of A Baby
Story. As with my other pregnancies, I considered watching this show to be important
preparation for my labor and delivery. I took a nap every afternoon with my
sweet baby Collin, who I could not believe was about to be a big brother at 19
months. The highlight of each day was getting dressed for carpool.
Nine days before my delivery (three
days before my actual due date), I went for a stress test. For an hour, I
reclined in a chair and watched my contractions on the monitor, hoping that
they were enough to convince my midwife that I needed to head to the hospital.
A nurse monitored me during the test, and midway through she had me drink a
bottle of orange juice, because the baby was not reacting appropriately when I
was having a contraction. However, after my baby girl was all sugared up, her
heartbeat gave the nurse the numbers she wanted to see. Midwife Chastain
checked me after the test was over and deemed that I had a “dial-a-cervix,“
meaning that when pressure was applied my cervix would open from 2 to 5 centimeters.
She encouraged me that my baby girl would be here soon and not to worry. Her
words were not what I wanted to hear.
My due date, Sunday, November 11th,
came and went without a single contraction. To make me feel better, Clay and
the boys took me to O’Charley’s where I throughly ate my feelings. No roll or
cheese covered twisted chip was safe from my 40 week pregnancy anger.
Four days after my due date, I went
for my weekly check up. Midwife Linda, who was currently my favorite because
she had told me I had to stop working, declared that I was 4 ½ centimeters.
Being a little sneaky, she that if I had any contractions to head for the
Women’s Center and say that when I had last been checked I was 3centimeters.
She promised that when the triage nurses found me to be 4 ½ centimeters, they
would think I had progressed and would keep me, especially since I was already
past my due date. I was totally up for a little deception at that point.
To further help me along, my midwife
stripped my membranes. She said that my bag of water was bulging and actually
made her nervous that it was going to rupture during the procedure. I had heard
horror stories of people getting their membranes stripped but it was actually
not that uncomfortable. Perhaps, my desperation to not be pregnant anymore masked
the pain I should have felt. Before I left, we scheduled an induction for
Monday, just in case. However, my midwife didn’t think I would make it until
Monday. If I did, she said that with a little Pitocin and a rupture of my water,
she thought I’d be in full labor with no problem. I was grateful to have an
actual end in sight.
On Saturday at 4:30 AM, a day and a half later, I awoke to
contractions. These were more intense than the others from the past month, and
I knew they were the real deal. I waddled to the kitchen to get ice (my constant,
nagging third trimester craving) at 4:45. While standing in front of the refrigerator, I
was hit with a terrible contraction. As it gripped my belly, I banged my head
against the freezer. As soon as it passed, I hurried back to my bedroom and barked
at Clay to wake up and call my mom. I immediately headed for the shower, scared
that if I didn’t hurry Keaton’s labor experience would be repeated.
Quickly, I showered, shaved my legs,
and did my hair and make up. During this busy hour, my contractions became slightly
less intense and frequent, but I was a determined woman at that point. I was
having this baby today!
As Clay and I finished getting ready
and triple checked all my bags one last time, Mimi came over to take care of
the boys. McLain and Collin woke up before we left, but Keaton remained passed
out on a pallet in the floor of our bedroom. He was oblivious to the chaos
around him.
We arrived at the hospital at 6:00 AM. This being our fourth baby,
we knew exactly where to park and enter. My parents were waiting for us at the
Women’s Center entrance, surprised that they beat us there. My mom had
requested a wheelchair from the front desk clerk, but I was capable of walking
on my own and refused it.
My parents stayed downstairs in the
waiting area while Clay and I rode the elevator upstairs to triage. I explained
my contractions to the nurse and emphasized how I was six days past my due
date, so the baby and I were promptly hooked up to monitors. As midwife Linda
had instructed, I said that I had been 3 centimeters Thursday afternoon.
However, when the nurse checked me, she said I was still 3 centimeters. Clay
and I didn’t say anything in front of her, but as soon as she left, I almost
had a small heart attack. Where had the other centimeter and a half gone?
As
I lay on the uncomfortable hospitable bed, I grew increasingly frustrated. My contractions
were not being consistent, and I knew that evidence would be documented on the
monitor. Scheming a way to convince the triage nurses I was in real labor, I
rolled from side to side every two minutes to trigger a contraction. There was
no way I was going to be sent home. This mama wanted no more part of cankles,
heartburn, waddling, or multiple middle-of-the-night potty breaks.
At 7:00, after a shift change, a new
nurse checked me and said I was 4 ½ centimeters. Hallelujah! My other
centimeter and a half was back! Immediately, the midwife who had delivered
Keaton came in to talk with Clay and me. She said that even though my
contractions weren’t completely consistent yet that they were clearly
productive, and since I was already past due, she was admitting me. If I had
not been the size of an elephant, I would have done cartwheels across the room!
My scheming had paid off. She also said because I was 4 ½ centimeters that I
could go ahead and get an epidural. Her actual words were, “Why not?” Why not
indeed!
I was moved to a labor and delivery
room where Clay, Mom, and I broke out all the day’s essentials: cell phones, I-pad, cameras, and their necessary chargers. The anesthesiologist came in very
soon after my room change and said he would give me my epidural between my
contractions. I said that sounded great, but I was chuckling on the inside. My
contractions had completely stopped, but the medical staff didn’t know, because
my monitors were off. I knew that they would hook me up with Pitocin after my
epidural was in place, and the nurses saw that they had faded away. I had had a
little Pitocin help with McLain and Collin’s delivery, so I wasn’t concerned
about restarting my contractions.
However, I was a little worried about
how the epidural would affect my blood pressure. I warned the anesthesiologist
and my nurse that when I received an epidural with my last baby that my blood
pressure had plummeted to 45/22 and that I could barely talk. They readied a dose
of Ephedrine in case it happened again, which it did. Almost immediately after
the medicine was administered in my epidural, I felt the complete exhaustion
that comes with low blood pressure. This time it dropped to 70/something, which
was bad (normal being 120/80), but I was able to tell the anesthesiologist and
nurse how I felt this time without feeling like I was trying to talk from under
water. The anesthesiologist gave me the prepared bolus of Ephederine, and my
blood pressure quickly normalized. I was a happy girl.
When I was hooked back up to the
monitors, the nurse noticed that my contractions had stopped. Just as I had
predicted, she started me on Pitocin to regulate my contractions. My lower body
immediately developed a steady rhythm, which thankfully I could not feel.
As I lay in bed watching TV, I noticed
that my hands felt numb. I didn’t think much of it at first, so I waited until
my nurse came back to check on me to ask her if feeling my epidural in my hands
was a normal side effect. She said, “No,” and dug into her pockets for an
alcohol swab. She wiped my forehead, neck, and chest and had me tell her when I
stopped feeling the cold, wetness of the alcohol swab. My nurse determined that
my epidural was working from my shoulders down and temporarily turned it off. Her
concern was that it could affect my breathing. However, I was much more
concerned that I would start feeling my contractions.
Dr. Green stopped by to see how I was
doing. I asked him to check me, not because I thought I was ready to push, but
because I could feel the baby descending into my birth canal and wanted to know
my progress. When he checked me, he said that I was now at 6 centimeters and
that the baby was definitely working her way down. I was grateful that my labor
was steadily progressing. He also instructed the nurse to turn my epidural back
on since the level of where I could feel it was down to my belly.
About 12:30, I started to feel my contractions,
not at all in my stomach but definitely in the birth canal. Because I had the
same experience with Collin near the end of his labor, I pushed my personal
epidural button for an extra dose of medication, hoping that would help. My
contractions intensified quickly despite the extra medication, and I couldn’t
for the nurse to stop by. Instead, I frantically pushed the call button and
asked for her.
The nurse hurried to my room and
checked me. She said I was 8 centimeters with a very bulging bag of water. Dr.
Green and she agreed that my water should be broken to see if I would fully
dilate. They were confident that since this was my fourth baby, I would be at
10 centimeters immediately and that I would be ready to deliver. Feeling like I
was being unnecessarily tortured, I had no such confidence in their
suggestion.
Dr. Green broke my water and so began
twenty minutes of absolute hell. I held on to my mother’s and Clay’s hands and
cried in absolute fear that I was going to be forced to have another natural
delivery. I writhed, yelled, and cursed in agonizing pain. Because the epidural
was only working to control the contractions in my stomach, I was acutely aware
of every nerve and muscle in my birth canal. I knew the baby had not descended
since my water had been broken, and I was unwilling to continue laboring without
a properly functioning epidural.
My nurse rechecked me, and as I
already knew, I was still at 8 centimeters. My mother and I explained (her more
nicely than me) that I had received a bolus in my epidural at the end of my
third labor and that I was able to easily push the baby out, even though my
lower body was completely numb. Thankfully, the nurse believed us and called
the anesthesiologist.
At 12:50 my epidural was topped off.
The anesthesiologist sat me up in bed, so that the bolus would travel down my
spine faster. Within one minute, I was blessedly pain free again and remained
that way for the rest of my labor and delivery. Another accidental, natural
birth was thankfully avoided.
Thirty painless minutes later, I was
checked again. The nurse informed me that I was 10 centimeters, and it was time
to push. Immediately, several nurses came into my room to ready it for delivery.
My bed was broken down. Tables of tools were set out, and the infant table was
readied. As usual, Clay moved to the left side of my bed, and my mom stood on
my right, ready to hold up my dead weight legs when prompted. When the nurse
suggested where to put the camera, my mother told her, “Oh, we have a lot of
practice with this.” Then, she set the video camera behind my head on my pillow
to film discreetly. The nurse found my mother and Clay’s expertise humorous.
Dr. Green returned to my room dressed
in blue scrubs. He agreed that I was very ready and instructed me to start pushing
with my next contraction. When the monitor indicated that I was having a
contraction, I pushed with every ounce of my being, knowing from experience
that the more effectively I pushed the sooner I would meet my baby girl. Several
pushes and contractions later, the labor and delivery nurse climbed on my bed. I
was surprised but didn’t say anything. Using her weight, she repeatedly pushed
on my belly to get the baby’s head to move under my pubic bone. Finally, my baby's head appeared, and I stopped pushing in an effort to see her. My nurse urgently instructed me
to keep pushing as hard as I could, and with a lot of twisting, turning, and
shoulder manipulation from my doctor, my sweet Carolyn Amelia-Grace entered my
world at 1:51 PM. As I lay
holding my 9 pound 7 ounce baby girl, Dr. Green said, “She was a tight
squeeze.” I agreed!
For the fourth time in my life, God
blessed me with a sweet, healthy, happy baby. Although she was not planned by
Clay or me, we are amazingly grateful she was part of God’s great plan and that
He knew Amelia-Grace would be the perfect addition to our family. We cannot
imagine life without our pink, girly surprise.
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