Lung Power: the Story of Olive's Birth

I tried to walk her out of me during the days leading up to our scheduled induction, still hopeful that after miraculously making it to full-term, I'd be able to experience a natural childbirth. The frosting on the cake I thought. Let my water break on its own. let me wake up in the middle of the night, hold my swollen tummy, and wake Nick with the infamous words: "Honey, it's time."

But 6:00 A.M. Friday December 18th arrived without any downward movement, so Nick and I checked into the maternity ward at Providence to start the Pitocin drip. My OB told me she'd give me the day to labor but if I hadn't progressed by late afternoon we'd have to do another c-section.

"It will be different this time," she said. I'd be awake. Nick would be by my side. It wouldn't be an emergency situation at 24 weeks like with Elias. And after some tears to grieve the loss of an image of childbirth I'd rekindled after burying it years earlier, I resolved to approach the day open to all possibilities.

I remembered the words of a fellow teacher spoken to me during Elias's first year: Focusing all your hopes and dreams on the birth experience is like putting everything into the wedding and forgetting about the marriage. 

"Here we go," Nick said, as he held my hand when the nurse started the Pitocin. The monitor attached to my right uterus had registered a few contractions prior to the drug entering my body, but they weren't coming at regular intervals, nor were they measuring very strong on the graph. Within minutes of the Pitocin flowing through the I.V. I felt contractions in my lower back. They came every two minutes and though painful were not unbearable. Every half an hour the nurse came in to turn up the dose of Pitocin. My OB broke my water and checked my cervix. Little to no progress had been made.

As the half hours passed, the contractions grew more powerful and started to overtake me every thirty seconds. I closed my eyes and gripped the side of the bed, traveling inward to a place where I could bury the pain, or make sense of it, or just ride it until my all-too-brief reprieve.

During one of these tiny breaks I opened my eyes, looked at Nick with a faint glimmer of a smile and said, "I wanted this?"

He stroked my head and said, "You're doing great." He gave me kisses. He wondered what else he could do to help, wishing he could bear some of the pain for me.

After six hours, my cervix had made little progress, and Olive's heart rate started to drop during the too frequent contractions. I had refused pain medication and yet I felt myself near the brink of my threshold. The nurse turned down the Pitocin because the contractions were coming too quickly, yet on the graph they weren't measuring strong enough to move us forward.

They feel bloody strong, I thought. And of course THEY were. Both of them. My left and right uteri both responded to the drug and both contracted, but the monitor only kept track of the movements of my right uteri.

During one of my cervical checks, my OB discovered that my cervix had turned to the side: "Like a hockey stick" she said. This meant even if it did open, Olive would have to do an S-curve to come out.

As I bore down through the on-slought of contractions, I knew pain medication would only slow the process, a process that didn't seem to be leading to a vaginal birth anyways. Before my doctor came back in to check on me I decided we needed to do a c-section. I just wanted Olivia out safely. Period.

I'd experienced a form of labor. I was ready to meet my baby.

To hear her cry.

We waited months to hear Elias cry. Dependent on a respirator for his first seven weeks of life, we longed to listen to the vibrations of his small voice.

At least I heard her cry, I'd hear other mothers say in the pump room as they told the birth stories of their "feeder growers", their thirty-plus-weekers. Sometimes I silenced the room with Elias's Apgar score: 0, 0, 3. Still no heart rate or breath five minutes after birth. Other times I listened in silence, swallowing my story to give room to theirs.

When my OB returned to the room and explained why she though it was time to move to a c-section, I agreed without questions. I knew it was the only viable option.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Nick asked.

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

And I didn't feel slighted or disappointed or angry at the goddesses of Labor, instead I felt like I was making an empowered choice for my child. It may not be the entrance I envisioned, but it was the only way to welcome her to the world-- and that matters more than the sawdust of false expectations.

As we prepared for surgery, I remember thinking how handsome Nick looked in scrubs.  I remember the relief when the spinal erased the pain of my two contracting uteri. The anesthesiologist explaining the process and thinking, I know I know...

I remember seeing her lifted above the screen, silent for a second, an eternity, until she let out a robust scream.

And in that moment, years of fears lifted from my body, leaving me weightless on the table, with only the sweet sound of the words: She's alive, she's alive, she's alive.

For even as I passed milestone after milestone in this pregnancy, I still held a dark ball of doom in my womb, right next to my growing baby, preparing me for the worst-- because I know, from my own history and the stories of other women I've met here, that the worst is always possible.

But she's alive, she's alive, she's alive...

The night before Olive's birth, as I lay awake coughing, unable to shake a persistent cold, I said to Nick, "I'm worried about going through labor or major surgery feeling so sick."

"I know," he said, "Your cough doesn't sound good."

In the moment I heard Olive's cry, and lay entwined with relief, I found myself choking on my own mucus, unable to clear my throat with a productive cough due to the anesthesia that numbed my chest.

My daughter could breathe but I couldn't.

I tried to follow the medical staff as they rushed Olive from the dark warmth of my womb to the cold fluorescent glare of the operating room. I knew Nick was cutting her cord and they were checking her vitals and I don't remember feeling too scared that I couldn't breathe, even as more medical staff rushed around my bedside, their attention turning to me, the flailing mother on the table, who, despite gasping for air, still felt a sense of euphoria from hearing my newborn daughter cry.

And then I must have passed out because my next memory is of the recovery room and the worried look of the nurse as she removed blood soaked bed pads and towels.

My OB was by my side, "Do you remember if this happened last time?" she asked. "Did you bleed from your other uterus?"

I tried to answer her questions, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, until finally, hours after the surgery, Nick was allowed in the room with Olive. He lifted her from her bassinet and lay her in the crook of my arm and even in my delirium--"What am I suppose to do with this bundle? " I thought at first-- I could see that she was breathing, beautiful, perfect.

We lay together for hours and on our first opportunity to nurse, she latched on as if she were home.

And now, over two weeks later, when Olive screams for no apparent reason for hours at a time--she cried her way from 2009 to 2010 with me sobbing right along with her--I'm reminded that I wanted this.

I wanted to hear her cry.

I wanted a  little girl with powerful lungs. And I'm reminded that nothing is easy. In the middle of the night, a healthy screaming full-term baby can seem more challenging than a former micro-preemie with Cerebral Palsy who rarely cried.  

Olivia Everett Jordan will not be the easy one despite entering the world without medical complications or the need for equipment to revive her and keep her alive. There is no such thing as an "easy" child, they are all difficult, in their own way; and like all worthwhile pursuits, it is the hardships that lead to the joys.

Olive will bring her own imprints, her own challenges, and yes, her own triumphs.

She is beautiful. She is perfect.

Just like every child.

Everywhere.

And you all were right, love doesn't divide, it only multiplies.

I can breathe now.

Comments

[alison]

My dear friend, your story is as amazing as you are and the pictures bring a tear to my eye. I am especially fond of the picture of chubby Olive snuggled up in the moses basket. She looks so content and perfectly pink. I couldn't be happier for you Nick & E!
alison

[Kellie]

Beautiful. You are right. Perfection is in all of our children. Enjoy Olivia's fiesty attitude and Elias' giant hugs. He's going to be a great big brother!

[Susan]

That is an amazing story....I'm just so happy to see the photos of the four of you. Wishing you much love and happiness as you continue getting to know each other.

[Bren]

Thank you for sharing your story. Olive is beautiful! I'm so sorry you had to go through such a scary experience but you brought such beauty and love into the world!

[Noel Dennehy]

I am just so happy that you now have the energy to share with us your incredbile journey to bring this pumpkin into the world. You still glossed over some of your harder moments but I know that will come later. She looks adorable and I also need your new address for I have a little something I want to send to both kids.
What a new year you have instore for you all.
Lots of love,
Noël

[Leightongirl]

Beautiful.

[Wendy]

You make beautiful creations, both in print and in life.

[Niksmom]

Whew. I am so thankful that you and Olive are both okay. I hope you are recouperating and regaining your strength. Something tells me you're going to need it for that amazing little girl!

[Gina]

Beautiful, beautiful! Bravo!

[Frema]

I feel terrible that I haven't commented on your last few entries, but know that I have been here, loving that Olive made it here safely and sending healthy vibes your way. So glad you are on your way to recovery.

Thank you for sharing your story with us, Chisty! And I love seeing pictures of the kids together. Elias looks like such a natural big brother!

[Renee]

She is absolutely beautiful!! And what a handsome big brother she has too!!

[Sharon]

What a wonderful story. Thank you for sharing. Congrats again to all of you!

[Jacqueline]

I love the picture of Elias holding Olive. How perfect! He beat the odds by surviving at 24 weeks and she beat the odds by gestating past your due date and doctors' expectations. Both miracle babies in their own right.

[Jessica]

Scary story with a beautiful ending. I had the same feeling when I finally had a C-section with my daughter. I had not wanted one, but I was glad I made the decision when I did. I needed her here and safe.

[Sara]

What a beautiful story and telling. Just perfect.

[JenniferB]

Thank you for sharing your amazing story -- each and every birth is its own miracle and hearing them does something to me each and every time. I am so glad she is healthy and you are recovering. And Elias holding her looks like a loving big brother -- just wait until he is teaching her to run! :)

[Stacey]

Your writing is fantastic!! We need a baby poetry slam! Congratulations, we are sooooo happy for all of you!

[Courtney]

Thamks you so much for letting us journey along with you. Beautiful words. Beautiful babies.

[Blanche]

Sorry to repeat but, again, beautiful. Beautiful baby, beautiful writing.

Is it just me or does Olive favor you while Elias favors your husband?

[Karen]

Christy,

Your stories take my breath away...You are an amazing writer and, clearly, an amazing mother. Congratulations on the birth of your beautiful daughter.

[heather]

Elias looks wonderful holding his sister, he is touching her so gently as he studies her face. It will take time for him to adjust, and adjust again as Olive grows and develops new skills :) It's a while before the older kids see the value in their younger sibs. My 3 are pretty good friends now that they are older and share more interests.

That teacher knew what she was talking about! "Focusing all your hopes and dreams on the birth experience is like putting everything into the wedding and forgetting about the marriage." It doesn't matter how we have our children, only that they are here and we love them unconditionally forever.

Olive is beautiful and I'm so happy for your family.

[Debbie]

That was beautiful. I love all the pictures.

[Tina]

Amen! I sure am happy for all four of you... LOTS of love.

[massageon]

Sometimes I forget what a poingnent writer you are. Then I read a post like this, and I say "Wow, can this lady write or what?!"

Thank God for bringing you through this. These nights of waking every hour and feeling so tired all the time will pass before you know it! Congratulations Christy, you did it.

[Amy Therrien]

I am in tears right now and can barely see the letters as I type...I am so happy for all of you, so amazed by your strength and wisdom, and so honored to be touched by your friendship. You are so beautiful and so are your children:)

Peace & Love to you all!
Amy

[paige]

Whew. What a beautiful family and what beautiful, perfect kids.

[Emily]

you amaze me.

Congrats on your miracle baby.. both of them!

[Shelley]

You did it! You did it! You did it! YAY! --Ending theme song from Dora. Popular around my house these days and perfect for this happy ending!

[Kit]

"Focusing all your hopes and dreams on the birth experience is like putting everything into the wedding and forgetting about the marriage"

SO true! I tell people this bit of truth too.

And a word of encouragement, don't yet label Olive as "not easy"-- my middle child was a seemingly difficult newborn, but by three months old, after getting into a routine and no longer being "new to the world", she transformed into one of the most laid back babies people have ever met! These first weeks are full of constant change-- makes things very difficult, but it's also an encouragement that it won't stay 1 way for forever ;)

[Heather]

Thank you for sharing! What a beautiful story, and a gorgeous little family!

[Christy]

Oh, I love you all for your kind words, they give me energy when I have none. Thank you!

And Blanche its early to tell but you may be right with the family resemblance. My mom found some old baby pictures of me and Olive and I look a lot alike.

Thanks Kit, I'm hoping for that three-month transformation...or three weeks?:)

[Mel]

What a touching experience! Olive is beautiful and the picture of her with Elias is so precious. thanks for sharing! Enjoy your little one.