No One Could Have Prepared Me...

I started this blog three weeks ago and was just now able to finish it…welcome to motherhood, I guess! J 

As I sit here typing with swollen fingers, barely able to lean forward with burning pain at the site of the incision, I have reflected upon the insurmountable events of this past week, in the dark of my living room, with my newborn swaddled tight and snuggled asleep by my side, and I can’t help but think about how no one…NO ONE…could have ever prepared me for this.

No one could have prepared me for the immense love that I would have for this tiny human being I just met.  No one could have prepared me for the reckless and unpredictable emotions that would spring to life at the drop of a hat, the kinds of emotions where you are surprised by some, ashamed by others, and completely undone by most.

And then there’s the hormones…the intensity that overwhelms your body and causes it to constantly secrete unpredictable tears that well-up by just one thought, one comment, or one moment. 

No one could have prepared me for what would happen during my labor with Brooks.  No one could have prepared me for this story.  No one could have prepared me for my story.  The story of how I would become a mom…

As I entered the last weeks of pregnancy and Brooks’ arrival drew closer and closer, I was filled with amounting anticipation of the unknown that was shortly on the horizon.  I was extremely excited for the way I had always pictured it would all play out in my mind…because after all, it always happens the way you wanted it to happen or the way it is supposed to happen…right?!!

Well…I’ve never been more wrong about something in my entire life.  I’ve never been more completely out of control of a situation more in my life.  I’ve never been more devastated by the way it all happened, than in my labor and delivery.  Unknowingly, it was truly one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through.

Brooks was due on October 18.  With each passing day, the anticipation of all the unknowns were literally wearing on me.  When is he coming?  How is he coming? Why is he not coming? Is everything ok?  Will I have to be induced?  Will there be complications?   The questions poured in, but my positive thinking responses pushed them right back out.  He’s coming.  He will be healthy and perfect.  It will be any easy labor.  Pretty soon he will be on your chest, skin-to-skin and Brendan will be standing by your side, smiling at you holding your baby boy.

An emergency C-Section…well…that NEVER crossed my mind.

On October 26 we went to my 41 week appointment.  Brooks and I were healthy, but I was only dilated to a “maybe” one.  We had the dreaded induction discussion and the doctor set the date to induce for Sunday, October 30 with hopes of delivery on Monday, October 31.  Sheer panic began to set in.  I LOATHE Halloween!  It’s the one holiday that so many others enjoy and that I truly despise.  Our son CANNOT be born on Halloween.  I begged to move the date and if there were any other options.  To which my doctor responded, “Well we make decisions based on medicine, not holidays.”  Obviously she didn’t get the gravity of the situation.  J

We got in the car to head home and tears filled my eyes.  This was all COMPLETELY out of my control and I hated every single part of it.

So, doing what I do best, I tried to grab and claw at any small amount of control (I told myself) I had left and decided that I would just have to walk this baby out.  So, that’s what I did.  I went home and walked…and then walked some more…and then walked some more.  I’d like to say that it worked, but really, I think Brooks was going to begin to make his arrival that evening anyway, I just didn’t know it yet!

I went into labor that evening around 6:30.  Contractions getting more painful by the minute and timing them as they came.  I called the doctor at 8:30 and she said it’s time to come in!  We arrived at the hospital and immediately assessed.  Yes, the contractions were coming at just the right intervals, but only a slight dilation difference.  When I heard that we needed to get to walking (yes more walking) the halls in my hideous hospital gown, my hopes began to rise.  I had pictured this.  This was fulfilling my plan.  With every step down the hallway, the contractions became stronger and stronger.  As I stopped to endure the pain for one to two minutes at a time, I just kept telling myself, you only have a few more hours to go before they put this baby boy in your arms!  You can do this!

The positive thoughts quickly dissipated.  People lie.  Contractions hurt like HELL!  And if they tell you it “wasn’t that bad” they are delusional or lying to your face!

The minutes turned into hours, the contractions turned from painful to unbearable.  The worst pain you will EVER feel in your life!  There was no relief.  The stupid breathing in and out did nothing to help and no matter how hard I squeezed Brendan’s hand, the pain never magically passed from me to him as I desperately wished it would.  The labor pains literally made me feel like my back would split into two parts at my tailbone.  With every contraction, Brendan had to push on my tailbone to give some kind of relief.  (Later when we discovered he was head-up and stuck there, that explained the excruciating pain in my back).

By 3:00 and check-in after check-in, I was still only dilated to a two.  With pity, the nurse called the doctor and begged them to take me back to labor and delivery to start the epidural.  Thank God for her!

At 3:30 am, all thanks to modern day medicine (oh epidural how I love you!!), I was finally relieved of the 8 hours of pain.  I have a new respect for women who do it without drugs, I really have no idea how they do it!

They broke my water and began administering Pitocin to see if it would progress the dilation.  It’s over, I thought.  Now, it’s only going to be a few more hours until they put this baby boy into my arms!  You can do this!

Hour by hour, check after check, side flip after side flip…dilation progressed so slowly it began to feel like torture.  The emotions were as consistent as a roller coaster, highest of highs, and lowest of lows with every hour check-up.  Every time the nurse walked in, you felt disappointed for no progress or extremely ecstatic for one more centimeter.  As we approached early afternoon the on-call doctor (because your real doctor you’ve spent the last ten months with will likely NOT deliver you), came in to assess.

“You’re not progressing at the rate that you should be.  We will increase the Pitocin, but at this point, you need to mentally be preparing yourself for a C-section.” When I heard those words, disappointed is not even an adequate word to describe my feelings.  Panic set in, tears filled my eyes, and I looked to Brendan, who amazingly stood by my side, positively encouraging and coaching me along throughout the day, to assure me that everything was going to be ok, and that we would soon meet our son.

“Let’s just pray that you begin to dilate fast,” he said.  So we prayed and hoped for the best for our next check-in.  And as quickly as panic came, relief came faster.  Answered prayers!  I went from a 4 to a 6.  Then a 6 to a 7.  And finally hours later, a 7 to an 8. Thank you God!  C-section is back off the table and my anticipation of the way I always envisioned it would happen… was now back in clear sights.  We did it!

But wait, not so fast!  Another let down was on the horizon.  A few more hours passed, and there was no change in dilation.  Another hour passed…Another check by the nurse, hoping to hear those four words, “It’s time to push.”  But this time, I would hear no such thing.  I had spiked a fever from laboring for so long.  Brooks was now at risk.  The nurses quickly called the doctor back in.  The next five minutes were devastating.  “You are now risking the baby’s health.  Even if I let you go another hour to see if you progress, in my experience the outcome will be the same.  More than likely, nothing will have changed, and your baby will be in even more danger.  Unfortunately, we no longer have a choice.  We’re going to have to do a C-section.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, panic sent shock waves throughout my already numb body.  This can’t be happening.  I was never going to have a C-section.  This was NOT part of the plan.  I was robbed of my vision of how this delivery would all unfold.  The mom guilt became devastatingly real.  I’m risking my baby’s health!  What if something goes wrong?  Is this my fault?  Should we have done a C-Section earlier, but I was too stubborn?  What do I do?

I did what any mom would do, I let go of what I wanted, for the sake of the health of my son.

The next five minutes were a blur.

They prepped me for the OR, threw Brendan the scrubs, pumped me full of even more drugs and wheeled me down into the room where my dreams would be shattered in just ten minutes.

I had always been the person during pregnancy to never have a “birth plan.”  I told people that I really didn’t care how he came out as long as he came out!  If we had to do a C-section, no big deal. 

But the funny thing is that I never realized when I said that, I was lying to them…and to myself.  I did care.  I cared, not so much that it made me less of a labor warrior, but more so because I had a vision.  A vision of how it was supposed to be.  I would earn the badge of honor with each push.  Brendan would be by my side coaching me on how great I was doing and that he was almost there.  The doctors and nurses looking up at me telling me that they could see the head and that I only had a few more pushes.  They would pull out a screaming, nasty, wet baby and immediately place him in my arms for skin to skin contact and bonding time.  Brendan would come over to us and with tears in his eyes, tell me how proud he was and how much he loved me and softly kiss me on my forehead.  We would admire our baby boy and watch the nursing staff clean him, weigh him, and tell me how healthy he was.  I would breastfeed right away and Brendan would stand by our side.

That was the dream…the vision…the plan…I had unknowingly always played out in my mind.

But that dream didn’t happen.

With the curtain in front of me, I couldn’t see Brooks at all.  No one was coaching me.  No one was talking to me.  They were busy cutting me open and getting him out.  As they pulled him out, they told Brendan to take a look.  The umbilical cord had been wrapped several times around his leg and that was why he wasn’t dropping further into the birth canal and dilation had stopped.  He was stuck and was never coming out that way.

They finally pulled him out and I could hear his soft cry, but it would be an eternity before I would catch a glimpse of him.  And that’s when this strange jealousy arose.  All of a sudden, it was no longer about Brooks and mommy.  It was about Brooks and daddy.  Dad got to see him for the first time.  Dad’s the one to see that he had a head full of hair.  He heard dad’s voice first. Dad got to console him while he cried as they cleaned him.  Dad watched him get foot printed and weighed.  Dad got to take pictures of him and stand by his side.  Brooks’ beautiful blue eyes were on dad first. 

And all the while, I was left shaking uncontrollably on the table (apparently this is common at delivery due to the rise of hormones, another thing I had no idea would happen).  I couldn’t see him, hold him, or do the skin-to-skin that I heard was so important for mommy and baby bonding.

It was the strangest feeling in the entire world.  I had no emotions.  I wasn’t filled with the utmost joy that I thought I would.  Instead, I was filled with sorrow and disappointment.  I could hear them talking about his hair, how alert he was, and how handsome he was, but I couldn’t see for myself.  I felt so separated, so removed.  I thought I was supposed to feel immense love when he came into the world, but all I felt was numb.

I had never researched, read about, or really thought about a C-section.  I wished I would have.

Maybe if I had, this wouldn’t have been such a blow.

After what felt like an eternity, Brendan finally brought him over to me.  The staff took pictures as Brendan held him in his arms and I laid there trying to process what just happened.  I couldn’t hold him because I was shaking so much.  I remember being so sad and so overwhelmed with devastation.

But then, something happened.  Something that saved me in that moment.  Brendan placed our son on my chest.  He was crying.  I looked at him with all the emotion I could muster and said, “Hi, Brooks Isaiah.  This is mommy.”  He immediately stopped crying and simply looked up at me.  He knew his mommy’s voice and he knew his mommy loved him. Despite it all, he knew who his mommy was…even if I wasn’t the first to see him, to hold him, to console him. 

As they wheeled me back to the room, Brendan behind us pushing our son in his bassinet, I have never felt more disappointed, more confused, more let down in my life. 

I never had time to consider a different plan.  I never had time to understand the process of a cesarean birth or to mentally prepare myself for a new dream of how it would all play out.

As I lay there wanting to feel sorry for myself, the pity party abruptly stopped as Brendan put Brooks back into my arms and walked over to get his Bible.  He pulled out a hand-written letter.  “Brooks, daddy wrote you and mommy a letter.  Is it ok if I read it?”

Brooks sat perfectly still and looked up at his daddy as he read each word, written with so much love and care.  Tears began to fill my eyes as I watched my husband read his penned words to our son.  Beautiful words of how he vowed to love him, to protect him, to pray for him, and to raise him to respect me and to love God.  Words about how we prepared for him and are so excited for what’s in store for his future.  Words about how God has a plan for his life and has known him and loved him from the time of his conception.    Words about how our family is now complete and the piece we never knew was missing has finally come to fruition.

My heart was completely overwhelmed and I was undone.  I have a family.  A beautiful, God-given family that I am so fortunately blessed to have.  It no longer mattered how Brooks came into this world or the unbearable pain that was now forgotten.  He was here and he completed Brendan and me in a way we never would have been otherwise.  When I didn’t think it was possible to love Brendan any more than I already did, I was proven wrong again.  This love.  This new love.  It was like nothing else I had ever felt before. 

As I sit here now and watch Brooks sleeping, I am truly filled with that utmost joy, the joy that I was scared would never come.  I now feel that immense amount of love.  I have an undoubted assurance that I would do ANYTHING, and I mean ANYTHING to protect him.

The love a new mom is supposed to have, well it’s here and completely overwhelms and consumes me every second of every day. 

When I look into his beautiful and alert blue eyes, when I touch his soft, lavender skin, when he nestles into my chest and snores, when his fingers wrap tightly around mine, when he breathes softly against my neck as he lays on my shoulder, when he rapidly shakes and stretches out with his eyes still tightly closed, a frown burrows as he is awakening, when he yawns so big he makes a squealing noise, when he sleeps peacefully and somehow perfectly fits in my arms…that’s when I know.  I know that I’m in love. 

This little man, just like his daddy, has FOREVER, stolen my heart. 

Brooks Isaiah Leaming.  You are loved.  As daddy whispered to you every night in my womb and now tells you every night as we lay you down to sleep.  “Jesus loves you.  God loves you.  Mommy and Daddy love you.”

Welcome to the World little one.  Your mommy and daddy will NEVER be the same!

Side Bar:  I know and understand that women have C-sections all day, every day and to some it is not that big of a deal.  It’s planned and sometimes it’s even preferred.  I know my story may sound dramatic to some, but for me it was a real part of this entire process of becoming a mother.  The difficulty of the 24 hour labor, the emotional ups and the downs of every hour that passed with progress and then with no progress, all of the unknowns and complete shock of how it all happened so fast, made this entire process extremely difficult for me.  So, I guess now I know.  Now I can prepare.  Now I won’t be so overwhelmed the next time…if there is a next time.  J