The Story of Jacob
I so rarely have time for anything these days. Like Josh, Jacob requires almost constant nursing. I have a feeling this is more about my milk supply than about the baby's needs, but it still makes me mental. I sit on the couch and watch The Real World almost all day long. At first, he was having these long naps and I could run around and get stuff done in the house. Lately, though, he's developed Josh's difficult habit of napping only in 15 minute chunks. 15 minutes is not even long enough to make a cup of tea. I may lose my mind.
At any rate, this is one of the rare occasions where he's been asleep for a while. I think I'll take advantage of it to write about his journey into the world.
I think I mentioned in an earlier entry that my during my midwives' visit to my house, to prepare for our planned home birth, they discovered that my blood pressure was a bit high. Given that I had low blood pressure throughout my pregnancy, this signaled a small alarm for them, and they asked me to come in to the clinic the next day to have it checked again. I went, and again, it was high. My midwife asked me to reduce my workload and stay home, spend a lot of time lying on my left side, and try not to get worked up about stuff (here is where Bell Canada was NOT helpful). I did all those things, but my blood pressure continued to climb. I had a non-stress test a week later, which came back with good results, but my midwife wanted me to have a biophysical profile the next day, just to double-ensure that the baby was doing okay in there.
My best friend was a week overdue at this point, and also had to have a BPP, so we went to the ultrasound clinic together. The room I had my ultrasound in is equipped with a screen on the wall above the foot of the bed, so patients can watch what the technician is doing. I could see her measuring the baby, but it didn't make sense to me that the calculations that were appearing with the baby's body measurements showed 35 weeks gestation. I was at 38 weeks in my pregnancy... and I was very confused.
The next day I returned to my midwives' clinic to again have my blood pressure checked and talk about the results of my BPP. They advised that sometimes babies who aren't doing well will send all the nutrients they're getting to their most important part - the brain - at the expense of their bodies. But everything else was great - good amniotic fluid levels, good respiratory movements, good heartbeat, etc., so they weren't especially concerned. The only other minor issue was that he was smallish, measuring in the 35 percentile for weight. I would continue to have my blood pressure monitored every 2 days and they expected I'd go back for another ultrasound the following week.
That was on Tuesday. On Thursday night, I got a call from my primary midwife, wanting to talk more about my ultrasound and high blood pressure. She thought maybe the first ultrasound, done at a walk-in ultrasound clinic, wasn't as accurate as it could be if done by a specialist. So she had arranged for me to have another ultrasound the following day at an obstetrical ultrasound clinic at her hospital.
The next morning, as I was getting ready to head over to the hospital, I started having a funny feeling about how things were going to play out. I emailed a few of my friends to see if anyone was free to go with me, but everyone had plans. Out of the blue, my friend Shirley emailed me to say she had the day off work and wanted to know if I was interested in having Korean food with her. I asked if she's come with me to the clinic first, and then over to my midwife's office with the ultrasound results. She agreed and showed up a short time later to take me over to the hospital.
After I had the ultrasound done, the technician asked me to wait a minute while he went to verify that he'd got all the measurements he needed. I looked over at the screen and saw "32 weeks gestation" as the age he'd calculated based on the baby's size. I was shocked. He returned and told me he'd need to do a few more measurements before I could go.
I went back out to the waiting room and called my midwife. I was shaking a bit, but tried to stay calm as I told her what I saw. She said to wait for the actual results and the doctor's recommendation before getting concerned. A few minutes later, the doctor called me over with the results and said that my baby was IUGR (intra-uterine growth restriction, I believe) and that I should get him out right away. I was in shock. I called Damien and started to cry as I explained the results of my ultrasound. I asked him to meet me at the midwives' clinic, where we'd find out what we should do next. Shirley (thank God for Shirley) drove me over to the clinic and then went back to our house to pick up the bags we'd packed just in case an impromptu trip to the hospital was necessary.
When we got to the clinic, my midwife looked at the report and told me she didn't think we should mess around, that there was no real grey area with these findings. She told me that I'd need to be induced that afternoon. I kind of zoned out at this point. The only thing I'd wanted to avoid was happening. I was terrified, because my induction with Josh was awful. And I'd tried so hard to have a home birth again. I figured that all of my work with the midwives would have guaranteed me a chance to have things done the way I'd wanted them. Ha ha.
My midwife also said how clever it was of my body to develop high blood pressure, which led them to carefully monitoring me, because from all other appearances, everything looked fine. I had thought I looked smaller than I should have been at that point, but I considered it a merciful gift, given how gigantic I'd gotten with Josh.
My midwife called the hospital to see if there was space for us, but it turned out that there were 6 women in triage waiting for care, one of whom was in labour with twins. So she sent us home and told us to wait for her call. Shirley to the rescue again - she picked us up, took us home, and then went out and got supper for us. We sat here and waited, and I worked on the last little bit of work I had to finish up because I had left for mat leave earlier than expected.
The call came around 9 p.m. She told us to meet her at the hospital at 9:30. While we were gathering up our stuff, Damien's mom and step-dad arrived, after picking up Josh for us at the friend's place where he'd been hanging out while we figured out what was going on. I thought he'd be upset to have us leave him to go to the hospital, but when he came in the door, I told him we were going to have the baby. He said, "Oh, is he ready to come out?" I told him yes, and that we were going to the hospital to have him instead of having him in the pool we'd set up in the basement, because he wasn't feeling well. That seemed like enough info for him, so away we went.
As I was stepping outside, I saw my friend's husband pull up with his mother-in-law and sister-in-law in tow. He ran inside to get Kate to tell her what was happening. Her mom and sister asked if they could pray for me, and while they were praying, Kate came up and put her arms around me. I was so scared and so anxious, and that hug just broke me. I started sobbing. But soon I let her go and got into the car with Damien and his mom.
We got to the hospital, met my midwife and she started my induction. I laboured on the birthing ball all night, meeting each contraction with a sense of calm and trying to talk myself through each one with the mantra "I am not afraid of this" or "this will pass soon and it's bringing my baby into the world". My midwife told me that I had been smiling through my contractions. Damien sat behind me and rubbed my back through each one. His support helped enormously. By 5:30 a.m., I couldn't keep my head up any longer. I needed to get back into the bed. My midwife checked me and said I was 4 cm dialated and full effaced. I felt deflated. All that work for 4 cm? I told her I needed an epidural. I had tried so hard not to get one this time, but with 6 more cm to go, and having been up all night with Pitocin-induced contractions, I completely gave in to the desperation I felt. My midwife encouraged me to consider that cervixes often change very quickly at this stage, but I couldn't risk it. I seriously go to the point where I didn't care if I died, if my baby died, if the building collapsed and we were all killed... I just needed the pain to stop.
The anesthetist arrived shortly after I'd requested the epidural and asked me if I wanted her to go over the risks involved. I was like, "NO! JUST PUT IT IN!" She quickly set me up and as I hunched over a pillow, clasping Damien's waist, I whispered, "vasectomy..."
As soon as the epidural was in, I lied down flat in the bed and I could start to feel my feet tingle. The anesthetist told me it would take about 20 minutes for the numbing to kick in, but that it should take the edge off my contractions immediately. I had one contraction, which hurt a lot, and then another that didn't seem to let up. I asked my midwife when it would be over. She looked at the fetal monitor and said, "It is over. What are you feeling?" I said, "SO much pain in my crotch!" She was like, "Wait, is your baby coming?" I said, "Oh, yeah, maybe that's it?" (I was numbed to my breast bone with Josh and didn't feel a thing when he was born. I had nothing to compare it to.)
She checked me and discovered that he was indeed right at the door, so to speak. Then she started to rush around frantically. The second midwife wasn't there yet, so she called her at told her to hurry to the hospital. Then she ran out of the room. I yelled after her, "Don't leave me!" because I could feel the baby coming out. She came back in with blankets, an OB and the respiratory therapist. She looked at the monitor and saw that my baby's heart rate was decelerating a lot, so she said, "Maryellen, your baby needs to be born right now. Push him out." So I did. I heard her say, "His head's out. He's going to be born on your next contraction." Two pushes and he was there, all 5.6 lbs of him... resting on my chest, crying his little indignant baby wail.
Damien cut his cord and then the respiratory therapist took him because he was grunting. My midwife asked to check me for tears and I told her I didn't think I'd torn at all. It was true, I hadn't. He was born so fast, and he was so tiny that it was no problem for the v-tunnel to handle. After about 15 minutes, the respiratory therapist said she needed to take him to another room to do some more work with him because his breathing wasn't improving. First, though, she said I could hold him and say goodbye.
As soon as they put him in my arms, he starting breathing normally. She concluded that he just wanted to be with his mama. :)
Then, because he was born less than 2500 grams, they had to check his blood sugar. It came back a bit low so they sent us upstairs to the postpartum floor for follow up with the staff up there. His blood sugar dropped dramatically and so they gave him some formula. I nursed him all afternoon and evening, and finally his blood sugar stabilized. We stayed overnight just to be sure he was okay. The next morning, we were eager to go, so they discharged us shortly after 9 a.m. and we were home and eating breakfast by 9:30.
He turned one month old on Tuesday. I've spent almost all day, every day, working on feeding him. It's been such a battle. His weight dropped to 5.1 lbs and instead of coming back up, he stayed low, despite my constant nursing. No matter what I do, I am not able to make enough milk to satisfy this boy, even though I've given this more effort and attention and energy than anything I'd done before. Fortunately, we have a friend who also had a baby in June and she overproduced milk, which she froze. She's been supplying us with enough to keep him happy and gaining weight, thank God, because he's showing signs of formula allergy.
So, nothing went as I'd expected, or wanted, but I'm trying to let go of the disappointment in that. I had a really positive experience, and he's healthy and strong. This is enough. This is enough.
At any rate, this is one of the rare occasions where he's been asleep for a while. I think I'll take advantage of it to write about his journey into the world.
I think I mentioned in an earlier entry that my during my midwives' visit to my house, to prepare for our planned home birth, they discovered that my blood pressure was a bit high. Given that I had low blood pressure throughout my pregnancy, this signaled a small alarm for them, and they asked me to come in to the clinic the next day to have it checked again. I went, and again, it was high. My midwife asked me to reduce my workload and stay home, spend a lot of time lying on my left side, and try not to get worked up about stuff (here is where Bell Canada was NOT helpful). I did all those things, but my blood pressure continued to climb. I had a non-stress test a week later, which came back with good results, but my midwife wanted me to have a biophysical profile the next day, just to double-ensure that the baby was doing okay in there.
My best friend was a week overdue at this point, and also had to have a BPP, so we went to the ultrasound clinic together. The room I had my ultrasound in is equipped with a screen on the wall above the foot of the bed, so patients can watch what the technician is doing. I could see her measuring the baby, but it didn't make sense to me that the calculations that were appearing with the baby's body measurements showed 35 weeks gestation. I was at 38 weeks in my pregnancy... and I was very confused.
The next day I returned to my midwives' clinic to again have my blood pressure checked and talk about the results of my BPP. They advised that sometimes babies who aren't doing well will send all the nutrients they're getting to their most important part - the brain - at the expense of their bodies. But everything else was great - good amniotic fluid levels, good respiratory movements, good heartbeat, etc., so they weren't especially concerned. The only other minor issue was that he was smallish, measuring in the 35 percentile for weight. I would continue to have my blood pressure monitored every 2 days and they expected I'd go back for another ultrasound the following week.
That was on Tuesday. On Thursday night, I got a call from my primary midwife, wanting to talk more about my ultrasound and high blood pressure. She thought maybe the first ultrasound, done at a walk-in ultrasound clinic, wasn't as accurate as it could be if done by a specialist. So she had arranged for me to have another ultrasound the following day at an obstetrical ultrasound clinic at her hospital.
The next morning, as I was getting ready to head over to the hospital, I started having a funny feeling about how things were going to play out. I emailed a few of my friends to see if anyone was free to go with me, but everyone had plans. Out of the blue, my friend Shirley emailed me to say she had the day off work and wanted to know if I was interested in having Korean food with her. I asked if she's come with me to the clinic first, and then over to my midwife's office with the ultrasound results. She agreed and showed up a short time later to take me over to the hospital.
After I had the ultrasound done, the technician asked me to wait a minute while he went to verify that he'd got all the measurements he needed. I looked over at the screen and saw "32 weeks gestation" as the age he'd calculated based on the baby's size. I was shocked. He returned and told me he'd need to do a few more measurements before I could go.
I went back out to the waiting room and called my midwife. I was shaking a bit, but tried to stay calm as I told her what I saw. She said to wait for the actual results and the doctor's recommendation before getting concerned. A few minutes later, the doctor called me over with the results and said that my baby was IUGR (intra-uterine growth restriction, I believe) and that I should get him out right away. I was in shock. I called Damien and started to cry as I explained the results of my ultrasound. I asked him to meet me at the midwives' clinic, where we'd find out what we should do next. Shirley (thank God for Shirley) drove me over to the clinic and then went back to our house to pick up the bags we'd packed just in case an impromptu trip to the hospital was necessary.
When we got to the clinic, my midwife looked at the report and told me she didn't think we should mess around, that there was no real grey area with these findings. She told me that I'd need to be induced that afternoon. I kind of zoned out at this point. The only thing I'd wanted to avoid was happening. I was terrified, because my induction with Josh was awful. And I'd tried so hard to have a home birth again. I figured that all of my work with the midwives would have guaranteed me a chance to have things done the way I'd wanted them. Ha ha.
My midwife also said how clever it was of my body to develop high blood pressure, which led them to carefully monitoring me, because from all other appearances, everything looked fine. I had thought I looked smaller than I should have been at that point, but I considered it a merciful gift, given how gigantic I'd gotten with Josh.
My midwife called the hospital to see if there was space for us, but it turned out that there were 6 women in triage waiting for care, one of whom was in labour with twins. So she sent us home and told us to wait for her call. Shirley to the rescue again - she picked us up, took us home, and then went out and got supper for us. We sat here and waited, and I worked on the last little bit of work I had to finish up because I had left for mat leave earlier than expected.
The call came around 9 p.m. She told us to meet her at the hospital at 9:30. While we were gathering up our stuff, Damien's mom and step-dad arrived, after picking up Josh for us at the friend's place where he'd been hanging out while we figured out what was going on. I thought he'd be upset to have us leave him to go to the hospital, but when he came in the door, I told him we were going to have the baby. He said, "Oh, is he ready to come out?" I told him yes, and that we were going to the hospital to have him instead of having him in the pool we'd set up in the basement, because he wasn't feeling well. That seemed like enough info for him, so away we went.
As I was stepping outside, I saw my friend's husband pull up with his mother-in-law and sister-in-law in tow. He ran inside to get Kate to tell her what was happening. Her mom and sister asked if they could pray for me, and while they were praying, Kate came up and put her arms around me. I was so scared and so anxious, and that hug just broke me. I started sobbing. But soon I let her go and got into the car with Damien and his mom.
We got to the hospital, met my midwife and she started my induction. I laboured on the birthing ball all night, meeting each contraction with a sense of calm and trying to talk myself through each one with the mantra "I am not afraid of this" or "this will pass soon and it's bringing my baby into the world". My midwife told me that I had been smiling through my contractions. Damien sat behind me and rubbed my back through each one. His support helped enormously. By 5:30 a.m., I couldn't keep my head up any longer. I needed to get back into the bed. My midwife checked me and said I was 4 cm dialated and full effaced. I felt deflated. All that work for 4 cm? I told her I needed an epidural. I had tried so hard not to get one this time, but with 6 more cm to go, and having been up all night with Pitocin-induced contractions, I completely gave in to the desperation I felt. My midwife encouraged me to consider that cervixes often change very quickly at this stage, but I couldn't risk it. I seriously go to the point where I didn't care if I died, if my baby died, if the building collapsed and we were all killed... I just needed the pain to stop.
The anesthetist arrived shortly after I'd requested the epidural and asked me if I wanted her to go over the risks involved. I was like, "NO! JUST PUT IT IN!" She quickly set me up and as I hunched over a pillow, clasping Damien's waist, I whispered, "vasectomy..."
As soon as the epidural was in, I lied down flat in the bed and I could start to feel my feet tingle. The anesthetist told me it would take about 20 minutes for the numbing to kick in, but that it should take the edge off my contractions immediately. I had one contraction, which hurt a lot, and then another that didn't seem to let up. I asked my midwife when it would be over. She looked at the fetal monitor and said, "It is over. What are you feeling?" I said, "SO much pain in my crotch!" She was like, "Wait, is your baby coming?" I said, "Oh, yeah, maybe that's it?" (I was numbed to my breast bone with Josh and didn't feel a thing when he was born. I had nothing to compare it to.)
She checked me and discovered that he was indeed right at the door, so to speak. Then she started to rush around frantically. The second midwife wasn't there yet, so she called her at told her to hurry to the hospital. Then she ran out of the room. I yelled after her, "Don't leave me!" because I could feel the baby coming out. She came back in with blankets, an OB and the respiratory therapist. She looked at the monitor and saw that my baby's heart rate was decelerating a lot, so she said, "Maryellen, your baby needs to be born right now. Push him out." So I did. I heard her say, "His head's out. He's going to be born on your next contraction." Two pushes and he was there, all 5.6 lbs of him... resting on my chest, crying his little indignant baby wail.
Damien cut his cord and then the respiratory therapist took him because he was grunting. My midwife asked to check me for tears and I told her I didn't think I'd torn at all. It was true, I hadn't. He was born so fast, and he was so tiny that it was no problem for the v-tunnel to handle. After about 15 minutes, the respiratory therapist said she needed to take him to another room to do some more work with him because his breathing wasn't improving. First, though, she said I could hold him and say goodbye.
As soon as they put him in my arms, he starting breathing normally. She concluded that he just wanted to be with his mama. :)
Then, because he was born less than 2500 grams, they had to check his blood sugar. It came back a bit low so they sent us upstairs to the postpartum floor for follow up with the staff up there. His blood sugar dropped dramatically and so they gave him some formula. I nursed him all afternoon and evening, and finally his blood sugar stabilized. We stayed overnight just to be sure he was okay. The next morning, we were eager to go, so they discharged us shortly after 9 a.m. and we were home and eating breakfast by 9:30.
He turned one month old on Tuesday. I've spent almost all day, every day, working on feeding him. It's been such a battle. His weight dropped to 5.1 lbs and instead of coming back up, he stayed low, despite my constant nursing. No matter what I do, I am not able to make enough milk to satisfy this boy, even though I've given this more effort and attention and energy than anything I'd done before. Fortunately, we have a friend who also had a baby in June and she overproduced milk, which she froze. She's been supplying us with enough to keep him happy and gaining weight, thank God, because he's showing signs of formula allergy.
So, nothing went as I'd expected, or wanted, but I'm trying to let go of the disappointment in that. I had a really positive experience, and he's healthy and strong. This is enough. This is enough.