Sebastian's Birth Story

As we approached our due date comments like, "oh your delivery never goes as planned," were near daily.  I knew this, but in the back of my mind I thought if I just considered worst case scenario, then I would have a blissful delivery.  Ha!  I was so wrong it's almost comical.

We kept quiet about our pregnancy until we returned from our {belated} honeymoon to Australia.  While the prospect of spending weeks RV'ing around the outback foreign country already didn't sit well with my parents, the idea of a pregnancy didn't seem like a smart detail to reveal, just yet.  This was relatively easy, to be quite honest.  I never really had the typical pregnancy symptoms beyond the point of disguise.  Of course I was occasionally nauseous, and I turned into a champion sleeper... this wasn't anything that my colleagues or friends were easily able to pick up on.  Thankfully, I was kissed by some pregnancy god in that I didn't experience morning sickness like is so readily spoken about.  In fact, I think I only got sick once... while brushing my teeth.  That I'll say wasn't something I anticipated- brushing my teeth was the single most difficult task I had to do daily.  It was awful.  Australia was also, generally a breeze, as we explored almost as we would have had I not been pregnant.  We hiked level five trails, took boat tours, snorkeled with manta rays and whale sharks, we camped more than three weeks in a campervan (some nights in the deep outback without electricity) and never did we feel like we were shortchanging our adventure.  Of course, as the weeks grew on, I needed to better disguise my stomach in photos as I was beginning to show.

We returned from our honeymoon and were ready to let our news be known.  We already knew the gender of our baby and so the dynamic of letting others know that not only were we FIVE MONTHS pregnant, we also already knew we were expecting a son.  Reactions of our friends and family didn't get old as we revealed our best secret to date.

Pregnancy continued to move along swimmingly, as we repainted and DIY'ed a nursery for our sweet boy.  During months five and six summer came to a close and a new school year began.  I prepared my classroom, and reassured colleagues that no, I in fact did not over indulge in pizza and beer over the summer months.

Month seven hit me like a ton of bricks.  I failed my glucose tolerance test, twice.  My fate was obvious, despite the breezy pregnancy.  I had a really hard time accepting it.  I didn't want to believe that I'd spend the rest of my pregnancy checking my blood sugar, limiting sugar and typical pregnancy indulgences- including my craving of orange juice.  I attending gestational diabetes courses and learned to be a temporary diabetic. I quickly learned the ins and outs of health insurance and probably developed a working relationship with a pharmacist for the first time in my life.

It was about the time that I got the hang of gestational diabetes when I was facing symptoms of pre-eclampsia.  My weekly doctor appointments rapidly turned into every-four-day appointments in order to keep tabs on my declining health.  Growth scans and stress tests became a state of normalcy.  I was quickly realizing that I would not have a December delivery.

I had a routine appointment on Monday afternoon after work at 4:00pm.  Initially, I was called back for the vitals they took each and every visit by a student in training.  Upon realizing my results she {unprofessional} revealed her panic. Although, I didn't need the assistance of her ignorant remarks to understand exactly what was happening.  The very thing we were waiting for; the hammer if you will.  My proteins were elevated to +2 now, and my heart rate was also continuing to climb.  I was sent to the lobby to (be forgotten about) wait for the stress test.  When I was called back I was a bit annoyed to recognize yet another unfamiliar face, "I'm {the NP}'s assistant," she remarked and immediately I began to unravel.  The first three-five minutes of the stress test was inconclusive as we were monitoring MY heartbeat instead of my baby boy's.  I laid there for an additional 30 minutes holding back tears, as I was sure this was the beginning of the end of my pregnancy.  This tiny galloping heartbeat was my only comfort.  My stress test concluded with awkward small talk, as I suppose the demise of my health wasn't something the NP could reveal to me.  She sent me for blood work.  The nurse was the same one that had taken my blood four days prior and struggled.  Needless to say, she couldn't find my vein and I let go.  I sobbed.  Here I knew in my heart I was facing labor and delivery any day and I couldn't handle the pain as she rooted the needle around in my elbow fold.  She remarked, "oh does this hurt?" and my nerves unraveled.  "Uh, is it obvious from the tears on my face?" I was no longer in a mental position to be polite.  The clock was approaching 5:40pm, nurses and staff were nearly all gone and here I sat with an older nurse that couldn't find my so apparent veins.  It was her last remark, "oh honey are you worried about your health.  Don't worry, everything will be ok." that confirmed my own conclusions and sent me on an emotional spiral.  I just wanted out of the office.  I remember her nervously remarking that she would need to get the results back STAT and someone would be in touch with me in the morning.  I called Micha on my drive home and just sobbed as he begged me to pull over and get my shit together before driving home.  I lied as I claimed I was parked, and continued the drive to meet a former colleague from NC for dinner.

Tuesday morning 9:00am my cell phone rang, and at this point I recognized the education nurse's phone number... I answered.  Mind you, seventeen children were now eavesdropping on the news I already knew in my heart, as my emotions just teetered on the edge of my sanity.  Nurse Sandy was asking that I make it to the office as soon as possible, today, because I was most likely having a baby before Thanksgiving (less than 48 hours out).  I let nurse Sandy know that I had plans for a special ceremony for my students planned, and I just couldn't miss school... I would be available just as soon as school concluded instead. We agreed to a 4:00pm appointment.  I informed Micha and that's when the emotions flooded my mind and tears welled up in my eyes.  It was happening.  I was having a baby today.  I just knew.  I mean, your entire pregnancy you realize that at one point (about 9 months later) you'd have to now deliver the baby.  I knew this was my fate, but the idea of labor and delivery was so heavy.  I found myself looking around the school and silently congratulating all of the women I knew had (clearly) survived labor.  I was pepping myself up.  I could do this... pain is temporary, right?

I arrived at the doctor's office on time.  Micha, not so much.  He was running 5 minutes behind and I really wish I had been a fly in his car.  I'm certain it was straight out of a movie.  Him, speeding, trying to get to the doctor's office before I delivered our child.  Rationally, we both knew I wasn't falling into the emergency delivery category, but the relief on his face when he walked into the office to find me sitting in the lobby told on him.  He sat down letting me know how sorry he was and that he was so sure he was missing everything.  He didn't miss much more than me getting called back to give my vitals, and again I knew they were still climbing and my health was deteriorating.  I knew that they had fit me in, and as the lobby emptied and the time grew late I began to resolve with myself that I must not be as bad off as I had built up in my mind.  I was going to be alright.. maybe everyone was over reacting for no reason.  Finally, we were called back by the doctor's assistant.  We were told that I had already dilated 1.5 cm and we would need to check into the hospital pretty soon to be induced for labor.  Our questions were answered, the {seemingly} most important one being, "but can I eat a cheeseburger before reporting to the hospital?"  A resounding "YES," was music to my ears as he confirmed I wouldn't be able to eat again for a while and I should enjoy it.

We arrived at the hospital at 9:00pm to check in and get settled.  I have a bit of anxiety of hospitals, and while I was changing into my gown (noting to myself this would be the outfit I would be wearing when I meet my baby boy) and settling into the hospital bed I was consumed with a calm I cannot interpret.  Yes, I was terrified out of my mind- thoughts racing, eyes scanning the equipment, I was surveying the emergency precautions ready around the room and trying my best to just breathe.  But I was calm.  It's so hard to describe.  If I didn't acknowledge the small bassinet in the corner I didn't have to realize my own fate, right? The intake nurses were very kind, and an easy distraction from my own thoughts.  They seamlessly placed my IV (and I silently cursed the blood draw nurse from the night before) and gave me the first round of my dissolving pill to induce labor.  I would receive another dissolving pill every four hours for the next 13 hours or so.  The following morning, my labor wasn't progressing quickly enough, as I was only 2 cm and Pitocin was started.

Micha and I played cards and watched "Big Bang Theory" to pass the time.  I ate red popsicles until there were no more.  I consumed so much water I couldn't believe the thirst! Every hour Pitocin was increased, thus intensifying contractions.  It was mid afternoon and about 17 hours into labor that I decided I'd had enough of the pain and I was ready for the epidural.  Two older men, maybe my father's age, administered the epidural, and I have to be honest when I say that it hurt less than the nurse the previous night at placing my IV hurt.  I was in disbelief that in the midst of labor something so powerful and relieving of pain could be so easily initiated.  The men spoke with us about one of their recent trips to Germany.  We spoke at large about a German castle outside of Munich.  The epidural kicked in quickly and I was able to take a nap, only to be interrupted hourly to increase Pitocin.  I encouraged Micha to go have dinner, as I was certain by the time I had this baby the cafeteria would be closed and he would surely starve to death.  He obliged and even brought me back a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that we hid.  A peanut butter and jelly sandwich would be my midnight snack; a prize if you will.

The hours that followed left little progression, even despite my water being broken at 19 hours into labor.  I was sure that my epidural was working, as I began feeling pain again. I was very uncomfortable and growing impatient with the process. Not to mention, I heard a woman in delivery and decided that I was sure going to die in the coming hours, because she was certainly dying according to her yelps.  I asked for my epidural to be adjusted.  It wasn't long before my epidural was adjusted and I was getting some relief.  My doctor returned to report that I still wasn't progressing like they would prefer, and it was time to abandon measures and surrender to a c-section.  He explained that it was increasingly apparent that my body simply wasn't large enough to accommodate a natural delivery; he didn't see a point in continuing to stress my body, when in the end we would have to delivery via c-section.

Exactly what I feared.

The next bit it a blurr.  I remember some carefully crafted sentences to my doctor.  First of which was, "You do not have permission to use staples to close my incision."  You see, I had obsessed a bit leading up to labor and delivery that I watched all kinds of videos on YouTube (including the doctor's guide to a c-section) and taken any and all classes offered by the hospital.  He assured me he would not use staples, and before I gave the go ahead I just needed to add in, "You are however, welcome to preform a tummy tuck while you're at it!"  He didn't find that as funny as I did in the moment.  I guess nerves brings out my jokes.  I asked how long it would be before we were in the OR, and to my surprise, he responded, "twenty minutes."  I gave my "ok," and signed some emergency paperwork. Just like that the room was a whirl of nurses preforming their rehearsed tasks, the doctors and anesthesiologist prepping for the looming surgery.  Micha was dressed in blues before I knew it, and we were a go.  My bed was rolled into the OR and the only familiar faces were the anesthesiologist and my nurse.  I helped them scoot my body onto the operating table and before long my body was being prepped and I was talking myself into the single scariest medical situation I'd encountered to date.  The anesthesiologist's assistant must have noticed my anxiety as he was extra reassuring... you see Micha isn't  invited into the OR until seconds before the c-section begins.  I was prepped,  compression cuffs were placed on my legs and covered with a warm blanket, a cover was hung so I couldn't see.  My body slowly took to the medication, and while I was still certain I'd feel everything I was reassured.  Except, what they don't tell you is that you DO feel everything, just not the pain associated with the procedure.  The surgical team had their pep talk, and the doctor pronounced my last name correctly, I would have applauded him, but in the moment that didn't seem exactly appropriate.

Micha was invited back into the room, and while he tried his best to look calm, I knew he wasn't any more calm than me.  At this point my arms were convulsing and I admitted I was going to be sick.  Shots were administered and I got that lovely smelly swab under my nose.  Oxygen was added and it was officially time to cut.

I felt it.

Four layers of cutting.

Except it was a strange sensation, as I didn't feel pain.  It was as though I was super tough and could handle anything... but it was all the drugs.  My jittery arms and nauseousness gave me away.  At one point I remember Micha sitting down close to my head, and later learned that he too was feeling ill.  I laid, petrified, as I tried to decipher what was happening to my body in real time.  Our doctor announced something and I remember Micha being encouraged to look.  Meanwhile, I recall thinking about a scene from Aliens and immediately trying to hurry myself to think of something else, anything else while my baby boy was being born... but I was literally feeling the sensation of him being pulled from my body.  Just seconds, that felt like the longest minutes, later we heard his wet lunged cry.  I breathed a sigh of relief and collected myself when my concentration was interrupted by laughter.  Micha and the doctor announced that my son was peeing all over me as he was being held up for Micha to see.  Micha was invited to join the nurses as Sebastian was cleaned up and his airway was cleared.  In this moment, I cannot recall even if Micha cut the umbilical cord. (I'll have to ask him.)  Finally, Sebastian's chubby cheeks were pressed against mine.  I remember time just stalling.  He cried and I couldn't comfort him aside from wrapping my only free arm around his tiny body as Micha held him near.  We were in awe.  Finally, our boy was here at 10:59 pm on Wednesday, November 21, 2018.

The nurse, bless her, stood on a chair to get some photos for us before instructing Micha to leave the room and wait for me in recovery.  There they went and I tried my best to keep back tears.  My baby and my husband were getting some time to bond and I wasn't there to see it.  It totally broke me.  Meanwhile, I was being stitched together again.  Yes, I felt the pokes and pulls of the stitches.  It was nauseating. I remember the nurses scurrying around and mopping the floor.  I'm so glad I couldn't see the floor.  Finally, I was being wheeled through dimly lit rooms that lead into other rooms until I heard a familiar voice.  Micha, chatting with Sebastian.  I couldn't help but sigh a big breath of relief.

We were fine.

We were all ok.

We made it out alive.

Recovery was the tiniest of rooms, enough for my bed, a computer and a couple chairs.  We sat there in awe of our boy as he rested on my chest.  I attempted breastfeeding, they said it would come to me, but man it was so uncoordinated and sloppy.  I didn't care.  I couldn't stop staring at him and telling myself over and over that he was ours.  This was our tiny baby we had waited for.

  

My whole life I'd been waiting for him.

My heart burst, over and over again.

I recall feeling like I had the worst hangover and insisting on a Diet Coke.  I needed that Coke.  It was then that I was told I couldn't have soda or anything to eat for a while in case I needed to go back to surgery for internal bleeding.  I drank my water, begrudgingly... I was so hungry. Of course, it didn't take much to distract me.  We were soon moved to our room.  Hour after hour we were monitored for vitals, blood sugar and temperature.  The first night was an absolute blur and little sleep happened.  I didn't want to let go of my baby boy.

The following morning we ate breakfast together and watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade together, me and my family of three.  I couldn't image a more perfect way to spend Thanksgiving.

I was so thankful, so overwhelmingly thankful for our sweet Sebastian.

Finally, I was a mom.