To recap, Owen was born on a cold and snowy December 13th, exactly two weeks before his due date. Life was normal right up to his arrival. I had very little contractions, very little discomfort, and very little pain. (At least that's how I remember it now.) I was working the week before and even went to a Christmas party the night of. Whether it was the nachos from the party, the stress of an upcoming presentation, or just fate I woke up in the middle of the night. Shortly after the 3-AM potty break, I was headed into the living room, to do what else but study, when a warm gush ran down my leg. There was no question what it was. I yelled back to the bedroom to Jason in an unusually calm voice letting him know our baby was coming. His response: "Can I go back to bed?" Seriously?! He wanted to sleep, and I wanted to have a baby. Needless to say, he slept, but not for long. Soon contractions began and then were really intense. There was no more time to sleep (and 18 months later that is still the case). We made it to the hospital between 4 and 5-AM, and by the time we were in a room and "settled" I was 7-cm. Before I could get an epidural and before my mom could make it from GI (despite breaking a few speeding laws I'm sure), Owen was born at 6:55-AM. I had experienced an unintentional "natural" birth in three-and-a-half hours. That is unheard of for first time moms, and I almost felt guilty. Almost. In the end, I had a happy, healthy, perfect 7-pound 8-ounce Owen.
After that experience I was convinced that although this body wasn't designed to be a fashion model, it was made to have babies. When that next pregnancy test turned positive, my biggest worry was if I would make it to the hospital in time and definitely not the fear of a long or troubled labor. Of course, being in medicine, and just being a woman, I know nothing is a guarantee. And as many times as people told me that the second one is always different, I should have known.
No one knows exactly when Griffin's labor really started. Officially, it is recorded at 5:00-PM when I walked into Bergan Mercy hospital. In reality, I had probably been in some sort of "early" labor for days to weeks. On June 21st I was 2-cm dilated and 50% thinned. The next week I had a few contractions, but nothing that would have prepared me for the next appointment one week later. Mom was in town because Jason was not. Whether she stayed or whether Jason came back early depended on this appointment. During this critical exam, my provider's eyes widened to probably the size my cervix had dilated. She couldn't even give me a measurement. "Stretchy" and "Favorable" was all that she shared, but that was enough to get my heart pounding. I was seeing my doctor's nurse practitioner, Denise, whom I love, and she was so surprised that she left the room to talk to Dr. Hedrick. They agreed to let me go with strict instructions to call with "any" contractions. (Of course I didn't. No wonder they always say doctors make the worst patients.) Her parting words were: "I never do this because no one can predict when a baby will come, but I give you a week or a week-and-a-half at most." Then she gave me a hug because she didn't think she would see me again before Griffin made his arrival. I left the office. Surprised. Shocked. Excited. Panicked.
From then on every little contraction got me on edge. I was sure my water was going to be rushing down my leg any moment. Any bump in the road, every time I picked up Owen, and every cough or sneeze gave me nervous excitement. Every place I went I had an escape plan. I didn't leave home without my packed bags. I rescheduled my Step 3 exam. And my phone became equipped with a contraction timer. Wednesday went by. Then Thursday passed. Then Friday. Mom had gone home, and I decided that Denise must have made a mistake. I wasn't dilating, all I was doing was raising my blood pressure.
A glimmer of hope came Saturday morning in the form of regular contractions. They weren't painful and faded after a few hours, but to my surprise returned that afternoon. Still not painfully convinced that I was in "real" labor, Jason and I decided to walk around Target to see if we could get the ball rolling. Instead, it just made me nervous that water was going to break in the electronics aisle. We headed home and called Dr. Hedrick. She was comfortable continuing to let me stay home until things kicked into gear. (She told me later that she was fully expecting me to call any minute after we hung up.) We made a few more phone calls, one to my mom and one to Owen's babysitter before we started the waiting game.
Planning for a long, painful night, I headed to bed to rest up. To my surprise, I fell asleep. Even more surprising was that my water didn't break during one of my mid-night bathroom runs and my sleep wasn't interrupted by any excruciating, call-the-doctor contractions. By morning, the contractions were as far apart as North and South. With the signs of baby evaporating quickly, we deemed it safe to go to church. I thought to myself that God had something to teach me this morning, and once church was over surely I would go back into labor. Not the case. Finally, I prayed. I did what I should have done a week, actually nine months, ago. God, You have a plan. As anxious as I am, You have a wonderful plan for this baby. I trust You.
Sunday and Monday were much of the same. We enjoyed celebrating Independence day with Mom and Jason's uncle Matt. Owen had a blast at the Ralston parade, and he finally semi-enjoyed some fireworks without bursting into shaking terrified sobs.
Tuesday morning was filled with noses and sinuses at ENT clinic - exciting stuff, but little did I know what the rest of the day would hold. We had a scheduled doctor's appointment that afternoon, and Jason and I decided to call Stacy, Owen's baby-sitter and see if she would be available to watch Owen for an hour or two. As perfect and obedient as Owen always is, he has been a bear to take to appointments lately. An attention span of 3 minutes doesn't work so well, and I wanted Jason to be there, and not be distracted or picking out suckers in the lobby, for this exam given what happened at the last one. My instincts were kicking in.
We were "fashionably late" and checked in at 3:32 in the afternoon. After the usual check-in routine, I positioned myself up on the exam table and waited. Dr. Hedrick bounced in the room, and I mean bounced. If you knew her personality you would know what I mean. She is the definition of bubbly. My belly proved it was still growing and Griffin's heart was thumping right along. Then the moment that changed everything - my cervical exam. Not only had I dilated, but I was 6 to 7-cm! Honestly. 6 to 7-cm! Only 3-cm to go. Just like Denise the week before, she asked again how many contractions I was having. Surely I was in labor. Quickly she came to the decision to send us to the hospital and "monitor for contractions." Realistically that meant break my bag of water at any sign of contractions and have a baby in a number of hours. Only one other patient had she let walk out of clinic more dilated than myself, and given my history of rapid labors, she didn't want to take chances.
We were told to go straight over to the hospital, but me being the "ideal patient" we decided to make a quick pit-stop at home instead. After taking my bags with me everywhere I went for a week, for some reason it didn't even cross our preoccupied minds to take them with us to the doctor's office of all places, and there was no way we were going to the hospital without a camera. Our little detour also would give my mom a little head start from GI as she was headed promptly our way, again.
Checked in, clothes changed, monitors hooked up, consents signed, and we were ready to rock and roll. I tried to prepare myself for going into labor and having this baby in a matter of hours. He was coming! A few contractions later and Dr. Hedrick was back at our bedside. By now it was nearing 6:00. As we discussed my epidural options she broke my water. Gush. Gush. Gush some more. And some more. I felt my belly deflate like a flat tire. The nurse and the doctor commented on the amount of towels we soaked as they went to get more. Moments later they were checking my hidden parts again to see what that flood had done. And it had definitely done something. The exam took longer than I expected, it was more painful than any before, and Dr. Hedrick's face was much less bubbly. Much, much less bubbly. Something was going on. Something was wrong. Seconds, that felt like hours, later she informed me that she could now feel Griffin's hand over his head. I barely had time to remember that you can usually get babies to move stubborn hands out of the way when she had more news to share. She said with an uncharacteristic serious voice, "Susan, you'll never guess what he's holding." "Not his cord!" I replied. As the words left my mouth the blood left my face. In that moment everything changed. Everything.
My mind flashed with the memory of my only other experience with a prolapsed cord. I was on the other end of the table then in scrubs and a white coat. A mom came in for what we call a version (where we tried to turn her baby from breech position to head down). The version was a success, and in order to keep the head down the doctors I was working with broke her water to induce labor. I was out in the hall getting ready for a different patient's C-section, when I heard shouting from that room and people rushing around the labor floor. In seconds the patient was being wheeled out of her room towards the OR with a doctor balanced on the edge of her bed to keep a hand and essentially an entire arm in a place no one should go to try to keep the baby's head from compressing and strangling the beating cord that had slipped in front of the baby's head. Already dressed in scrubs, I rushed into the OR to help. Seconds later the patient was sedated and intubated with tears still running down her cheeks. The baby was out in moments, but I had a front row seat to the worst thing an OB doctor can see - a blue, floppy baby. Ten fingers, ten toes all laying limp. He was rushed to the awaiting pediatrician who breathed life back into his little body. By God's grace he survived.
Now, here I was. Praying that God would save my baby, too. The pain continued and intensified as Dr. Hedrick got him to move his hand out of the way, but the cord wasn't going anywhere. Beep. Beep. Beep. I could hear Griffin's heart tones on the monitor in the background. Thankfully, they were clipping along well within the normal range, but I knew that may not last long with his only oxygen supply trapped between my pelvis and his skull. "Susan, your body was made to have vaginal births, but it's not going to be this time," said Dr. Hedrick. I already knew, but it was still difficult to hear.
Soon we were rolling down the hall. Everyone trying not to panic. Dr. Hedrick was crouching on the end of my bed in a position that was sure to draw stares from anyone we passed by. Stare all you want, I didn't care. My mind filling with "what ifs". With her fingers next to Griffin's pulsing cord she kept reassuring me that he was doing well. Although that was comforting, nothing could touch the fire of fear, terror, and panic that was filling my heart. We pushed through the double doors and into the bright, sterile OR. Nurses, scrub techs, and anesthesiologists were rushing around. In one of the moments before, I had said out loud that I knew I was going to be put to sleep and intubated. I would miss the birth of my baby boy. However, Dr. Hedrick, knowing my past experience, knowing any mother's desire to be awake for the arrival of her baby, and knowing that Griffin was still doing well, asked the anesthesiologist to try to put in a spinal instead of putting me to sleep. He agreed, but it wasn't going to be easy - for any of us. Obviously, I couldn't sit up as would be the norm to put the numbing medicine into my spinal column. With Dr. Hedrick still in position between my legs and a belly filled with my precious Griffin contracting every few minutes they rolled me to my side. What lidocaine they used did little to numb the physical pain that followed. Fire shot down my right leg over and over and over. My muscles tightened and my hands cramped from squeezing each other so hard. I prayed, and I prayed. God, put me through any kind of pain, but please let Griffin be okay. After the failed attempts and a growing fear that Griffin was getting in more and more danger I was about ready to just be done. Intubate me. Get my baby out. Then a warm sensation filled my legs. It was in. Seconds later I was strapped to the table, covered in blue drapes, oxygen in my nose, and Jason, in a scrub hat and white gown, was holding my trembling hand.
Before I could take a breath or say a word, he was out. Griffin was out! Griffin was safe. Finally the sweet sound that I feared I would never hear was filling my ears. His cry sounded just like Owen's. "He looks great, Susan," Dr. Hedrick said from over the drape. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I snuck a peak of him across the room in the warmer. No bigger sense of relief. No bigger sense of love. No bigger feeling of gratitude. My nightmare was over.
Looking back on the entire chain of events God's fingerprints are everywhere. It's evident even back in November. Until now, I didn't know why I chose Dr. Hedrick in the first place. I'd never met her. No one had recommended her. She was just a name online. I just thought I wanted to try something and someone different. If I hadn't, and instead had used the midwives like last time, no one would have known how far dilated I was, and I definitely wouldn't have been directed to the hospital when I was. Likely, just like last time, my water would have broken at home, and we wouldn't have known that Griffin's cord was in danger until it was too late. A sickening thought. Dr. Hedrick's decisions and actions not only are the reasons I'm holding Griffin right now, but she also allowed me the opportunity to be awake for his arrival. Such a precious gift. And what if my contractions had continued Saturday to the point that my water broke? And why hadn't my water broken anyway? I was already 6 to 7-cm and still going about my normal day to day activities. How did a paper thin membrane hold back that flood for so long? Thank You, Jesus! Thank You.
As I write this, Griffin is sleeping peacefully across my lap, and my eyes are wet with tears of joy. My belly is sore, but my heart is full. Never will I forget Griffin's arrival, and never will I take Owen's for granted. God's timing is perfect, and God's plan is awesome. Oh, what a little firecracker you are, Griffin James.
Now look at that handsome couple! Jason all dressed up in a tux, and a lovely lady in a bright white dress on his arm. Now don't kid yourself, I will definitely not be trying to squeeze back into that outfit anytime soon. I did just have a baby, you know. Seriously though, what a happy day!
