Processing Ezra's Birth Story

Here, dear readers, is where I need to process Ezra's birth story.  I've put it off, but a friend who went through something similar says it needs to be done.  I have ignored it (denied it?) because I don't want to make such a big deal out of it.  I haven't wanted to dwell on it.  It happened, we're concentrating on the end result (a healthy baby), I have to move on.  But it's not that easy.  Ezra's birth was traumatic, and unexpected.  There are parts Shawn and I still haven't discussed, figuring at this point, the less we know, and the less we speculate, the better.  Again, just concentrating on the fact that we were able to bring home a healthy little boy.

So, I'm going to tell you.... If you are pregnant or trying to get pregnant, please stop reading here.  There are some things we moms just shouldn't share with you, as it can be a little scary.  So, here is where you just share in our joy, and stop reading (please).

Few things in life go as planned; birth is certainly one of them.  I had a birth plan with Noah; the second things got heavy, it went out the window.  I didn't even bother with a birth plan with Avery.  We just decided to wing it, and expected things to go much the way Noah's labor and delivery went.  They didn't, and we barely made it to a hospital--not our hospital, but a hospital.  My doctors warned us Ezra's birth would most likely go the same way Avery's did... and it didn't.  I am not a 'birth warrior' and I did not have my heart set on any particular type of delivery.  I'm a huge fan of epidurals, and if that makes me a wimp, so be it.  My main goal was for things to go well, to just labor and eventually push out my baby.  It didn't really work out that way.

I will be honest, I wasn't ready to not be pregnant.  I was still loving every minute of it, even as exhausted and large as I felt.  Knowing this is quite possibly our last (again), I just wanted to revel in every bit of it, and enjoy it to the very end.  I worried the end would come sooner than I wanted, and it did, at 37 weeks to the day.

I had contractions for weeks with Ezra.  Very early on, and they were often hard and heavy.  It left us wondering when--and how early--he would arrive, especially when my doctors told us at 35 weeks to expect him any day.  Expecting a fast delivery similar to Avery's, Shawn planned out several routes to the hospital--our hospital--so Ezra would have our OB, our pediatrician, a proper NICU and pediatric cardiologist.  The night contractions started and didn't let up, we walked the court waiting for them to intensify enough to head to the hospital.  Even as it was, when we headed out, we still weren't sure they would keep us.  They did, and at first, things progressed quickly and right on schedule.  I jumped from 2.5 cm to 7 in less than two hours, but the contractions still weren't strong enough, and Ezra wasn't descending the way he should've.  I had an epidural, and that seemed to slow things even more.  Not only was labor stalling, but at some point my body began regressing.  They broke my water, added increasing doses of Pitocin, and still nothing.  Ezra's heart rate began plummeting, and he couldn't handle the drugs and stress of labor.  We went from my doctor telling us we had all day when I mentioned I was afraid we were looking at a C section, to her calling a second doctor in and making the decision less than 10 minutes after the initial conversation.  We knew it was bad when the second doctor was called in.  We knew it was bad when alarms went off and three nurses and two doctors came running into our room.  Things moved fast from that point on, and we were kind of caught up in a whirlwind of activity. I know Shawn was just as scared as I was, but he was a rock for me.  I saw the fear in his eyes while he watched our baby's heart rate, but he just kept talking to me and telling me everything was okay.  They literally prepped me on the way into the OR, headed down the hallway.  I laid in the OR by myself, surrounded by beeping machines and bustling doctors and nurses, wondering where my husband was (while he stood in the hallway waiting, wondering and scared until they told him he could join me), just needing him to be there telling me it was all okay.  I heard metal grinding, and knew they were using a spreader to open my abdomen, while I tried to not panic and wondered still where my husband was.  The anesthesiologist was amazing, talking to me, asking me questions, and drying my tears.  I'm not kidding, he gently wiped my tears with a tissue, trying to keep me calmer than I felt.  Shawn was finally able to join me, but I know they started things without him.  I remember they wiped me down with betadine, told me it had to dry for three minutes, and I wondered if we even had three minutes.  Before they wheeled me out of the L&D room, I looked at the clock and realized it was 10:30 am.  I watched the clock in the OR, and not more than 15 minutes went by, from the time they wheeled me out, to the time Ezra was born.  They moved fast.  I kept telling Shawn that once I heard him cry, I knew it would be okay.  They pulled Ezra out, and Shawn kept saying, "He's good, he's good"--later, he told me that he wasn't crying, and he was blue and limp.  It took them several minutes to make him okay.  Shawn went to be with Ezra at the bassinet while the doctors finished with me.  I did hear him cry, and it was truly the most beautiful sound in the world.  The nurse brought him over to me, laid him on me--and my son farted.  Yep, barely out of the womb and he was already farting on Mommy.  It broke some of the tension in the room, then I threw up, and I don't remember anything after that until I woke up two hours later in recovery.  Shawn said alarms started going off, and they ushered him out of the room with Ezra.  That's one of the things we haven't talked about, or asked my doctors.  We just don't want to know.  We were faced with the possibility of not going home with our child, and in that next moment, Shawn worried he was faced with the possibility of not going home with me.  When I woke up, my husband was holding our youngest, skin to skin.  It was one of the most precious things I'd ever seen.  Skin to skin was something we'd talked about, and it was important to both of us.  Shawn said he was worried he was taking something from me, but we had agreed beforehand that this moment of bonding was imperative.  Shawn couldn't just leave him in his bassinet, waiting on me.  I'm so glad he did that for our baby.  I'm so glad he had that time with our son.

I haven't even looked at my scar yet.  I have avoided touching it.  I'm not upset I had a C section; it certainly beats the possible alternatives.  It had to happen, and it did.  I don't feel robbed of my birth experience, I wasn't determined to overrule the doctors and see a traditional delivery through. I don't feel let down by my body, or angry.  I'm not upset by the scar, or that I have one--it's more what the scar represents, what could've happened. We could've lost our child.  I'm not worried about Shawn (or myself) not being able to love my body.  If anything, I know he sees me in a different and new light, and will help me embrace this newest imperfection.  I texted with my aunt throughout my labor, and when I told her my fear of needing a C section, she sent me an article she'd just read about C section moms: we are brave, we are strong.  I read the article right before the final decision was made, and I just kept repeating that to myself in my head: "I am brave.  I am strong.  I can do this."  Shawn and I prayed a lot.  We played our 'Jesus music' while we waited and labored.  We knew that God hadn't gotten us, and our baby--His baby--this far to not see us all through.  While we rested in that reassurance, it wasn't enough to completely erase our fears.  I did my best to not panic, but I was just plain scared inside.  My best friend told me when she opened her door to Shawn that night when he dropped our older boys with her, she could see the wear and tear in his face.  He still looked like a deer caught in the headlights, everything still sinking in.  He was strong for me, but I know he went through everything I went through, and then some.

I need to take this scar, and make it represent something else, something better.  I need to see it as a celebration of Ezra's life, and embrace it as a triumph.

We had a truly amazing medical team.  The NICU nurse was beyond fantastic, not just with Ezra, but with us.  My doctors were quick to act, and once things got moving, everyone moved quickly and honestly, well choreographed.  Our postpartum nurses were caring, helpful, and just plain good.  We had fantastic care our entire time there.

In the end, we're grateful.  We have a healthy little boy.  We were faced with possibilities that were less than favorable, but God got us through it all, and we brought our son home.