Shiloh’s Birth – Part Three

Just tuning in? You might want to read part one and part two of Shiloh’s birth first.

Soon after my water was broken, we bid farewell to our nurse Anna as she came to the end of her shift. We were given an “intermediate” nurse to work with until Jenni came onto shift that evening. Jenni was eagerly waiting at home, having called the floor to tell them that if they had need of anyone to come in early she was more than willing.

Soon after Anna’s departure, the resident returned to check me again. It had been just over an hour and I was hopeful I had progressed a couple centimeters. The epidural was quite effective at the moment, though, so my main labor cues were coming from the high peaks on the monitor. She checked…and announced I was still only at five centimeters. And so we realized that Shiloh…and Jesus…were writing a different story this time around. I texted my dad and said he could bring the girls by when they got up from their naps, since we clearly weren’t going anywhere fast, and joked that Shiloh was waiting to arrive until Jenni returned.

Sure enough, just a little bit later I got a text from Jenni. She had been called in early and would arrive around 4:30, instead of the anticipated time of 6:30. I don’t think there was a piece of news that could have made me happier than that announcement. Jenni was actually one of the first to hear that we were expecting Shiloh. Way back in November, shortly after a positive pregnancy test, me riding the waves of morning all day sickness, Jenni came by to visit us and Bella at Children’s while Bella was recovering from her extra digit removal surgery. We told Jenni about the new one on the way, and this sweet friend prayed for this baby from that day forward. So to have one of her prayer warriors coaching us through her birth? Well, let’s just say I think there was a good reason I was hanging out at 5 centimeters for so long.

Jenni arrived to hugs from Kristin and my misty eyes. She said she was going to go take care of the shift change details, and then she would be back for my next bladder emptying via catheter. After emptying my bladder (nurses are amazing), she decided to check me herself to get an idea of if we were progressing at all. And sure enough. Still five centimeters. Jenni worked on getting me set up in a good position with the giant peanut pillow to try to move things along. It was around 5:40 at this point, so I encouraged Jeff, Anna, and Kristin to head down to the cafeteria for some dinner. We could be at this for a long time, and none of them had had a lot to eat throughout the day. I promised that I would be in good hands with Jenni.

They hadn’t been gone much more than five minutes when things started to change for me. “Jenni, I’m starting to feel these contractions a lot more.”

I texted my dad – don’t bring the girls by. I’m in too much pain at this point.

A few minutes passed and I told Jenni, “I think I’m going to need a bolus from anesthesia.” The pain was intense and I was feeling a lot more than I should be with an epidural.

She concurred – let’s give this position another five minutes or so and then we’ll get you switched up and see if that helps. If not, we’ll call in anesthesia.

I agreed and started breathing through contractions, entering that zone where the rest of the world grows dim. In between contractions I texted Jeff and asked if he could come back up.

It was only a couple contractions later that I looked at Jenni…”Ummm, I feel like I need to push.”

We both were dumbfounded. I had been dilated five centimeters just twenty minutes prior. There was no way I was fully dilated. “Let me call the OB to check you.”

While Jenni went to hunt down the OB I called Jeff, who hadn’t seen my text. All I managed to get out was, “Get upstairs NOW.”

The OB came in, and at that point, I was just trying to focus on not pushing, and breathing through the pain.

“You’re fully dilated and ready to push this baby out!”

“I guess there’s no time for anesthesia then?” A flurry of activity began as trays were pulled close and the lights were turned on – and I suddenly asked, “Has anyone called the NICU?”

The OB looked at Jenni – “Call peds now.” And then looked at me, “Do not push. I know you want to, but do not push.”

It was around this time that Jeff, Kristin, and Anna came racing back into the room. Jeff hurried to my side and I announced the state of affairs before disappearing again into the pain haze of a contraction. The OB got in my face – forced eye contact – “Look at me, breathe, do not push.”

As the contraction came to an end, she turned to Jenni – “Can you get an ETA on peds, please?” Looking through Kristin’s photos after the fact I had no problem identifying this moment. Jenni on the phone trying to track down peds. OB calmly coaching me…and breathing with me…through another contraction.

After a couple more contractions, me in the full throes of pain telling the doctor, I have to push, I have to push, and her echoing back, just breathe, just breathe, peds finally arrived in the room. Someone made the announcement that they were going to work on the baby in the room instead of taking her to the infant stabilization room – and due to the pain I’m not certain my recollection is correct, but I believe the question was even broached of whether they could put the baby on my chest at first. I was surprised by the discussion – once again crying out in my heart, “Another Bella is not guaranteed!” – but also too overwhelmed by the pain to say anything.

According to Kristin’s pictures, it looks like I started pushing about 6:22. While this turned out to be my least damaging delivery, it was definitely my most painful due to the waning epidural. But it didn’t take long. Shiloh was born at 6:26pm (4 minutes before Jenni would have showed up for her normal shift). Unlike Bella, who came out screeching like a banshee, Shiloh entered the world silently. The doctors held her up so I could see her…asked if I wanted to touch her. All I saw was a limp, seemingly lifeless baby and all of my fears came rushing in, “No, take her” I managed to mutter out, desperate to get her over to the doctors. As she was brought to the examination table I heard one tiny weak cry, and that’s when my sobs began.

The doctors continued to work on me, pushing hard to deliver the placenta and cleaning up the mess of delivery. I in tears watched the team huddled around the isolette, praying and praying that she would start crying – hating the silence in the room. I could see Anna watching from the corner of the room with a concerned look on her face. My husband standing in front of our baby, helpless and anxious. Jenni took my phone from me and went to snap a picture of her, and then went back and forth telling me what they were doing, encouraging me that she just needs help, her color is improving. They just need to get her on oxygen.

The thoughts were racing through my mind…how bad is it? Is she going to be able to breathe on her own? Clearly we’re headed for the NICU, how long will we be there? Will I bring home a baby on oxygen support? Can I do this? Can I take care of a medically fragile baby? How am I going to handle being a NICU mom? How are my other girls going to do without me? All of the scary possibilities rushed at me and through my mind and I was simply a puddle of exhausted tears.

There were no announcements of stats. I didn’t hear how long she was or how much she weighed. No one told us the apgar scores. They were simply focused on one thing…getting her to breathe. Getting her oxygen saturation to rise.

Eventually with forced airflow placed, they decided she was stable enough to move down to the NICU. Jenni asked if I could see her for just a minute before they took her away, and rolled my bed over to the other side of the room. And that is when I got to touch my girl for the first time. To kiss her forehead and urge her to show them what a fighter she was. To tell her how much I loved her and that I would be with her as soon as they’d let me.

And then I watched them roll my baby away. Jeff and Kristin following the isolette. The room emptied and I was left alone with Anna and Jenni. I was so thankful Kristin had brought along Anna at this point, so grateful to have a friend – even a new one – with me at that point. She put on Bella’s playlist of songs, and Jenni started to prepare a pump for me. The sight of a pump, instead of a baby, to put to the breast made the tears flow again for me.

And so I sat, staring out the window across the courtyard to the floor I knew my baby girl was on. I tried not to pester my husband with texts of, “How is she?” too often. And I continuously attempted to lift and move my legs, knowing that I had to have some control of them before I’d be allowed to go see my girl. I had no problem with my right leg – everything had worn off there a long time ago, but my left leg remained stubbornly numb.

I got this picture from my husband. A report on her weight. News of x-rays and an echo being done. My heart ached to be there.

Finally, after about an hour and a half, Jenni decided I could move enough to go down. She got me set up in a wheelchair and gave me firm instructions not to try to stand. I promised I would keep my butt down if she would just get me to my baby.

To be continued…