Olivia's birth story

I know we totally owe you guys an update. Sorry to keep you hanging for so long, and you've all been very patient with us, so thank you!!

Now that the dust has settled a little, and things are looking so good, I'm finally feeling up to writing about this experience.

Friday morning, the 29th, at 5:3o I woke up to go to the bathroom. I got back to bed, and ten minutes later I woke feeling like I had just wet my pants, but I knew I had emptied my bladder just minutes before, so my heart skipped a beat, and I thought maybe my water just broke? So I stood up to go to the bathroom, and all of a sudden my pants and legs were completely drenched. Even though I was completely alone in the room, I was really embarrassed because it really looked like I'd wet my pants. Just for the record, I hadn't. I was in labor!

I yelled at Charles that my water had broken, and called my mom, who of course reminded me that I had an OB and should probably let her know. By the way, this post is a birth story as well as a post-birth story, so of course it'll be TMI for my dad and anyone like him. He knows this all already, but he's going to mortified that I'm putting it on the internet for all the world to see. So, I called my OB and told her that my water was broken, and it was definitely still coming! I told her also that it seemed to be kind of green, which I hadn't expected. She said it probably meant there was meconium in the fluid, which meant I needed to be checked out. I was a little disappointed, because I was planning on going all natural, and had counted on being able to labor at home for the most part. But I took my seat on the birthing ball and directed traffic while Charles packed us a hospital bag. Don't judge, we'd done all the laundry in anticipation of packing that morning, so there. Charles carried it all out to the car, with the carseat and birthing ball, and we headed on our way. The hospital is about ten blocks away, and it was a quick ride, and we got there at about 6. I had started feeling contractions every four minutes or so, but they were totally manageable. I knew that if labor stayed that way, I was going to kick labor butt.

They checked me right into the room with the laboring tub because I was hoping to go unmedicated. They held a lithmus strip up to me and announced there was meconium and that I was there for the duration, so we hunkered down and got down to business. I was breathing through contractions and staying pretty relaxed. We walked around and kept moving into new positions to see what worked, and then the contractions started lasting two minutes and coming one right after the other without a break in between. I got to the point that I couldn't stand through the contractions, and sitting was excrutiating, and I was stuck laying on my side just wanting to die. I said the secret password Charles and I had worked out to let him know I was serious when I told him I wanted the epidural. I wanted it. I said the word, he passed it on, and it took a matter of five minutes for the anesthesiologist to show up and do his job. In that five minutes, I broke down and told the midwife to just get a knife and cut the kid out of me. She didn't, but she did give me some morphine. That was totally against my birth plan, and I didn't even remember that at the time. This was seven hours into my labor, so I feel like I put up a good show at least before the epidural. And nobody can tell me I chose poorly, because the rest of my labor was a breeze, and I was a happy camper.

I took a nap for an hour or two, along with Charles, who was pretty worn out by my antics up until that point. The nurse came in about five and told me she'd get the midwife cuz I was ready to push. I stopped pushing the epidural button, and let the epidural wear off as much as possible before I got to work. I pushed for two hours, pretty much falling asleep between each contraction, but it really helped to be able to feel the contractions, so I'm glad I stopped the epidural when I did. Charles, by the way was really helpful during the pushing stage. He held his breath and pushed with me each time, and his muscles were probably as tired as mine the next day! I would have laughed at him if I wasn't otherwise occupied. Alas, I really was.

Because there was meconiom in the amniotif fluid, they decided to have the nursery nurse and the respiratory therapist in the room as a precaution, and it turned out to be necessary, unfortunately.

Olivia (who was still unnamed at the time, and for a few days afterward) had swallowed and aspirated the amniotic fluid, and her lungs were actually coated in the meconium. It was counteracting the natural lining of her lungs, and while she was definitely able to breathe on her own, she was not able to oxygenate any blood. As a result, her lungs were under immense pressure, her heart was weakened by the lack of oxygen, and they were concerned that her brain had sustained permanent damage.

Charles followed Livie to the nursery, where she was sent before they determined how serious her condition was. She was then sent to the NICU, where they started a brand new treatment where they cooled down her core temperature to about 92 degrees in order to keep her brain from swelling from any damage she had received. This is a treatment that has only been available in this state for about eight months, and has only been at our hospital since December. It has to be begun within six hours of birth, and it was begun pretty quickly after Olivia was born.

About forty five minutes after I gave birth (at 7:36 pm, by the way) Charles came in with the doctor to hold my hand while he gave us the news.

There should be a legal limit to the number of times a neonatologist can say "life-threatening" and "the odds are not good" in one conversation. I'm going to be lobbying for that in the future. Really, he was not sounding hopeful that my baby would make it through the night, and he was telling me that he was purposely inducing a hypothermic state in my newborn infant, who I had yet to touch.

This all came as such a shock to me that I was able to completely hold it together while he delivered the news. That was just because it didn't seem real, and I was pretty sure I was being falsely punked or something. When the doctor left and Charles and I were alone, he asked how I was doing, and I realized I wasn't doing too great. "I want my mommy" was all I could get out before I started bawling. We had a few minutes to cry together, before I insisted on being wheeled to the NICU and seeing my baby.

That was when they told us that in addition to the possible brain damage and the fact that her heart wasn't doing too great, Livie had meningitis and pneumonia, so she was on antibiotics. A 21 day round of IV antibiotics, meaning she'd be there at least three weeks. Well, three weeks is up today, and she's beaten the pneumonia, meningitis, heart problems, breathing problems, and proven that her brain is top-notch. She just needs to learn how to eat!

Because she was on respirators and stuff for so long, she just barely started being fed by mouth a week ago. She's learned how to latch, suck, swallow and breathe at the same time, which is pretty incredible for a kid who's had tubes shoved down her throat most of her life. She just doesn't have much stamina yet, because she's been fighting so hard, so we still have to use her feeding tube to finish off her feeds when she poops out.

In order to come home, Livie must take all of her feeds by mouth and gain weight for two days in a row. Who knows when that's going to happen, but she's doing her best. Everyday she gets more milk in her tummy through her mouth, and that what we need. It'll probably be another week before we can take her home, though.

It's strange how sometimes I can feel so maternal to Olivia, and then I can come home and live my life like usual with Charles and Wilson. It hurts every time we leave her in the hospital, and come home like we never even had a baby. I feel like a bad mom, leaving her there with nurses who occasionally call her a "him" or put her in newborn diapers (she needs a size 1, now). But I also hate going there and trying to feed her with all those nurses popping their heads around the silly privacy screen and offering "helpful" advice.

Last week I showed up at the special care nursery that Livie had been in for the last few days, and nobody answered the door. Apparently they had moved her and the other babies to the regular special care nursery, but hadn't called to tell us. So I was freaking out that I couldn't get in to see my baby and that nobody was in there watching her monitors. Or that someone was in there, but they were trying to resuscitate my kid and couldn't answer the door. I don't appreciate being this emotionally vulnerable. By the time I found Olivia, I was totally panicked and ready to break down. I did, that night. I cried for an hour on Charles' shoulder, then took an Ambien and stayed asleep as long as I could. I think it helped to be able to get some rest, because I'm doing much better now, but I'm still not crazy about the situation.

We've picked out her coming home outfit and it's laid out and ready. Her carseat is installed, her cradle and crib are both set up and have clean bedding, and we're just waiting for Olivia to be strong enough to come home forever. Patience is a virtue, but it's definitely not my strongest suit, so I'm learning a lot right now.