Arizona had been predictably hot the weekend before the Fourth of July, with temperatures dancing steadily between 115 and 119 degrees. It was a horrible time to be almost 8 months pregnant, but I was making do--mostly by staying inside as much as possible and drinking ice cold water by the gallon. My pregnancy had honestly been a breeze up to that point; I only felt sick a few times around 10-12 weeks when I wasn't eating enough (around this point the doctor told me I wasn't gaining enough weight and should try to gain more than one normally would--unfortunately, I took this advice to heart, but more on that later), but other than that my main complaint was having to get up several times in the night to use the bathroom. No big deal.
But that late June weekend I was finally understanding what all those other women were talking about--pregnancy can be brutal. I felt exhausted non-stop, my back was killing me, and driving anywhere in the car made me nauseous. And there were still at least five more weeks to go (the doctor kept telling me that our girl would actually probably come a week late because she was measuring smaller than average). On the Sunday night (June 30) following that particularly hot weekend, I woke up with a terrible soreness in my lower back. My muscles must be aching from standing up too much over the weekend, I thought, and Kyle kindly tried to help by rubbing the offending area. It hurt so badly that I couldn't sleep, but eventually the pain eased, and I slipped back into slumber.
The following day (July 1), I couldn't feel the baby moving around as much as usual. In fact, I wasn't sure that I was actually feeling her movements at all. I decided to skip the gym (I'd been going regularly all through pregnancy). I kept getting more and more worried, and finally I called the doctor that afternoon and they told me to drink a large, ice-cold glass of water and to lay on my left side, and if I didn't feel 10 movements within the next hour to go to the emergency room. I followed the instructions to the letter, and it worked like a charm. Within the first five minutes the baby danced around like crazy, and I felt tremendously relieved.
When Tuesday (July 2) rolled around, I tried to go about my business as usual. I felt this urge to get the house ready just in case, because ever since that night my back had been hurting I kept thinking that we had none of the practical stuff. We had no diapers, no wipes--none of her clothes were washed, and the house was a mess. We had a carseat, but my stupid pregnant brain had bought a purple one, and I hate purple! It had to be exchanged.
I think I did a hundred loads of laundry that day, bought a few packs of diapers just in case, and in the meantime I couldn't help noticing that I couldn't feel her moving again. I didn't want to be that paranoid mom who calls the doctor literally every single day, so I convinced myself that maybe the gurgle in my stomach had been a twitch; maybe she was just growing so big that it was hard for her to move much. I packed her diaper bag with diapers and a cute little newborn outfit, and I started packing a bag for Kyle and myself (I bought Kyle some special 'dad' pajamas for the hospital, and couldn't find a nursing nightgown that I liked; but I wasn't worried, because I still had 5 more weeks or so to find one). By that afternoon I decided to do the water trick again, but this time it didn't work. She didn't kick or wiggle at all.
I had been trying to avoid the ER because we don't have maternity insurance, but I wanted to go and Kyle convinced me that it was okay, and that we needed to. We went in that night after he got home from work, and they hooked me up to a bunch of machines and found the baby's heartbeat right away, strong and steady. "The baby's doing great," the nurse told me, but then she looked at me funny. "Are you in any pain right now?" I told her that my back was actually hurting again right at that moment, and she nodded. "You're having a contraction." She looked at the paper that was coming out of the machine. "You're having a lot of contractions, actually. Almost every three minutes." Then she shrugged and said since my pain was mild and that the baby was okay, it was probably just false labor. I had my regular 35 week checkup scheduled for the next day already, so they went ahead and sent me home.
I told them at the doctor's the next day (July 3), and they didn't seem too concerned. (Possible TMI ahead): Then they asked for my urine sample, and when I went into the bathroom I was surprised to see that I had been bleeding--more than a little spotting. I went back into the room and told the NP who was seeing me that day, and she said it was normal because they had given me an exam at the ER the night before. Not to worry, the baby's heartbeat was still doing great.
And so I went home and scrubbed the bathtub.
It just had to be scrubbed--I couldn't stop myself. And then I scrubbed the kitchen counters and vacuumed the apartment. And then I went to Costco and tried to find a bunch of frozen meals that required very little effort to prepare, just in case. I got home and was exhausted. I couldn't even put all the groceries away. I laid on the couch until Kyle got home, and then we went and bought some fireworks. He was excited to have the next day off--we made grand plans to sleep in, then to go have a cookout and maybe go swimming (I wasn't actually too excited about that part), and to set off the fireworks in the night. Before we went to bed that night, it crossed my mind that I should finish packing my hospital bag, just in case--it would give me peace of mind, and I would be able to sleep better. But I was just so tired. I'll do it tomorrow, I thought.
But the baby thought differently.
At around three in the morning on the Fourth of July, I woke up. It wasn't anything unusual. I just needed to use the bathroom. I stood up and and waddled into the bathroom. As soon as my feet were on the tile, I felt a gush of warm water flowing down my leg (sorry, TMI again maybe). I wasn't groggy and tired anymore! I started shaking, and realized that I didn't know what to do. The doctor had mentioned that I should go into the hospital when my contractions were following the 4-1-1 rule, but she hadn't said anything about when your water breaks. Should I still wait for contractions? Should I go in right away? You always hear stories about people who go in too early and have to come back home, or have to wait hours to be admitted because their contractions aren't close enough together. And I wasn't having any! I didn't know what to do.....so I called my mom. At 3 AM. But it was 6 her time, since she's in South Carolina--so, at least it wasn't quite so early for her. :) She said she thought I should go ahead and go in, and so I walked into the bedroom and woke Kyle up. When I told him my water broke he thought I was joking, but as soon as he realized I wasn't, he was wide awake, too.
Here'e where things start to get hazy. Kyle threw a few things into a bag for the both of us, while I searched for one article of clothing in particular (I honesty don't even remember anymore what it was that I wanted). I felt rushed, and I actually started thinking about all the areas of the house I hadn't had the chance to clean yet--go figure. I don't remember quite how long it took us to get out of the house--I think only 15 minutes or so; and somewhere in the midst of the near-panicked, hazy 15 minutes I do clearly remember Kyle stopping me in the hallway and just holding me close, helping me to calm and stop shaking (yes, I was shaking), and that's the moment in which I knew everything was going to be okay. We grabbed the diaper bag and were on our way.
The after-hours maternity entrance is the same as the ER, so we waited for a few minutes until someone from maternity came down to get us. They took me to the same triage area as a few nights earlier, and it was only a matter of minutes before I heard a nurse say, "Yep, your water is definitely broken." (Duh, I thought), "You're having this baby today."
Even though I had known she was coming, somehow hearing it out loud, from a healthcare professional, made it all that much more real. It was around 3:30 by this point. They took me into a room (very comfortable and roomy, by the way), and hooked me up to a bunch of machines for the long haul. They started an IV of antibiotics because at 35 weeks I hadn't had my group B strep test yet, and told me that there was meconium present in the amniotic fluid, so a neonatal NP would need to be present for delivery. Everything seemed to be happening so fast......and then it wasn't.
Eighteen hours. 3 nurse's shift changes. I heard babies crying from various rooms down the hall (5 other women apparently had come in around the same time with their water broken--tell me it wasn't the heat!), all of them arriving hours before mine. Doctor's shifts changed.
I had some excellent nurses, though--all 3 of them. The doctor kept saying they might give me some pitocin (spell check just suggested I change pitocin to pinto) to speed things up, but my nurse fought for me to progress naturally, and I'm glad she did, even though it took so long. Those eighteen hours are the haziest of all. I was exhausted, and not allowed to eat anything but ice chips. Everyone kept telling me to sleep while I still could, but I don't think I slept much. I remember Pawn Stars being on the TV for a while, then some HGTV home improvement show. Maybe. Kyle tried to get in touch with his parents, who were overseas, and I think he texted from my phone to let my family know what was going on. We wanted to share the news with all our friends, but Kyle really wanted to tell his parents first, so we had to wait a few days (yes, it was a few days before we tracked them down). I was a little sad for a while--I had always pictured having my mom there, and then having my family come by to see my baby after she was born (no one wants guests when you're actually having the baby), and I knew they wouldn't be able to. I had always wanted to have a Carolina baby, because it's where my family has been for generations. It's a hard dream to let go of, but you do what you gotta do. And in a lot of ways, it was really nice to have time just with my husband. I'm a pretty private person, so it actually was probably better for me this way, now that I think about it.
Eventually, the pain really started setting in. I had been in pain all day, but all at once my body started shaking uncontrollably and breathing was difficult, and soon a doctor came in and gave me an epidural. I don't know when that was, really; late afternoon, maybe? Kyle helped steady me while he administered it-it's hard to hold still on your own during contractions, but it was worth it. (PS, the doctor was impressed that Kyle didn't flinch or faint or whatever when he watched the needle go into my spine).
Epidurals are heavenly things. I know a lot of people choose to do without them; I never will, if I can help it. Just my personal preference. Because even after that, the hours kept ticking by.
Luckily, the epidural kept the pain at bay, so all I really felt was tired. Super tired. I was so glad when they finally told me I was fully dilated and ready to push--but then they called the doctor, and she had left the hospital already for the night. It was around 8:30ish that night, I think. The doctor was going to turn around and come back right away, but noted that she was worried she would get stuck in the post-firework 4th of July traffic. The nurses told me to wait. So, in retribution, I threw up all my ice chips.
Luckily, though, the doctor beat the traffic and was there in about 15 minutes. And then, only twenty or so minutes later, there she was.
My little girl.
She cried right away; the doctors and nurses did whatever doctors and nurses do for a few seconds, and then they let me hold her on my chest. The second she heard my heartbeat, she stopped crying. She laid there quietly, breathing in and out, calm and safe, and changed my whole world in an instant. She had a full head of dark hair and a pointy little head (don't worry, it's round now), and her cries were so tiny and mewling they would have tugged on anyone's heartstrings. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Wide, dark blue eyes. I held her as long as I could, but then they took her again and weighed her (4 lbs, 13 oz), let her knock her Apgars out of the park (in spite of a broken collar bone), and then she and Kyle went to the nursery where she would get cleaned up while I got stitched up. I think around this time, Cody and Carson showed up and tried to come in the room, but my ever-diligent nurse wouldn't let them in the room. I think they're probably more grateful than I was to not have walked into that. :) They found Kyle and brought him a hamburger since he'd missed the 4th barbeque. It was so nice of them. Carson especially helped out a lot over the next few days, running back and forth from our apartment to the hospital for us (he even exchanged that awful purple carseat I'd bought).
She stayed in our room with us that night. She was too small to nurse, so the pumping started right away (more on that later). I guess we fed her that night, every three hours--I barely remember it, but we somehow managed, even after being up for almost 24 hours straight and delivering a baby. Kyle showed his true colors that night--and they're brilliant, beautiful colors. He was there with me, every step of the way, and even taking a few steps that I couldn't. Our girl was too small and weak to wake herself up to eat. We would turn on all the lights and change her diaper, and that would wake her up enough to eat a few CCs. They kept saying "feed her every three hours and on demand!" I didn't even really know what that would look like, and I wondered if our baby would figure it out, either. You start to worry about all kinds of things like that when you have a baby.
I remember waking up the next morning and looking out the window, and thinking how clear the sky looked lit by that early desert sunrise. I've always loved the softness of morning light, especially at sunrise, and the desert didn't look so harsh by its light. As Kyle snoozed away on the couch, I had a moment of such sweet clarity and hope that I felt truly at peace and content, for the first time in a long, long time. I knew we would be okay, and that so would our baby.
A few hours later, when the doctor came in, he didn't like the look of her, and took her down to the NICU. She wasn't eating enough, was losing weight too fast, and was jaundiced; not eating was making that worse. If they hadn't stepped in it could have been the start of a downward spiral that could have had devastating effects, but luckily it never got to that point. Her NICU nurses were champs. They fought for her every step of the way, even when the hospitalist tried to discharge her with me (she either wouldn't have made it or would have been rushed right back). The nurses took to referring to Kyle as "the happy dad," because he was so happy and cheerful every time he would go down to see her or help feed her. I think he liked that. I'm sure Kaley did, too.
Speaking of which, I'm not sure what day we picked her name. I'll have to ask Kyle. I know she was already in the NICU, because the nurse was so excited when we picked that she went and picked out the prettiest paper she could find to write Kaley's name on. Kaley Caroline. That's our girl. We'd had a list of names we liked, but hadn't settled on anything final (we still had those 5 weeks, after all). Funny enough, Kaley hadn't even been on our list. It just seemed to fit her.
She went under the lights, and started to improve a bit. Feeding her was so tough. I kept trying to get her to breastfeed, but her mouth was genuinely too small; add to that her lethargy, and we really didn't stand a chance. But I still tried; for 8 weeks, I tried. So, on top of the time it took her to eat, I'd have to stay up an extra fifteen or twenty minutes to pump. Doesn't sound like much, but believe me, it is. But again, more on that later.
She would hardly take a bottle, and had to be fed through a nose tube a few times (but only a few--she started to get the hang of things after a few days. She's tough and smart like that). Her weight dropped to 4 lbs, 6 oz; it's a normal amount of weight loss for a baby, but with a baby as small as she was, they were worried. Eventually, though, she was eating from her bottle consistently enough that they said she could come home. She wore the only outfit we had that would fit her--a set of preemie pajamas with tiny red flowers on them. We hadn't really stocked up on preemie outfits; who plans on a preemie, after all?
Kyle's mom was back in town by then, and she really helped us through those first nights. She made sure we had the necessary supplies, and she stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, with nothing but the glowing light of Kaley's bili-blanket to keep her company. She's a rockstar.
A few days later, my mom finally was able to make it out (my brother left on his mission a few days after Kaley was born). In fact, Kaley probably wanted to see him off, just like she wanted to see the fireworks and attend Amber's wedding. That's why she came early. She was a little overambitious with her plans for her first week of life, don't you think? My mom stayed with us a heavenly 3 weeks; she, too, would help get up in the night and let me take naps here and there, and also just hung out with me. It gets lonely at home with a baby, believe it or not, and I really miss my mom. She helped us get Kaley on a good schedule and showed us the ropes on a lot of things.
Having a baby really does take a lot of support, and I'm glad to know that Kaley has that. She's surrounded by so much love and kindness it overwhelms me, and I know that no matter what comes our way, with family like that, we'll be able to pull through. This is just the beginning for her, and I'm excited to see what comes next.
PS, this is so long I don't feel like re-reading it to check for errors. I'll get to that later. I hope. :)
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| One day old |
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| Holding Dad's finger |
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| First cool pair of shades |
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