The Birth Story, Vol. 2

The newest member of our family has arrived. Emerson Xavier Jones was born on 4/25/15 at 12:58pm. We are all so in love with this little guy, and I find it amazing how he perfectly completes our family. So here is the story of how Emerson joined us:

Friday, April 24, 2015

I went to my scheduled OB appointment, and at that point was 3 days overdue. Not a big deal for me--I was overdue with Denzel so I was sort of expecting it with this little one. My doctor said he looked great, there was plenty of fluid still, but he wanted to measure him again. Got an ultrasound measurement, and the doctor kept saying what a large baby he was. But it wasn't in a joking way like every time before. He was genuinely concerned, and he's not one for scare tactics or getting worried. He's socially awkward, research-based, anything but outwardly emotional-my doctor, that is. He put in the measurements of baby's torso, femur, and head, and the ultrasound spit out this ungodly number: 11lbs. 11oz. I'm sorry, WHAT?! I'm very research-based when it comes to birth, Immunizations, and all things relating to my children. Everything I know about ultrasounds this late in pregnancy says they're highly inaccurate-and doc also confirmed this is true. But the worry just got worse. He started telling me that he's concerned about delivering this baby vaginally because of his size. He told me every risk in the book: shoulder dystocia , Erb's palsy, a clavicle break. He told me about every maneuver we could do to deliver a baby with shoulder dystocia and honestly the only one I remember in my emotional state was...ready for this...pushing the baby back in and doing an emergency c section. I'm sure there were others, but my mind only remembers that one. He talked to me about a myriad of other things, including death, but do you know what my decision maker was in the end? Rectal incontinence. Meaning I would no longer be in control of my own pooping. You have got to be kidding me!! See because tears that serious (from my large baby) would be a big deal. He said *if* I could even deliver vaginally I would be guaranteed some sort of tearing. That didn't scare me, the rectal incontinence did. I mean, for God's sakes I just barely turned 30! He said if he were making the choice, he would walk me across the street to the hospital and have the c-section that day. I was devastated. I started crying, in a tears-falling-only, quiet sort of way. Doc didn't know at all how to handle that so he said he would give me a minute and stepped out. I immediately started texting Patrick thru my tear-filled eyes. I could hardly see if what I was writing made any sense. I felt like my dream of VBACing was shattered, and this idea of a beautiful, natural, reasonable-amount-of-time-in-labor childbirth-the one I didn't get the first time-wasn't going to happen...again. The fight in me blew away with the gust of the door closing as my doctor left me alone, crying, and totally devastated. I have to stop for a moment just to say that my OB is a good doctor and a good man. I just recognize that he doesn't have the social ability to help me cope with what I was going through. I'm not bitter, and you shouldn't be either. He's not a bad person, his specialty is medicine. But what I was going thru was not something you deal with alone. I'm a social worker, a pregnant, emotional social worker. I could care less about statistics and the objectivity of medicine at that point. So a couple of minutes go by and he comes back in. He said, well, what do you want to do? I told him I have to talk it over with Patrick (who by that time was blowing up my phone with missed calls and texts) and want the weekend to think about it. He was pretty insistent about scheduling a c-section for Monday, and when I asked for Tuesday, he said canceling is far easier than setting up a time. I felt stuck. If this baby didn't come over the weekend, how was I going to cancel a c-section when the office is closed on the weekend. I felt so stuck, but still so devastated. I didn't fight it like I normally would have. 

He kind of motioned for me to follow him out of the room, and then went up to the front desk nurse and quietly said, "Will you schedule a c-section for her for Monday?" The nurse loudly said, "You want me to schedule an ELECTIVE c-section for Monday?" Bulls-eye. She hit my button and down went the tears. All the nurses just sort of looked at me. They didn't understand at all why I was crying. In their mind a c-section was a way better choice. Why deal with the pain? If that's your view on childbirth, great. It's not mine. Empathy is not pushing your own views on someone else. Its understanding what the other person values, and taking their perspective, regardless of what you believe. There is NO empathy in that office, particularly with those nurses (whom I loathe, and I could write a whole other post on). Not good people. So they went on and on, as I'm crying, about how at least I'll get my baby (as opposed to giving him away?!), and c-sections are way less painful (Recovery time? Complications of major surgery??). Then one nurse started telling me details of what time to be at the hospital, when to stop eating, blah blah. I heard nothing, so I asked her to write it down for me. Who's going to remember details in a moment like this, come on. This other nurse said, "Yeah she's in denial, better write everything down." Let's just take a moment of silence here for all the a-holes out there who verbally kick someone in the back **WHILE THEY ARE CRYING IN FRONT OF YOU** Truly heartless. Well jerk, if you knew anything you would know that denial is denying something. It's saying, "No, this isn't happening." My tears are indicating that I'm starting to accept it but I'm going through loss of what I had planned. So not only are you the most insensitive person I've met, you're clearly the dumbest. Moving on. 

So I walk out of the office, tears still running down my face, get in my car and start sobbing. Big sobbing. I called Patrick and could barely talk I was so upset. I was at a loss for what to think, what to do regarding c-section or trying for a VBAC, but one thing I was for sure- I was infuriated at those jerks some call nurses. Infuriated is a polite word for it. I'll try to keep my cussing to a minimum :) Patrick instantly said, "Do you want me to meet you somewhere? Where? I'll come to you." Somehow I made it home and he walked in. Water works again, and a rehash of the conversation I just had with the doctor. Patrick just listened, just reassured me that everything would be okay, and our baby is in no immediate danger so we don't have to make any decisions right now. I didn't like that answer-I wanted to figure out what we were going to do so I could be okay with our decision over time. You see, I need time to get used to an idea. It was that way with getting married, with changing my name, with deciding to get pregnant, with being pregnant the first time, with being a parent for the first time...it's who I am. If you want me on board, tell me your fabulous idea, give me some time to think it over and then I'll be 100% with you. 

We decided to "shelf" this decision and just go spend some alone time the two of us. We ate a delicious meal at a new restaurant we'd been wanting to try in Long Beach, then walked around Second street to have fun (and maybe start labor). I did a tiny bit of shopping, and we went to my favorite coffee place. I splurged and got a decaf dirty chai, Patrick got tea, and we shared a beautiful little raspberry tart. We sat outside on the patio, and just took in the scenery. It was a gorgeous day, and we had alone time-just the two of us. We talked a little about what to do about the birth again and came to the conclusion that we would let labor happen on its own but keep a very open mind after that point. That felt so much better to me than to schedule a c-section. At least that way I would feel like baby is ready to be born if labor happens on its own. Be flexible Andrea. Be flexible. That's what parenting is really all about. I enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with my love, then I went to pick up Denzel from school. I remember praying throughout the day, "Lord, what do I do? Tell me what to do about this. I don't want to be so stuck on this VBAC that I risk my baby's health or my own, but I don't want to just listen to medical advice if it doesn't feel right. What do I do. Give me wisdom." And you know the only response I got? "I will be with you." Doesn't that sound sweet? I will be with you. Well, not really. More frustrating than anything else (in my short-sidedness). "That's nice, Lord, I appreciate that you will be with me, I know that, I believe that...but tell me what to do." Didn't get any more than that though. 

Saturday, April 25, 2015

1:45am

I was literally kicked awake. Baby kicked me so hard I thought someone punched me, and then a pretty strong contraction followed. I was hopeful, but not anxious because I'd had contractions for literally a month on and off. Obviously none of them strong enough to start labor, although a few felt like they should have. Well, this was actually it. Contractions started five minutes apart, then quickly went to three. They were strong, and it was clear this labor was progressing much faster than Denzel (42 hours). Hallelujah! Amy, Patrick's sister was going to be my doula and she came over at some point. Don't ask me what time. She was soooooo helpful. Amy helped me relax more, massaged me, and was a presence and huge encouragement all the way. Patrick was also helpful...but he started cleaning :) ...I think he was gearing up to last another two days like was our first experience. Around 7am, Denzel woke up, and ate breakfast. Patrick got him ready and took him to his parents' house, then came back home. Amy and Patrick switched off being with me, and around 10? labor got serious. I was in the bathtub and just remember "this might be it." But it wasn't. Patrick asked me a couple of times if I wanted to stay home or go to the hospital. I think we finally decided to go around 11 or so. I also remember very specifically telling them both that if I get to the hospital and I'm dilated 8-9, I might let labor play out. If I'm only 5-6, I WILL be getting a c-section. They both said its fine, and helped me to the car. It probably took me 10 minutes to get in the car because I had to stop for every contraction. Then the car ride-always my favorite part...not. Is it just me, or is riding in the car torturous when you're in labor? 

We get to the hospital and they offer me a wheelchair. My instinct says walk so I try and get like ten steps in another ten minutes. Every other hospital employee offers a wheelchair and finally I take one. Again, sitting down, torturous. My eyes were closed the entire time but I was well aware of what was being said all around me, pillow in face trying to breathe thru each blasted contraction. Why isn't this baby coming now?? I get in a room and they ask for a pee sample. Are you f-ing kidding me?! This is not a doctors appointment. I'm in heavy labor. Check my cervix you wretched woman! These were only thoughts thankfully. So I say, no pee, and climb on the bed. They strap me to two monitors-why they pull those bands so tight I'll never know! Baby looks good-duh. Baby always looks good, it's me who's a hot mess. So she checks my cervix and I feel like it takes forever. FOR-E-VER. Have you done this before?! Finally I hear, "5-6 and the head is way up there." DONE. I'M DONE. I'M DONE I'M DONE I'M DONE. "I'd like a c-section please." Yes, I recall saying please. Patrick and Amy both look at me. They let me choose, and I did, and I told them I would. The nurse seemed a little confused because I just got there. Patrick explained about my doctors appointment the day before, and nurse wacko suddenly went into hyperactive mode. I wasn't sure if we were having an earthquake and she was panicking, or what was going on. Everything became, "I'm going to do paperwork later your in pain, I'm going to prep you!" Then like a flurry, she got my IV started, jammed a catheter in me (which later I recall being forcefully unnecessary), had me sign waivers-which again-really?! I get it's a legal thing, but geez. We were just waiting on the doctor, which wasn't going to be my doctor, his partner was on call. I asked when she'd be here-contractions still strong and still every minute or two apart. They kept saying she lives close. That's code for, she'll get here when she gets here. Finally doc walks in (during a contraction) and she's chipper. She's cheery. I want to punch her in the face. No happiness in this room, thanks. I made my decision, get this kid out. I recall feeling that way with Denzel too :) It's like, once you've crossed the line, you're attitude totally changes from "I can do this natural childbirth thing." to "Let's get down to business and get rid of these contractions." Finally they wheel me into the operating room, and attempt to do my spinal. Always difficult, not because of the needles (that is by far the easiest part of any of the process). It's difficult because I'm having contractions the entire time, and I can hardly sit on both butt cheeks (required for your spine to be straight, and the needles to go in). So I lean on nurse wacko, and the anesthesiologist explains every little thing he's doing. This is one situation where I actually don't need informed consent, dude. Just do it, and hurry up. Doctor on call comes in again to say hi in her cheery voice, but I was faced away from her. At this point, I haven't even seen the doctor that's going to slice me open. Meh. They put the spinal in and practically slam me down on the bed-I'm assuming they were afraid I'd go limp right away and they'd be left with deadweight to move. Patrick eventually comes in, and like he does, starts joking around with all the people in the operating room. But its okay now. I've got my spinal, can't feel any more contractions, I'm ready for baby. I make small talk with various people, including my doctor who decided to come in and assist ::ha ha:: See, he's a good guy. It was the weekend after all. 

So they get past a few fleshy layers, and Patrick tells me that when she broke the bag of waters it was like a geyser, going up above the sheet they set up in front of my face. I did remember her apologizing at the end to everyone she squirt-after Patrick told me the story it made perfect sense. Then I was told while they take the baby out it would feel like someone stepping on my chest. Ok, no biggie. So it did. And it kept going and going and going. I remember this being the quick part last time. I look at Patrick, who is watching the whole thing. "Is everything ok?" "Huh?" "Is everything ok? Why is it taking so long?" "It's fine." Later I find out the two doctors together had a really hard time getting him out. They used a vacuum and it just popped off. Then they couldn't get a hold of him, he was just too big and too wedged. 

Finally, FINALLY they got him out and took him to the warmer. Emerson was all cleaned off, and right in my sight which I appreciated. I said, "How big is he?" My doctor said, "That's the question we all want to know." Everyone kind of laughed. I said, "No one more than me!" After what seemed like forever, the numbers appeared, again where I could see...what was that...the nurse said, "11 pounds 13 ounces." "Are you sure your scale is right?!" I said. Again, everyone in the operating room sort of chuckled. Then we proceeded to talk for the next several minutes about how a non-gestational diabetes pregnancy resulted in an enormous baby! Particularly because Patrick and I are such large people ha ha. My doctor (remember socially awkward and sort of nerdy as far as research and that stuff goes) says with great satisfaction, "Oh good, I made a good recommendation." Then he talked to the other doctor about all the risks he informed me of, and the ones he was really concerned about. She agreed with him, and a couple of the attendants confirmed that I made the right choice to c-section. I knew I had. Somehow. 

Things started to slow down as they patched me up, and Patrick asked if Emerson could do skin to skin with me. The nurse said it was fine, and they put him on me...for a long time. I didn't get that with Denzel. It was amazing. I didn't even pay attention to what they were doing behind the curtain. Then they were about done, and Patrick asked if Emerson could be in recovery with me. The nurse was hesitant in a way that was like well, I've never done that before, but I have no reason to say no...and she said, "um, yeah I guess that's fine." Excellent! He really hasn't been away from me since :)


Recovery has been a little challenging, and life with two kids has been a little challenging. But I really feel incredibly grateful for my little family. It's amazing how you can look into the eyes of your children, and your spouse and think there is nothing better than this-this right here. No doubt we'll come across tough days and seasons in life. But in this very moment, I relish in the life that God has blessed me with. Welcome to the family, sweet Emerson :)