Colin: A birth story, part 2

OK, so, where did we leave off? Oh yes, we'd just arrived at the hospital, and Devin was wheeling me to emergency OB in a wheelchair.


So, we get up there, and the nurse checks for dilation, and says I'm at a 4. A FOUR! After all that intensity, I was expecting her to say 9, not 4. I was so sorely disappointed, and I was even thinking that they might send me home. Seriously. Because, in my experience, a 4 is nothing. A 4 is what you are for a week before you're a 5 or 6, and then a 5 or 6 is what you are for a week or 2 before REAL labor starts. I think the nurse sensed my disappointment, because she said, "Oh, no, honey, don't worry--we're admitting you. Let's just take some blood first." Then she asked me if I was going to want an epidural. Hmmm.... out of our 6 babies, I've only had 2 epidurals--the first one was with Kenneth, and it was terrible, and scared me from having one for the next couple kids, and the 2nd one (with Carinne, 3 babies later) was so beautiful, at one point I asked the nurse to go find the anesthesiologist so I could kiss him. I would have, too, but I think she realized I really meant it, and didn't find him for me. Which ended up being just fine, because I was on such a happy cloud and drifted off to blissful sleep.... But then, with Christian, there had been no time for an epidural.... So, here I was, thinking, forget this. If it's been this intense and I'm only dilated to a 4, I'm not hanging around all drug-free to find out what dilating to a 9 feels like this time. No way--I'm gettin' an epidural. So I said, "Yes, please, hook me up with that epidural." And the anesthesiologist came in after a moment and said he'd give me my epidural, just as soon as my blood work came back, to make sure my platelet counts were OK. I wanted to choke him, take his instruments, and give myself the epidural. Or have Devin do it (because that's SO much more reasonable, right?). I was HURTING, he had the means to end the hurting, and he refused to do it till my stupid bloodwork came back? The nurses told me they were mad at him for being such a prick stickler for protocol. Apparently, there are other anesthesiologists who aren't such sticklers. Guess I got lucky....

Meanwhile, the nurses wheeled me to Labor and Delivery, where I was checked again (and, it definitely bears mentioning here that there were at least 7 other people--nurses- and doctors-in-training, I think--in that room, just beyond the foot of my bed, all there to catch the show. The U of U hospital is a teaching hospital, so there can be lots of observers, if you as the patient tell them it's OK with you. I think I've mentioned before that I have no modesty when it comes to stuff like this, so I probably told them to invite anyone they could find wandering around the halls to come have a look-see...). This time, I was at a 9. It had been approximately 20 minutes since the last time they'd checked me. That's 5 cm in 20 minutes. So, Dr. Anesthesiologist came in right about that time (did you ever watch that show "Scrubs"? You know the macho, jerky, jock surgeon?

Yeah, that's the guy.

He was my anesthesiologist. Right down to the obnoxious do-rag and the sleeveless scrubs. I may have just imagined the sleeveless scrubs part, though) and announced that my blood work was back, and he could now dazzle me with his impressive epidural skills, if I'd still like one. I asked, "How long does it take for an epidural to start working?" He told me about 15 minutes. I said, "Hmm. I'll have this baby out in five. You can take your epidural and shove it up your...." I'm embellishing. I didn't say the part about shoving the epidural. Very loudly. OK, fine, not at all. But I definitely thought it. So, I'd like to imagine he walked away, all dejected-like, shoulders drooping, ripping off his do-rag and chucking it on the floor in frustration at missing out on being included in our bill. 

The nurse then checked me again and announced that I was complete. One of the doctors present (though there were several, not one of them was my perinatologist, who was home sleeping, I think. Smart lady) told me I could start pushing with the next contraction. Problem was, I didn't have another contraction. They just pretty much quit. I told her as much, and she said, "That's OK--you don't need a contraction for pushing. Just push when you feel like it." Well, previous experience has taught me that the reason you push is that the contractions make you have an intense NEED to push, right? I didn't really feel that urgency, and I knew--also from previous experience--that pushing a baby out of one's body is one of those things that's in reality even more painful than what you imagine it'll be, so I wasn't in any real hurry....

I could tell all those people in the room were watching in anticipation for me to do my thing, though, so I gathered up my strength, pushed with all my might for 10 counts, took a breath, pushed for 10 more, and repeated that a couple more times. After about the 4th push--maybe 5 minutes later--I felt the contours of my little boy squiggling through, and the next thing I knew, he was on the bed in front of me, quite calm, and blinking. It was 5:30 a.m.--not quite 3 hours since that first hellish contraction.

I couldn't stop looking at our sweet baby. I felt at that moment like the heavens had opened, depositing this little being in front of me. He was so, so tiny--and breathtakingly perfect. I didn't know what I'd been expecting for the previous 4 months since finding out he had Down syndrome. We'd also been told he had clubfeet, which isn't something that occurs very often with DS, so I think I was expecting some other weird surprise that also doesn't usually come with it. I suppose I expected him to look like.... I don't know. A miniature Quasimodo, I guess. With all sorts of deformities that couldn't have shown up on all the ultrasound images we'd seen of him. But instead, he looked almost exactly like Kenneth did at birth--same nose, same round face, definitely same upper lip... I gasped. And then I cried. Happy, elated tears. I would have loved him no matter what he looked like, of course, but this was an amazing thing. He just looked like he belonged to us, just like all of our other kids. I'd built up THE SYNDROME in my imagination till it was this huge, out-of-control monster, completely dwarfing reality. And the reality was, this was a sweet, helpless little baby who needed his mama to love and protect him. And he was absolutely mine, and I completely adored him from the moment I laid eyes on him. It was amazing to see that he knew me, too--turning toward my voice when I talked. I wanted to hold him and kiss his sweet face and whisper, "Hi there. I'm your mama," and all the other silly little things I'd whispered to our other babies when we first met. But gloved hands swooped in and whisked him away, through the window into the NICU for observation and an echocardiogram.

 

Pretty soon, 2 of the doctors were mashing on my tummy, massaging it to work the placenta loose, and intermittently pulling on the cord. It wouldn't budge, and they kept massaging and tugging, and then I noticed them exchange worried glances. One of them suggested checking me again, which the other one did. The one checking me exclaimed something like, "What the...?" Apparently, my cervix had completely clamped shut around the cord. And part of the placenta had already come out, and the other part was still attached, so I was still really bleeding. A lot. I could feel it, but I guess I'd assumed it was maybe the left-over amniotic fluid. There was a lot of rushing around, and someone told us I needed a D&C to clear out the rest of the placenta so I'd stop bleeding. The jock anesthesiologist was called back, and started to explain to me what to do while he gave me the epidural, but then, I guess they decided there was no time for one. And then everything felt like it was going in slow-motion, and that Kate Bush song, "This Woman's Work," started playing in mind. They put one of those surgery caps on me, told Devin they were wheeling me to the OR, and off we went down the hall.

When we got to the OR, they asked me to lift my rear off the bed onto the operating table. As I did so, I felt a huge whoosh of blood. I plopped back down and looked--my feet had been out in front of me, with my legs kind of curved into a diamond shape, and that whole area was a giant puddle of blood, which completely covered both of my heels. I think I may have felt faint, and muttered something about my socks getting all bloody. I remember the sweet nurses telling me not to worry, that they'd give me some new socks, as they pulled my blood-soaked ones off my feet and chucked them in the garbage. Somehow I wound up on the operating table, and they gave me some crazy drugs in my IV, which I figured out when everything went from being real to being completely, utterly, confusingly insane. Glittering, pink Tetris blocks showed up in front of my face, and they kept building higher and higher, till they formed a wall. I could hear voices behind the wall, and knew I could see who was talking to me if I could just make it past that wall. They asked me questions, and I think I answered them. And the glittery Tetris wall turned from pink, to purple, to blue, but it stubbornly stayed right in front of my face. And it was so sparkly and pretty, I had a hard time not focusing on it, and kept forgetting to try to get to the other side of it. I felt all kinds of stabbing HURT coming from my abdomen, and I heard myself moan, and maybe someone comforting me from behind that dang wall. And, eventually, the wall vanished, and I felt myself being lifted back onto the hospital bed. I think when I got back to the delivery room, Devin was back in there from having been with Colin in the NICU. He says I asked the same questions over and over, about 6 different times each. I was apparently pretty impressed with the fact that I'd lost almost 2 liters of blood. Duuuuuude. He was also kind enough to take pictures of me coming out of anesthesia, mouth hanging open, eyes all stoner-like. Oh, the horror. If I weren't so dang self-conscious, I'd post them for entertainment purposes.

So, there you go. That's how our sweet Colin made his entrance. Our little boy, whose arrival into the world showed us that absolute perfection can inhabit a body with an extra chromosome and crooked feet.

Colin at 1 month old

photo by Sarah Bush

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home....

~William Wordsworth