The Birth Story

The words "your life will never be the same" have taken full force since Tuesday (9/4/12). That is in no way cliche, it is 100% true, and I have the birth story to prove it! This is the story of how my first born, Denzel Brennan Jones, came into this world...

Tuesday, September 4:

1am-I wake up with what feels like period cramps. I'm thinking, hmmm, could this finally be it? They weren't contractions like I was thinking, but the cramps didn't go away. I woke Patrick up and said, "Hun, I think you get to call in to work today." He was overjoyed! After being overdue we had grown...well, let's just say a little impatient :) Of course we didn't go back to sleep, we were way too excited. 

The rest of my labor was all sort of a blur as far as time goes. Patrick kept track of my contractions and we tried to wait it out as long as humanly possible before going to the hospital. Contractions were all on average over a minute-which I've been told is pretty long, especially for the beginning stages. I finally had several contractions right on top of one another and in my mind I thought-TRANSITION!! I was in a lot of pain, and this 3.5 minute contraction (or series of them) made me cry, it was rough. So Patrick says, "I think its time to go to the hospital." We gather up our stuff, including Amy, Patrick's sister who had come to visit us, and set out for the hospital.

Unforgettable Experience #1: driving 20 minutes to the hospital while in labor. MISERABLE. All I remember is saying to Patrick, "Isn't there ANY other way to get to the hospital?!" ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE.

So we get to the hospital, and I walk in to the lobby to find two other beautiful pregnant women. They're both waiting with their spouses/partners all dressed up in a cute little pregnant dress, hair done, makeup like they're going out...beautiful looking women. In walks a monster of a woman-me. My hair is all disheveled, I'm wearing black yoga pants that barely fit-Kiri dog hair ALL over them, and the only shirt that fit-Patrick's soccer shirt from years ago, stains all over it. It was clean, but stains from a long time ago. I WAS A HOT MESS. Contractions were still going, I'm pale (so said a few people) and we walk up to the front desk. "Hello, are you here to check in?" "Yes," says Patrick. "Ok, please fill out this paper and someone from admittance will be right with you." Patrick fills out the paperwork, turns it in and we sort of patiently wait...for 15 minutes. Several more contractions. A lady comes out all cheery and says, "Oh! Well, we have 3 ladies here. Let's see who gets to go first...Andrea Jones? When is your due date?" I shout out (probably more abruptly than I intended) "I'M 41 WEEKS." Still cheerful the lady says, "Oh, you may just trump the other two" then smiles. I wanted to punch her between the teeth. She proceeds by asking the others about their situation and I notice no one else is in pain...they were on the induction list. One wasn't even the full 40 weeks yet, she just got impatient and decided she wanted her baby today. The lady says, "Ok, Andrea follow me." I walk into her office and we begin the paperwork process. I mentioned a few times that I already checked in online last month with the long form, and the OB office faxed my file over-they told me they did. We were still there filling out paperwork for 10+ minutes. Contractions still going. While I'm breathing, my eyes are closed and she talks to Patrick about all the details. I'm still hearing everything that's going on. Probably about 15 minutes later she walks us back to Triage-THE FIRST STEP IN ADMITTANCE. I wasn't even admitted to the hospital yet. 

So I'm strapped to a bed, wearing a hospital gown and two monitors-one for contractions, one for baby.  They leave me there for observation for close to an hour. Then determine I'm 4-5cm, so they let me walk around the halls a little. It's been about 1.5 hours now and they check me again. Contractions still going, but no further progress. They call my doctor, and she said if I let her strip my membranes they'll admit me, if not I can labor at home. Trying to go the natural route, I go home. It was around 3-4pm I think and Patrick and I walk out of the hospital, and head home. Contractions still going. 

The next several hours were pretty miserable. I ate close to nothing because I just wasn't hungry, nor could I focus on chewing. I know it sounds crazy. I sat on the birthing ball, I went in the pool, I took a couple of warm showers, I walked out in the neighborhood at 11pm (although didn't get very far), I got down on all fours, Patrick massaged every part of my body probably twice throughout the night. Contractions were consistent in their duration-about 90 seconds, but frequency fluctuated. Sometimes I'd get four in a row, sometimes it would be 3 minutes in between, it was rough. No sleep was had, except I tried to let Patrick sleep for a little bit until I just couldn't take it anymore on my own. I was defeated. I woke him up and he said we'd keep track of contractions again. Took another shower. By this time it was late morning and he said, "Ok, let's go back to the hospital." 

Wednesday, Sept. 5:

Another miserable drive to the hospital, but for some reason it was better than the first. I guess I knew to hold on to the pregnancy bar (which is what most people call the oh ______ bar) this time around the whole way. We get to the hospital, and can you believe it...have to wait in the lobby again. This has got to be a joke-I still have my wristband on from the first time! No cutsie pregnancy women waiting in the lobby though, which I was grateful for. They finally take my back, contractions are coming very frequently and are very intense. We walk into the same admitting office and the lady says, "What's going on?" WHAT'S. GOING. ON. I have a pregnant stomach, I'm in a lot of pain, I'm ready to have a baby. In the words of Bill Engvall-Here's yur sign. We're asked the same questions as before-the first time we did the paperwork. As if I moved in the process and my address has changed, or I bought a new cell phone WHILE IN LABOR and decided to give them the new number. At least she asks the questions quickly. I get a new sticker for my bracelet and get sent to triage again. I'm beginning to hate the word triage.

A nice nurse comes in, although in no hurry like I was, and gives me the gown. 15 minutes later she checks me 6-7cm. NOT what I was hoping, but at least they're going to admit me. What I wanted her to say was, "Um ma'am. You're crowning, let's get you to a room right away." But that's ok, I'll deal with 6-7. I get to my labor and delivery room and its much nicer, much bigger and surprisingly more cosy than triage. I say surprisingly because its a hospital-really, what's cozy? Nothing. So I labor for several more hours. I'm stuck at 8cm and my doctor comes in. She asks me if she can break my water to see if I'll dialate any more. I give in. My first non-natural thing. It takes her two times to break it completely. Apparently the bag was extra sturdy, no wonder he was taking forever. So they break the bag and...meconium. Dang it.  The next part is a little graphic, so you can skip it and you won't miss much of the story.

::GRAPHIC::

Unforgettable Experience #2: My doctor checks me by sticking her hand in there and moving the cervix (or trying to) to fit around the baby's head. The MOST pain I've experienced in my life. More than the worst contraction, more than all the contractions put together. I did all but scream. She said, "Lots of pressure hunny." This was not pressure, this was mutilation.

::End graphic part::

I had been pushing for an hour and with no luck in getting that cervix to move, and no luck in his head getting any farther down, I see the doctor's face drop. No. no. no. I don't want to hear what she's about to say. (This is the only part I heard, I was devastated) "Well, here's what's going on. Not fully dialated for a long time...when you were admitted at 6-7cm, it should've only taken you another couple of hours to fully dialate...you've been pushing far more than anyone who hasn't had an epidural. You can try to push for another hour or two if you want...I worry your pushing will be in vain if you keep going because you're exhausted...there was meconium which probably means nothing, but its still a little of an alert...I wouldn't say this to you because I'm trying to speed up the process, its up to you. You've tried so hard...it's your choice. [Then she explains the c-section to me] 20 minutes...bikini incision...recovery isn't that bad like everyone says...you can still hold him, still breastfeed and Patrick can still cut the cord and give him his first bath...it's up to you. You've worked so hard sweetie."

I looked at Patrick and his face was exhausted, supportive, caring, loving. He's an incredible man. I said, "What do you think?" But before I let him say anything I said, "I think we should just do it." Un-natural give-in #2. He quickly responded, "Remember, the birth plan was just for the ideal, but the most important thing is that you're healthy and Denzel is healthy. It'll be ok, I'm right here. I love you." I married a true gem. I even get teary-eyed writing this.

A C-section was my worst enemy. It was everything I didn't want, everything I worked so hard against, everything I told myself for 12-weeks of Bradley Method class I could definitely avoid. But after hearing Patrick say those things, my mourning INSTANTLY turned to hope. I threw in my towel, but I was no less of a woman, not a failure. I mean, I did just labor for 43 hard hours and pushed for more than an hour. This time around I just had to be flexible. I told my doctor, "Ok, I trust your judgement. Let's do this." She repeated, "You worked so hard..." and continued to affirm that what I was doing and what I had already done was no less than the best I could possibly do.

The doctor said, "Okay, I'm going to go change and I'll meet you in the delivery room." I'm glad she didn't say operating room. Somehow that was just a better word choice. In wizzed about 6 doctors and nurses telling me about anesthesia, the possible complications of surgery, what the process was going to be like...I can't even tell you a word they said. All I know is I was STILL having super duper contractions, signing papers (sort of-scribbling is more like it), and just praying they would hurry up with the meds so I could get some relief. I mean, I finally decided on medication (obviously you have to with a C-section) and they couldn't stop the pain from the contractions?! If that's not an atrocity to modern medicine, I don't know what is. Then in the blink of an eye, everyone is gone, even Patrick-who looked like he was going into outer space when he left the room-that was one crazy outfit they made him wear. ARE YOU JOKING ME?! I'm still having these god-forsaken contractions and no one is here with me?! Hello?! You need ME to operate on! I'm your patient! About the minute these thoughts formed in my mind one nurse came in and whisked me away.

I know I've said it a bunch before, but remember, at this point I'm still having contractions. So I manage to get on the operating table, and I'm sitting on one side of my bum. Those of you who have been pregnant probably understand you can't exactly sit in the middle. Well, in order to get the spinal I had to. So somehow I sat straight. In go the three shots. Ow. Contractions start to fade away. PRAISE. THE. LORD. Before I know it, I'm laying down with the drape set in place and the anesthesiologist and I are chatting. Love Shack is playing in the background. Don't ask me how I remember that. Oh wait, I know why-I was singing to it. I felt so good I was singing to Love Shack. Awesome. Can't believe I almost forgot that :) So they finally bring Patrick in. I'm pretty sure its him because he still looks like he's going to outer space in that suit. A few minutes later baby Denzel Brennan Jones is born. He's crying-a good sign, and then was taken right away to suction out all the meconium and goop. Patrick goes with him and they keep him for what seems like forever. Finally they bring him to me. I'm totally in awe. Totally in awe and a little bit in denial. Is this really my child? He's perfect.

After they close me up I'm sent to recovery where Patrick and Denzel are waiting. We're a family, it's wonderful.     <--Stefani brought me a cookie that says "One tough cookie."

Skip ahead one day and a nurse comes in my room and says, "Your pulse is kind of high." I look at her, "Ok?" Nothing more is said about that. The rest of the day apparently all the nurses and doctors were keeping an eye on my heart rate. Around dinner time Patrick took Amy to the airport and ran home really quick to grab some more clothes. At the exact moment he stepped away a nurse came in to inform me that my doctor was worried about my heart rate and I would be admitted to the cardiac floor. I said, "Ok," a little confused. "The only problem is," she says, "baby can't go with you. He has to stay here." I look at her blankly like I don't understand where this came from. "A lab tech will be in soon to take some blood samples and then to take you to the second floor." "I'd like to wait until my husband comes back." She's hesitant to wait but finally agrees after I insist that he'll be back any minute now. (I knew it would be at least 30-he hadn't been gone long). Just then the lab tech comes in and is ready to move me. I told her I'm waiting for my husband to come back and she asks how long he'll be. "He'll be back real soon. Any minute now." Yeah right, I didn't even get a chance to call him yet. She takes my blood and says, "Ok...I'm going to go 'look through' your file (wink wink) to see if there's anything I need to know." In other words, I'm going to stall so the person that gave me these orders doesn't bother us. I'm so grateful for her. The nurse and lab tech leave for a second and I'm crying, I'm mad, I can't leave. Why is this birth NOTHING like I had planned it to go? I already had a c-section, now this. I called Patrick, I was still crying, and the machine that was monitoring my heart rate starts beeping like an ER patient on the show House. Stupid machine, I HATE you. You're the reason this whole thing is messed up. It keeps beeping, just making me more mad, which triggers more tears, more beeping...it's a terrible cycle. The lab tech comes in again because the machine is going crazy and says, "Wow, that's annoying." And turns it off. She says, "Why do you think your heart rate is so high?" Probably not a good thing to ask me at this point. And, I get snappy. "Because I was just told I can't be with my baby. That's why." She wasn't very empathetic. "Well, this started before they told you that, right?" Lady. If I didn't have witnesses around you would be in a world of hurt right now. Oh, this is the mama bear instinct-I see.

I proceed telling the many nurses that come in my room that my husband will be here "really really soon" and somehow manage to keep them at bay. Patrick comes rushing in finally (seemed like it took forever to me) and I explain everything to him in tears. Of course, like he's been for the past 70 hours, he is my rock. He didn't look bothered, he didn't look flustered, he was only supportive. "We'll get this figured out," he says. I find out later-after we leave the hospital-that as soon as I called him he flew (almost literally) to the hospital. Dropped everything, and drove 90 in the HOV lane during rush hour on the 60. Oy. Thanks Lord for keeping him safe. I don't know what I would've done had something happened to Patrick.

Someone must have been carefully watching my room because the moment Patrick got there nurses flooded the small little space. Then I'm informed I probably won't be able to breastfeed for a while because of the dye they're going to inject me with for all these tests. Oh yeah, and by the way, we're going to sacrifice your first born...well, that's what it felt like. They wheeled me in my bed, and Patrick wheeled D in his clear box crib thing. We parted where the nursery was, the two of them going into the nursery and I on my way to the cardiac floor. I cried, of course. The nurse wheeling me away tried to make small talk but I don't think I answered any of her questions. I just kept thinking, "He needs his mom. He needs his mom. There's nothing wrong with me."

They take me directly to a test. I don't even remember which one. Over the course of 20 hours I had 2 EKGs, a CT scan of my lungs to check for blood clots, an ultrasound of my hugely swollen legs to check for blood clots, ecocardiogram of my heart and all its valves, TONS of blood taken, vitals every few hours, and probably other stuff I forgot about.

Back to my room...the first dr. I see I think is an intern or something. He rubs salt in the wound-apparently they don't teach empathy in med school. It must just be a social work thing. "Ms. Jones, you should probably not breastfeed for a while until we know what effects these tests will have." I'm a social worker and a mom who will not give up, plus I read between the lines. These people don't even know all the tests they're going to run on me yet. "Well, what specifically is bad for the baby? I'll breastfeed until I need to take that test." I receive no clear response. Poor intern, they sent him into the wolves den. He doesn't get anywhere with me. "Sorry, I'm feeding my newborn. So please let me know if something is harmful to him, and I'll stop, but not until then." He leaves my room. I'm wheeled away again for another test. I do some detective work of my own. "Do you know if the dye for this CT scan is bad when you're breastfeeding?" "You know, I don't think so, but let me ask the tech. She'll definitely know." I'm waiting outside the room and he goes in to ask the tech. A ray of sunshine, finally. "She says the iodine goes so quickly through your system you can breastfeed by the time you get back to your room." Thank you, Lord. Finally something goes right. See, don't listen to the intern that doesn't know. I have the test done, and go to another test, then finally back to my room. Patrick is waiting for me. I love him so much. All my tests come back negative, and its just the two of us. He already had all our stuff put in my room. Then he tells me about the arrangement he made with downstairs. He insisted that D and myself be together. It's vital for bonding and breastfeeding. He arranged for D to come up to my room with a nurse periodically so he could eat and we could spend some time with one another. Let me explain what the nursery agreed to:

Every time Patrick requested to take Denzel to my room, they would find a nurse who was otherwise not busy, go to the security desk, deactivate his baby security tag so they could leave the area, wheel him up to the second floor, and stay outside my room until our "time" was up (usually 1 hour). Then Patrick and the nurse would go back to the nursery, tell security they're back which would then reactivate his security tag. Patrick got them to agree to all of this, and they did it 4+ times a day. Talk about moving mountains. He also managed to make friends with the lactation consultants, who would leave the first floor-with ALL the new mothers, and come with the baby, the nurse who was otherwise not very busy, and Patrick to my room, to help me with breastfeeding. To say "I could not have done this without him" would be a grave understatement.  <--In my room with all the heart monitors hooked up to me.

This post is already really long, so I won't bore you with more details of my tests. Basically what it came down to was they did test after test after test, only to find that I had a high heart rate...and that's it. The contracted specialist from Banner Baywood/Heart Hospital (I wonder how much they're charging my insurance for his 5 min. consult) explained everything to me. "All your tests have come back normal. Your pulse has been elevated for a while, and the number is high. But maybe that's just your heart's normal rate under such circumstances." He also asked me a million questions and my case seemed to perplex him. Oh well. All I heard was, "You're in the clear." But of course they had to do one more test, just in case. An ultrasound of my heart to make sure it was in working order. Seems to me that should have been the one and only test to do, and more immediately...like the first test? Whatever, I'm not a doctor. So I'm finally cleared to take a shower-to wash away the 43 hours of labor, sweat and nasty hairdo I've got going on. Never loved a shower so much. I take my shower and hop back into bed. They wheel me to the test room. The lady doing my ultrasound is pregnant with twins. So we chat about my horrendous labor, she tells me about her two girls (not yet born), and then says, "Your heart looks great. All the valves are working, its perfect. I don't see why they wouldn't clear you to go back to the Women and Infant floor." Ahhhh. Wonderful.

Again I'm wheeled back to my room, and D and Patrick are waiting for me. My sweet baby boy. We spend over an hour together and the nurse starts to give us the countdown, "10 more minutes." I had already told Patrick I was in the clear and my ultrasound came back perfectly...but I needed the ok from a doc to be moved back to the other floor. Patrick goes outside my room and is gone for a few minutes. Next thing I know, the floor manager is coming in, nurses and CNAs are coming in. They're all telling me they're trying to expedit my test results to a dr. for approval. Whatdoyaknow? Five minutes later I've got a wheelchair, cart for all our stuff and people to transport us. My loving husband had a little...chat...with the floor manager. It boiled down to, "The baby doesn't leave until we all go together. We've been waiting over an hour for clear test results to be approved by a doctor." He says that's the nice version :) I imagine he was just firm, not rude. Patrick is never rude to people. Me? Well...

Anyway, we make it back down to Women and Infants and I'm cleared to leave that night if we absolutely would like. We both decide we need one night to regather our sanity and we'll leave tomorrow. The next day we say our goodbyes, pay the hospital copay and are on our way.  <-- No pictures mom, just take me home.

It seemed so unreal-walking in our house, with our family of three now. We walked out just two and now we're two and a little guy :)

Life since then, as you can imagine has been a rollercoaster. I came home with all but 6 lbs of pregnancy weight, no sleep...and sort of had a meltdown. For the first two nights home, D woke up every 50 minutes to eat. Patrick jerked awake about every hour looking for a baby in our bed, even though he doesn't sleep with us. He dreamt that he rolled over him while he was asleep. We somehow pulled through. Now sleep is a little more consistent, we're sort of getting the swing of things, but the most incredible change is the love we feel for this blessing. He is nothing short of a miracle. And I stare at him daily wondering what I've done to be entrusted with this gorgeous life. He is perfect. And he reminds me of my priorities constantly. I kiss him all the time, smile when he smiles and pray over him when he sleeps. I love my beautiful boy, and I would go through it all again to experience this-right here. They say your life will change forever. My love, you have changed my life in the most beautiful way I cannot even describe. We love you Denzel.