Jack's birth story, a year later. (Caution, there is some graphic stuff, here...)

Giving birth is supposed to be a wonderful experience for moms. And then, there are moms of premature babies. Last week, I started to get depressed because I realized that my son will soon be a year old, which means that a year or so ago, I was admitted into the hospital because my membranes ruptured early. It was a nightmare for this first-time-mom. Apparently, it still is, since I am anxious thinking about it a year later.

On October 4th, 2013, I worked my last day of work.After my day was over, I talked to the owner of The Jorve Corporation, who was my boss. He is such a great guy. He says whatever is on his mind, which I love. So, this afternoon was no different. He looked at me and said, "Damnit, Jill... You need to hurry up and have this baby because I need you back at work." We all laughed, but I knew it would throw the company in a frenzy when I was on maternity leave. Ted's humor was another reason why I loved working for him. I had noticed that when I was laughing that I had a little leaking. I thought it was just that I may have needed to go to the bathroom. I happened again standing up on the light rail and the bus on my way home. But since it was just a little bit, I didn't think of it, much. I went shopping the next day and didn't notice much leaking at all, so I didn't have a reason to think that it wasn't anything but losing my bladder. Sunday morning (October 6th) we got up like normal and started getting ready for church. Well, as I was walking Klaus, I noticed an alarming amount of leaking. I was so worried that when I called the after hours help line, I started crying while I was explaining the situation to the nurse on the phone. I just reached 33 weeks gestation and potentially had my water break. I was advised to go to the hospital and not eat or drink anything. Klaus knew something was wrong. He looked so worried when Chase walked out the door. 

The entire ride to the hospital was silent. Chase and I were pretty worried. I walked in the hospital and was immediately admitted into triage. My midwife just so happened to come in as I was being admitted and came in to check on me. She took some of the fluid on a slide and determined that it was amniotic fluid that was leaking. My water sack had broken. She reassured Chase and me that it was okay and most likely, Jack would be safe, but I would have to stay at the hospital until I was 34 weeks gestation before we induced for delivery, but we didn't have to have an emergency C-section. So much for greeting at church that day... We had to get in touch with Daniel, who was our ministry lead when we greeted on Sundays. Chase messaged him and let him know that there was an emergency and we weren't able to make it to church. 

I couldn't believe that Jack was about ready to come into this world... Our community group leader just told us that we needed to get our bags ready for when I went into labor. My response was, "oh, we have plenty of time." Now, just 5 days later, I was being admitted into the hospital because my body was in labor.

The nurses were all so helpful and reassuring. One of our nurses that cared for me the day I was admitted was actually a preemie herself. She was also a twin. She said that she turned out okay, so she had no doubt that my little 33 weeker would be fine. No matter how much you hear it, there's still that worry that your baby will be the exception to the rule. I called my mom and told her that I was admitted into the hospital, but they said not to visit just yet, because I may not give birth for a week or so. 

When I was settled in, I called my work to let them know that I wasn't going to be able to come to work indefinitely. I asked my office manager if I needed to stop by and get any invoices to enter because, hey, I was sitting in the hospital for a week... with nothing to do... She said no, just rest. I also asked about having a job since I left work 7 weeks early and I needed the job. She told me not to worry about it. 

The week and a half between my admission and my delivery was such a blur. I don't remember what happened when, but I had a lot of checking on me, I had a lot of monitoring done, I had a lot of talks with the midwives and nurses. One that sticks out in my mind is one of my nurses came in and sat down next to Chase and me and said that I would probably be fine if I chose to go on my way and not deliver the baby until my due date. She said something along the lines of us being able to chose either (staying in the hospital until we induced or discharging from the hospital and waiting until I went into active labor), but she wasn't going to tell us which to chose. She said, "I just hope you make the right choice." Well, that sent us into a mass state of confusion. What were we supposed to do now? We knew from the extensive talks with midwives that we could wait until the 34 week mark, but actually going home and waiting it out? potentially being on bed rest until I delivered... Later, we spoke with one of the midwives that was caring for me and raised our concerns about what the nurse said. She listened like a friend, which was so meaningful for us. We were in a place of unfamiliarity and knew no one. Her sitting and listening to Chase and me talk about our concerns of returning home and not knowing what to do at all made it easier for us to make the decision to just wait the week and meet our son early.

I think Mom flew in on a Wednesday (like I said, it was all a blur). We waited and waited and waited for induction. I reached 34 weeks that Friday. We started induction that day. After the first dose of misoprostol, they decided to cease the induction because there were quite a few mothers in active labor that came into the hospital. Saturday went by, Sunday came and we decided to start again. Misoprostol was my induction medicine, again. I took one or two doses and one of my midwives got the okay to use Cervidil, which is inserted and helps the cervix ripen and open for delivery. After six hours, she took the cervidil out and started dilating my cervix manually. After that, it seemed like it was so fast. I can't remember if I was put on pitocin or not, but I remember the nurses trying to regulate my contractions... All I remember is almost a steady pain of contractions. They were strong and long. After 2 long hours of no pain medication, I tapped out and asked for an IV. It gave me very little relief. It took the steady pain away and the waves came and went. After an hour of sleeping a minute or two or five at a time, I decided to tap out again and I asked for the epidural. Oh, heaven... I should've asked for that in the first place. I wanted to try to do it naturally. That was my birth plan. My last resort had become my resort. It went so fast after that. My midwife said that I would probably have my son in my arms before noon. I didn't know about that... But I was hopeful and it sounded like a plan. I started pushing at 11:30am on October 14th. After my first big push, we stopped and I was able to feel my baby crowning. His little head of hair was imagined to be so dark, since my hair is dark brown. I sat up a little and pushed with all my might toward the light on the ceiling. The last push and delivery at 11:55am. I had my son in my arms at 11:55am. I forgot about all of the pain, all of the chaos and uncertainty of the past week. And just cried and greeted my son. I was so relieved to have him in my arms.

Little did I know, that between the admiration of my son, the first picture, and the clean up, I had bled out an alarming amount of blood. I'd become anemic during pregnancy, so that didn't help the issue. Apparently, there's an artery that runs behind the clitoris and I was bleeding out from there. Usually moms tear when they push and I prayed not to tear toward the back. I was the first time anyone in that hospital had torn up the front. My midwife finally stopped the bleeding by applying pressure and said that she wanted to make sure that we got everything in place to heal correctly. She said, "we definitely want to make sure that your clitoris is working properly. We know how important that is." In my hazy state, I thought it was one of the funniest things I'd heard all day. They only revealed later that the blood loss was very dangerous. I was elevated and bundled. I was so tired that I slept for 5 hours afterward. I was notably pale for almost a month.

(I took this picture a week and a half after Jack was born)

I only got to see my little peanut for 15 minutes. They had to take him to the special care nursery afterward. Plus 8 hours of me not seeing him, I was ready to go see my little dumpling. I don't remember what happened from 5-8, I may have gone back to sleep. I was very light headed and dizzy when we went to see him. He was bundled up and making these tiny little grunting sounds. He was so perfect. He looked like a little living doll. At that point, I tried to look presentable in my pictures that Chase took of my second time holding him, but I look so drunk. I didn't know that I was pale and lost so much blood. All I knew is that I was tired and weak.

As the following days progressed, I got mad at my body because I wasn't producing a lot of colostrum or milk. I'd see moms coming in with 5 or 6 tubes of milk for their babies and I was only bringing one or two. The nurses in the special care nursery kept telling me that what I was bringing was enough. I didn't want Jack to have formula. At. All. I thought it was gross. I wanted my baby to have the best of the best. And my body wasn't giving that. He couldn't latch, and I wasn't supplying like he needed. That was so depressing for me. Also comparing myself to other moms didn't help. A few days after Jack was born, he had to be put under the bili lights. He had jaundice. The morning that they put him under the lights, I cried. I was so upset. First, I had to wait a week to meet my son, then I didn't get to see him until 8 hours later (more/less). Then, I could only see him every three hours (because I still was so tired from the blood loss and slept a ton between feedings), and now, I could only hold him for 30 minutes every three hours. I had serious separation anxiety. The doctors and nurses used me as an example when they did their rounds that day. I told Chase that I was coming home and that I couldn't be a boarding mother for any longer. I needed to get away and get some rest. I was a wreck on the bus home from the hospital. I'm sure people thought that I was a battered woman.

I was overjoyed to see Klaus and Klaus was overjoyed to see me. He slept right by my side when I was at home. When I was awake, I thought about Jack. I was so emotional when I had to pump because I just didn't want to be at home. I wanted to be with my son. When I finally went back to the hospital, The nurses let me hold Jack as long as I wanted because they knew that we only had a limited amount of time to be with him. After a few days, his biliruben count was low enough that he didn't have to have the lights anymore. He still had to be in an isolette, however. He wasn't able to regulate his own body temperature yet.

As the week in the hospital turned into almost a month (even though I wasn't in the hospital for more than 2, it still felt like I was living there because of all of the time I was spending there in the nursery), We started asking when Jack would be able to come home. The nurses set the expectation of the due date by saying, "he may have to stay until the original due date, but we anticipate that it could be a lot sooner." He had to master suck, swallow, and breathe. Suckling the bottle and swallowing, while still maintaining his breathing pattern. The breathing was the hardest. We had to go a week without an event (making sure that his breathing didn't stop while he was eating and making sure that he could come back from it on his own).  Luckily, 25 days after he was born, Chase and I got to bring our little blessing home. It was a long, exhausting, confusing, emotional month of events in which we were not ready. One word can describe it all: chaos. It was such a chaotic month in our lives. We've come to a new normal since then and we've enjoyed life away from the hospital.

One thing is for sure: I will relive these moments the rest of my life. I don't wish this on anyone. Birthing a child should be a wonderful experience and not filled with doubt, fear, and insecurity. I am so thankful of the midwifery practice at Group Health and all of the nurses who cared for me and my son in the special care nursery. They made our chaos as tolerable as possible. I'm thankful for the well wishes from all of our family and friends and prayers as well.

This is not what I want to remember every year about the birth of my son, but I was told today by a dear friend of mine, "...In regards to depression as you come up on revisiting this time of year and all that you went through, i had a thought. Well, a couple. one, you might have a little emotional PTSD (yes I do, and am experiencing it as I type this). Just semantics but sometimes it helps to know that's what it is in regards to revisiting traumatic events (I can't even use the same fragrance deodorant anymore because it makes me experience axiety, actually). But my main point is maybe you can let those feelings drive you to pray for other women in those situations. And even perhaps visit a NICU and give some moms some prayer and encouragement. Maybe it would put a different spin on it that would help you to process and heal through it. You have a lot to offer ministry wise." Great thoughts. I'm so thankful for her and what she brings to my life. In addition, please keep me in your prayers this month, as my mind remembers the trauma of the month.

Thanks for reading.

Slow Fade

Tonight, I'm finding myself sitting in front of the laptop thinking about what it's been like the past few months. Thoughts whir around my head like mosquitoes around a tender baby. The thoughts are ever changing and always the same. Most of which concern marriage. I've stated in a past blog post that I think about my wedding every day. I have for the past 4 years.  I ponder what the breaking point is in a relationship that causes someone to want to end it. I wonder if it's the little things. I ask myself if it's the socks left on the floor or the coffee cups that don't get rinsed out. Is it his depression or her lack of empathy?

I wonder if one day 10 years, 13 years, 25 or 30 years down the line if I will choose to stop loving my husband. Soon after, when I think about using the word divorce, my mouth becomes tacky and dry, and my throat gets tight as if I'm trying to swallow an elephant whole. Just that tells me that I can't even fathom the thought of using anything that's happened in the past 7 years of my and Chase's relationship against him or getting tired of him and using some excuse like being tired of taking care of him, or bored, or "fallen out of love."

There's a reason why there's a cliche that says, "Love isn't a feeling, it's something that you do," or however it goes. I just think of that older country song with that line in the chorus. I've always said to Chase that I chose him. And it hit me again today that I had a pick of two (maybe three, but I'm not trying to toot my own horn, here...) guys. And the one that held the most attraction for me was the one I picked. The pursuer was the one I pursued. I was tired of being the one who chased guys. And once I let Chase know I was interested in him, I allowed him to be the one who made the decision of whether or not he wanted to be with me. Seven years later, we are married with a terrific son. These two guys, plus the fuzzy one in the kennel, are the reason why I wake up every morning. I can't imagine what my life would be like without them. I don't even want to!

There's a song by one of my favorite bands, Casting Crowns, called "Slow Fade." The chorus says, "It's a slow fade when you give yourself away, it's a slow fade when black and white turn to gray, thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid when you give yourself away. People never crumble in a day, it's a slow fade." I wonder, "what little acts have leant themselves to pulling me away from my husband and son and fur baby?" One step at a time doesn't seem so bad... not much at all... but looking back, how far have they brought me? How far has censoring my husband brought me? How far has being passive to his depression brought me? How far has me not washing the dishes brought me? How far has not keeping the house clean (because I stay at home, now, and it's one of my primary responsibilities) brought me? How far has the lack of intimacy brought me? And suddenly I feel like he's the one that's pulled away. It seems like enough to make me, or anyone, really, [to] seek affection elsewhere.

Feeling that he's the one that's being secretive or giving me the cold shoulder is crazy. I have found, however, that once I start doing and stop sitting around the house watching Netflix, I feel more loved. It's a little confusing, so I'd better explain myself. For the past 2 months, I've been watching my niece and nephew and totally neglecting my house and dishes and laundry. I had a huge pile of dishes on the counter and wasn't able to do any housework for that period of time. When my niece went to school last month and I was reduced to two kids, I decided that I may be able to bring my nephew over to my house, wash some dishes and tidy a bit. all of a sudden, I started feeling really loved. I knew that Chase was going to be grateful for what I was doing: removing cluttered boxes, washing clothes and folding them, and washing that mountain of dirty dishes. His language of love is acts of service. Mine, not so much... I started getting tired of seeing all of the boxes and clothes and dishes that I FINALLY just got up and started doing stuff. I anticipated the praise from my husband and started doing what needed to be done. And he said that I'd been working hard, he appreciated it, he felt loved and he loved me! It made me want to continue.

So, in closing, my answer to the slow fade is to love fearlessly and relentlessly.