Joy and sorrow are this ocean
And in their every ebb and flow
Now the Lord a door has opened
That all Hell could never close
Here I'm tested and made worthy
Tossed about but lifted up
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God"
-R Mullins
August 15th was my due date. Gavin wasn't born on August 15th. Christine was born. Christine was 15 oz, and her sweet, perfect life lasted only six hours. Her parents loved her, held her, kissed her, and will remember her for the rest of their lives. We spent the day at church and with our family, every moment carrying prayers and hopes for Christine and her family, and it was such a blessing to hear my Mom recount something one of her dear friends had told her years before; that every life is a vapor in God's sight. That a child who's time here on earth is only a few hours to us is every bit as significant to God as a life that lasts a hundred years, and is just as perfectly and carefully planned.
When we got news that Christine was being taken off of the ventilator we gathered round with my family and we all prayed and cried for her family. The rest of the evening was sobering and overwhelming. There was nothing we could do, and our hearts were breaking.
Monday morning Quinn went to work. The same pre-labor contractions that I'd been having for two weeks were going on, but nothing else. I sat at the computer reading people's notes to Christine's families and crying. It seemed so wrong to be sitting there with my healthy little man kicking away inside me while they grieved the tiny life that had been carried home. By 2 o'clock that afternoon the contractions were feeling more and more like they were supposed to; pulling in my legs and pelvis and aching in my back. I found myself praying that it wouldn't be labor; wishing that I was only 8 months along so that we could have time to hurt for Christine and her family, time to rest, time to reset...
By the time we got back to the apartment I was starting to get a little excited, and actually looking forward to labor. I *know* that was of the Lord, because 6 hours before I had been anything but emotionally ready for birth. We went to bed, and I was almost instantly asleep.
Around 3:30 I woke Quinn up. I honestly don't remember much of the next hour. We repacked the hospital bag, I walked to the living room, stopped and leaned over the back of the chair for 2 minutes, walked to the kitchen, leaned on the counter for 2 minutes, walked back to the bedroom, leaned on door for 2 minutes, walked to the bed, sat on the birthing ball, which happened to be right there, for 2 minutes, and about that time Quinn decided we should head in the general direction of the hospital.
My contractions were lasting 2-3 minutes, and were 4-5 minutes apart. They weren't painful, weren't unbearable, but did take my breath away. We got to the hospital and went in to be checked. I was 5-6 cm and 100% effaced. They moved us to a labor and delivery room. It was about 5:30 in the morning. By 7am I was 7 cm, by 9am I was 8, but I was still 8 at 11, and still 8 at noon. Kristy came in then, and we were all ready for her to break my water. No doubts there.
But they didn't stop, and I found myself switching gears. Quinn got home and we watched a movie and snacked on chips and salsa. He asked if I was having contractions. "Yeah." was about the full extent of my answer. I didn't want to call it labor 'cause I knew that if I did, it would fizzle out, just like every other time the contractions had grown consistent over the previous two weeks. I suggested we go for a walk instead of just going to bed, so we went out and walked something close to a mile, maybe more. Quinn was talking plans and ideas, and the further we walked the more I ached, but it was good to listen to him talk, so we went on.
By the time we got back to the apartment I was starting to get a little excited, and actually looking forward to labor. I *know* that was of the Lord, because 6 hours before I had been anything but emotionally ready for birth. We went to bed, and I was almost instantly asleep.
At 3:00am I was instantly awake. A contraction had hit that had my eyes wide open. I tried sitting up. I started to stand up, but that didn't work. I sat back down. It ended, and I lay back down. 5 minutes later I was sitting up again. For about a half hour I sat up and lay down, sat up and lay down, sat up...and lay down.
Around 3:30 I woke Quinn up. I honestly don't remember much of the next hour. We repacked the hospital bag, I walked to the living room, stopped and leaned over the back of the chair for 2 minutes, walked to the kitchen, leaned on the counter for 2 minutes, walked back to the bedroom, leaned on door for 2 minutes, walked to the bed, sat on the birthing ball, which happened to be right there, for 2 minutes, and about that time Quinn decided we should head in the general direction of the hospital.
Quinn was amazing the whole time. Like, by-the-book-model-birth-partner amazing. I didn't even realize how selfless he was until we got to our room that night and I found out that he hadn't even taken time to get his hands on a glass of water or eat anything since we'd left the house that morning. At one point our nurse offered him a cup of coffee and he accepted... that was it though.
By 12:30 I'd jumped from my 8cm to a stretchy 9, and we were figuring on having a baby within an hour. At that point it was excruciating. Gavin was completely posterior, so having my water broken caused intense back labor to set in. I expected things to pick up, so I just went with it, not bothering to try to figure out what was hurting or why.
But we didn't have a baby by 1:30. We didn't have a baby by 2:00. We just had 3 minute long, off the chart contractions, and every 30 minutes were told that I was till a 9. I am amazed, and oh so grateful, that we had the staff we did. I had been 8-9 cm for almost 5 hours when shift change rolled around. By any hospital's book that counts as "failure to progress" and people are expected to start forcing labor along, but they didn't. Nobody even said anything. When the nurses switched out Jackie brought Heidi in and gave her the low-down. She was completely positive, praising me and Quinn for working together and how well we were coping (we weren't, at that point. We were shot.) and encouraging Heidi to help us make the birth happen naturally.
Heidi was a God-send. At 2pm, when she came in, Quinn was exhausted and overwhelmed and out of ideas for how to help me. I was half sobbing through each contraction, completely unable to get a grip and focus. My legs were too tired for me to keep trying different positions, even though that was the only thing that seemed to help, so we didn't know what to do other than keep taking it one second at a time. But it wasn't working. Heidi took the next hour and forty-five minutes and didn't leave my side once. She got in my face, got my breathing back under control, shifted me into different positions and gave rhyme and reason to the rest of the labor. She explained why we were moving to this position and how many contractions we were gonna be there for. Then the next position, then the next. About thirty minutes after she came in I had cleared my head enough to actually make the connection that it was the back pain that was driving me crazy, not the labor pain, so I gasped to Quinn to ask if they had any non-narcotics.
They gave me a shot of a muscle relaxant. Not sure that it helped much, other than mentally, but I was able to focus more on the contractions and less on the pain, and apparently I was sleeping the 2 minutes between contractions. Quinn said at one point I was snoring between contractions. lol. Don't remember that... But in the mean time he was watching the chart and waking me up as soon as contractions started to escalate so that I wouldn't wake up in the middle of one and not be able to get up to cope through it.
After about 40 minutes of that, around 3:15, I was dying to start pushing, and as soon as I mentioned as much to Heidi she jumped into action. She had me wait for the next contraction then she held my cervix open through 3 contractions so that I could push Gavin's head down into the birth canal. As soon as he was there she paged Kristy, but had me keep pushing. Whenever I wanted, however much I wanted. Talk about relief. NOW the end was in sight. It didn't matter how much it hurt, I was so done, and so ready to have my baby boy.
About that time I found myself thinking of Christine's mommy again. How much she would have given to make it 40 weeks and have 3 hours of transition and get to push a big, healthy baby into the world. Oh I thanked Jesus. I was miserable. I was exhausted, but I thanked Jesus.
I guess here is where my only gripe with being in the hospital comes in to play. I did not want to sit back, hold my knees against my chest and push. I wanted to be up, at least squatting, and take my time about it, how it's supposed to happen, but I was too tired to ask for it, and nobody there knew anything different from what they always did, so I sat there holding my knees as far back as I could and I pushed. I had wanted a mirror, but I shook my head when they asked if I wanted it. I didn't want to think about it, and I could see enough in the reflection on the tv on the opposite wall.
As soon as his head was crowned I reached down and felt him. That was encouragement enough to go through the entire ordeal again. Ok, so maybe not...but it helped. A lot. It only took a few minutes from there to get his head through, though he tore me pretty seriously in the process, then his shoulders were a breeze. I don't remember seeing him when Kristy caught him, though I know I did, but Quinn said his eyes were wide open and he sneezed almost instantly. It was 3:48pm, August 17th, 2010. He's been sneezing since. Kristy lifted him to my chest and I held onto him for a minute, and tried to get him to latch on, but he totally wasn't interested and I was seeing spots and my arms were shaking... and Kristy was trying to stitch me up and it was making me nauseated. I was sure I was going to drop him, so I had his daddy take him.
They pulled the incubator over to my bed side so that I could hold onto him while they rubbed him dry and cleaned out his mouth and nose. As soon as I touched his foot he jerked away. He's a ticklish baby. We've almost got him to where he's alright with his feet being touched now, but he's still ticklish. Soon he was in a blanket and hat and back in Quinn's arms until my stitches were done and the placenta was delivered. Quinn gave him to me, and I held him as long as I could. I remember taking a few pictures and kissing him a lot. I had Quinn take him again pretty quickly, 'cause I was way out of it. They weighed him and measured him; 8pounds 12 ounces and 22.5 inches long with a 14 in head. Yow. Big boy.
I think I mostly slept for the next hour. I remember that Quinn was sitting in the chair near the bed and that he and Gavin were dozing the couple of times I looked over there. They looked so precious, and Quinn looked so shot. He was such a hero through the whole thing. Dad's who stick out labor with their wives have a whole new level of respect in my mind. I can't believe my Dad made it through 14 of us...
They put me back in bed.
I think it was about a half hour later that they came and helped me into a wheel chair and we headed upstairs to the postpartum floor. We stopped at the nursery to drop the boy off for a half hour and got settled into our room. Quinn looked like he'd been hit by a truck (and I've seen him when he's literally been hit by a truck...) and I'm sure I didn't look any better. Quinn sent out some texts, letting people know Gavin was here and well, and my Mom stopped by to help me coax my baby into latching on.
We had a private room and Quinn had his own bed, so Gavin spent the night going back and forth between us. He was so beautiful, and so content. He fed well and slept well and, all in all, it was a good night. The next morning they did his circumcision, and he was a little champion through that, but the meds they gave him made him groggy enough that he didn't hardly eat until that night. Thursday morning we were released before noon and were so glad to get home and cozyed in. The week since has been dream-worthy-beautiful. Our sweet little man is 9 days old this afternoon, and so perfect that it hurts to look at him. He sleeps great at night, waking up every couple hours then zonking out again as soon as he's fed. (Other than 5o'clock in the morning, every morning, when he decides to be awake for an hour or two.) He's laying on the couch next to me right now, completely sprawled out and completely unconscious. His sleeper made it through the night without getting soaked, which is a first, and we're about ready for a baby-wipe bath and some lotioning.
The Quinn time has been fantastic. I think we're more in love then ever, though it didn't seem possible to ever love each other more. The hormones have been hard for him... I've had a couple evenings when I've just cried. A lot. Without being able to voice a reason. Last night was one of them. I cried, no joke, for 3 hours straight. Ended up with a migraine because of it. The poor guy spent forever sitting on the couch holding me, then snuggled up in bed holding me, and I just couldn't give him a way to help, other than holding me. He was off to work at 6:30 this morning, and since Gavin was awake from his 5 o'clock feeding when the alarms went off, I was up to see him off. I lasted until he was walking down the hallway to the door before the first tear came, then I went to bed and sobbed for a half hour.
Since I got over that and rekindled my head ache, we've had a lovely morning. We layed in bed and talked and read the day's Psalms, and we got up and had a banana muffin with a thick layer of cream cheese for breakfast. It's almost time to make lunch for daddy, so I'm gonna reheat some alfredo while the baby finishes his nap. That's basically it. The birth story. It wasn't something amazingly beautiful, and it most definitely wasn't perfect, but every bit of it was God led, and it was miraculous, and it brought us the love of our lives, and it taught us how to love each other more deeply. Our special somebody has a face now, and a name, and knows our voices and looks into our eyes and melts our hearts every time we look into his. I don't know that you can ask much more than that from a birth...
...though next time I wouldn't mind having someone coax a precious somebody into the birth canal a couple hours sooner...
