Nostalgia

Since I made no blog-worthy mistakes this week (just mundane stuff like thinking I could soak in the tub without company), I am foregoing my usual Saturday feature.  My mother-in-law, Deb Campbell, has kindly agreed to allow me to post the birth story she wrote for Ben.  I’m proud to report she was inspired to do this by my post earlier in the week.

Happy Mother’s Day, Deb.

Here is Ben’s birth story without the great black and white photographic documentation.

It was March, 1977 and I was about 8 months pregnant and home alone in the afternoon. I had just finished practicing my LaMaze exercises, both breathing and stretching and walked into the kitchen. Suddenly, my water broke, like the floods rushing through the levy in New Orleans! I was shocked, since I still had a good month to go. I called the doctor’s office and actually talked directly to him. You must know that this was in the small town of St. James (MN) where there were only two doctors in town who had a practice together. They didn’t take appointments. If you needed to see a doctor, you just
went down to the office and waited in line until they called your name. Dr. Moulton said, “Well, I guess you are going to have a baby.” For this, his parents paid for medical school!

I called Larry at work and he came home early. There were no contractions that afternoon and Dr. Moulton said that if nothing happened by morning, I should call his office. That evening, we were expecting my brother Michael for supper. He lived about 60 miles away in Hector and drove down for the evening. I didn’t want a big fuss, so we had supper without him knowing anything was going on. Larry and Michael ate regular food and I feigned “no appetite” and had jello.

After he left, we walked about 5 blocks to the grocery store (honest to God) and picked up lemon drops and Wheaties. The reason we walked was because our brand spankin’ newish car wouldn’t start.

Still no contractions and it was time for bed. I stayed up and finished sewing a bathrobe I had planned to take to the hospital and finished packing my bag. Larry went to bed to be well rested for the coming birth. After the last button was stitched on the robe, I also retired for the evening. About 2:00 in the morning, I woke up with what felt like just a mild stomach ache. The contractions came once in a while, but I slept through most of it. At about 4:00 or so, they were coming along more regularly, but still very easy to take. I was doing my breathing and totally calm. I thought I had a long, long way to go and wanted to sleep and rest as much as possible to save my energy for when things really got going. The LaMaze classes were paying off and it felt like the breathing and focusing kept me very calm and in control.

At about 5:00 or so, I thought maybe we should go to the hospital, because I really hadn’t planned on a home birth. Larry went out to start the car and true to form for a Fiat (appropriately nick-named “Dud”) it wouldn’t start. Larry called the police and told them his wife was in labor and we needed a ride to the hospital. Hoot Malmgren (I will never forget this man’s name) was the officer on duty that night. He asked if we wanted an ambulance and we said, “Oh, no. Just a ride.” (Minnesota Nice.)

So about 2 minutes later, Hoot pulled up in the driveway. I got in the back seat and Larry sat in front (this must have been some kind of cultural thing) and Hoot took off for the hospital. He hit a few bumps in the road and said, “That should speed things up.” (Maybe it did!)

We got to the hospital about 5:30. The nurses took me into a room and did an exam and prepped me. After a very short me, they said it was time to go into the delivery room. I could hardly believe it. I was prepared for hours of labor and had been doing all the breathing exercises with each contraction. I hadn’t even started the more complex ones that are reserved for heavy labor because I honestly thought I had a long way to go. One of the nurses asked me how many children I had; she was surprised that this was my first baby and that I seemed awfully calm.

We moved into the delivery room and I started pushing. Dr. Moulton, roused from his slumber, showed up, getting suited up as he entered the room, as there wasn’t much time to spare. At 6:14, out came Ben, very quickly, after a number of hard pushes. He had a cone-shaped head, but was absolutely perfect, if not a bit tiny, weighing in at 5.5 pounds. The nurse laid him on top of me and I remember being amazed at what he looked like and how tiny he seemed. Since no ultra sound had been done, we didn?t have a clue about whether this was going to be a boy or girl, but for some reason had made the assumption it was a girl. What a surprise, when the doctor said, “You have a boy.” I almost said, “Are you sure?”

Since Ben was a month earlier than he should have been, the nurses took him fairly quickly and put him in a warmer. After a few hours they brought him back into my room and it was the most thrilling moment I had ever had. We kept looking at him and just couldn’t believe how perfect he was. I remember we unwrapped this tiny little baby on the bed and actually were just a bit frightened at how small he was. Ben?s little legs were about as big around as a thumb. The diapers were too big and actually had to be folded more so they would fit.

In the next day or so, as babies do, Ben lost a little weight so he slipped under 5 pounds. Dr. Moulton wanted to keep him in the hospital until he regained his birth weight. After 5 days, which in those days was pretty standard, I was discharged without my baby. The next four days were really hard, having our baby in the hospital and not being there all the time. We went every three hours to feed him, but he was not particularly interested in waking up and eating, so we usually had to wake him for each feeding. Finally after the 9th day, he had regained his birth weight and could come home with us. Ben was the smallest baby born in the Watonwan Memorial Hospital during the entire year of 1977.

The drive home was so different from what it would be today. I held Ben on my lap and we drove home. No car seat, no restraints, just holding a newborn baby and assuming the best. We brought him into the house and walked through telling him about each room. Then we changed his diaper on the living room couch. I don’t know why I remember that, but it seems like we could have probably found a better spot than that, perhaps the changing table?? We had the cradle that Papa had made in the dining room down stairs and we put him in it with a musical tiger. Life was perfect and so was our new baby.

About two hours after delivery, we were moved upstairs to a new room.  The sun was shining again and we had a view of the enormous hospital.  I felt like we were in some super-high tech fortified city, which I guess we sort of were. 

Because of the large dose of whatever it is they use for an epidural, my left side was still completely numb.  I was exhausted from being awake and in labor all night, yet euphoric that our daughter was in my arms.  I slept for a bit and when I awoke we met our new nurse, Florence.  She was from Jamaica and had that lovely patois.  She assured us that Nora was an uncommonly beautiful baby, which we had no trouble believing. 

My first trip to the bathroom and back left me sobbing. I was shocked at the level of pain I felt —  I could barely walk.  Florence seemed surprised at my tears.  Drugs were delivered.  Ben accompanied Nora down the hall for some tests while I had a chance to rest.  When they returned, attempts at breast-feeding were made without much success.  I revolted against Florence when she told me that they’d have to give Nora some formula.  As I had gestational diabetes, they were checking Nora’s blood glucose level and it was too low.  She needed sustenance right away.  I was worried that bottle feeding would forever ruin our chances to breastfeed successfully.  There were more tears, but  I lost the battle.  Again, Florence seemed as if she couldn’t understand my reaction.  Bottles and formula were brought in.  And a breast pump.   I was assured I would get to see a lactation specialist before the end of my stay. 

After the formula kerfuffle, Florence and I never really hit it off.  But the rest of the staff was terrific.   There was a nurse’s aide who was an immigrant from Russia. She was very gentle and attentive.  Our night nurse was fantastic (memory fails to come up with her name — Loretta?).  She was calm, practical and empathetic.  She helped us break the rule against having your baby sleep in bed with you.  I so wished she could be my day nurse.

My fondest memories in the hospital are the looks and amazement that Ben and I shared.  We were both so flabbergasted by the creature that was now in our charge.  Our eyes may have been red-rimmed from sleep deprivation, but we were living inside a perfect dream.  A healthy little girl in our arms. 

Then there was the little problem of having two cars at the hospital — remember, I drove myself in for what I thought was a doctor’s appointment.  Ben’s plan was to drive his car home and ride his bike back to the hospital.  Then we’d take his bike home on the roof rack when it was time to go.  Great plan, except the poor guy suffered a flat tire on his way back.  He had to call a friend from work to give him and his bike a lift. 

When it was time to go, we were ready.   My doctor (the one who couldn’t deliver my baby because he was too tired) stopped in to see us just as we were leaving.  I was nervous about the car ride and Nora was fussy.  I remember trying to get her to take a pacifier and wanting the doctor to leave so we could get home.

I sat in the back seat with Nora while Ben drove about twenty miles an hour all the way home — we were so nervous about our precious cargo.  I was acting as a second set of restraints, holding her head steady during turns.  And then we were home.

We were ready to collapse from the drain of the eight mile journey from the hospital to the house, but there were things to be done.  Poor Ben had to do the hard stuff, like collecting our dog from boarding and getting my prescriptions filled.  He actually fell asleep in the waiting room chair of the Safeway pharmacy.

We had been a touch anxious about introducing our 55 pound dog, Hoover, to a tiny infant.  The initial introduction was a non-event, Hoover was so exhausted from three days of romping with other dogs that he failed to even notice her.  After sleeping for a few days, he gave her a sniff and decided she was his personal responsibility.  When she would cry, he would come running and stare at us as if to say, shouldn’t you be doing something to make her stop? Do you even know what you’re doing?

My mom had warned us that the first few weeks with a newborn are “no joke.”  We quickly realized we needed a baby swing.  Ben came back from Babies-R-Us with the most deluxe model and an observation that there are two types of people who shop at baby big box stores, the still pregnant and carefully deliberating and the bleary eyed new parents who will pay any price to meet a need. 

We decided that the best approach for the first few days was to work in shifts.  I would tend Nora for four hours, while Ben slept in the bedroom with earplugs and the fan going, then we’d switch.  During one of my shifts, I was so wrecked with exhaustion, that I started to hear the voices of my aunts in the white noise playing from the swing.

Breast-feeding was going better.  We had a love seat set up in Nora’s bedroom.  I’d snuggle up with her and stare out the window during feedings.  The second evening we were home, I was feeding her and she started making a pronounced gulping sound.  My milk had come in.

Nora had jaundice.  Over the weekend, I spoken to the doctor on call at our clinic.  He had a thick Indian accent and advised us to “strip the baby naked” and get her some sun exposure at the window.  Ben and I had fun repeating “streep the beh-bee neked,” to each other. 

On Monday, we took her in for her first check-up.  Nora was dressed in a onesy that her aunt Iss had made for her.  It said “Baby Campbell” across the front.  Our troll-like nurse’s aide asked, “Is that the child’s name?”  Then proceeded to poke and squeeze our poor girl’s feet over and over again to get a blood sample.  Later that day, we got a panicked call from the clinic, her bilirubin came back sky-high and they wanted us to go the emergency room right away for another test.  Hormones still raging, I had a complete melt-down over the thought of anything being wrong with her.  Ben had to give me a “pull it together for your daughter speech.”  We headed back up to the hospital on the hill. 

During the admissions process, we undressed her and put her on the scale.  Ben told the nurse about getting her undressed for the first time and how he tried to simply yank her shirt up over her head, “you know, like she was ten.” 

Nora needed another blood draw to test her bilirubin level.  We were loath to have her tiny feet poked again.  OHSU has a terrific pediatric ER, they offered to get the sample from her scalp.  They were a bit surprised when I enthusiastically agreed to it.  Apparently, most parents are not eager to see a needle stuck in their child’s head.  It made far more sense to me to let them find a good vein in her head, and get it over with, than to keep torturing her feet. 

The test came back high, but not as high as the previous test, which was probably a false result.  The doctor explained our options while diapering Nora for us.  Since she was born a few weeks early, we could admit her to treat the jaundice.  Or, he could send us home and get a light blanket ordered for us, with home visits from a nurse.  We all agreed to the latter strategy.

The light blanket was delivered and after a few days of being wrapped up and looking like a glowworm, Nora’s bilirubin dropped to a normal level.  With this (non)crisis behind us, we soon fell into a family rhythm.  Feed, cuddle, diaper, cuddle, bathe, cuddle.  Repeat.

I love hearing birth stories.  Please share yours.

I’m a little upset right now, because I can’t find the file where I put down a bunch of notes about Nora’s birth.  I wrote everything down in a data dump sort of way, not as a fleshed out story.  I knew that as time passed I’d forget the little things, the names of the nurses, the timing of certain events.  I wanted to put down the details so I could write it up someday and pair it with Ben’s amazing film photography of the event (nothing graphic, I promise). 

After Nora was born, I was disappointed that people really didn’t seem interested in hearing my birth story.  Listening is not a strong suit for most Americans, so I didn’t take it personally.  But when you have a baby, on some level, you feel like you and your partner invented the whole process.  It’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to you, but to paraphrase, newborn babies happen every day.

Regardless, I know at least one person who will want to know the whole story someday, Nora.

Here’s what I remember…

I was in early labor for days, partially dilated with intermittent contractions.  My doctor had given me the “any day now” nod, even though my due date was more than two weeks away.  Ben would take me to Mount Tabor Park for long walks, to get things moving. 

 On a Monday, I was feeling miserable, so I called my OB’s office to make my Tuesday appointment earlier in the day, hoping they would take pity on me and induce.  Monday night, I had to get up every eight minutes to pee.  Every. Eight. Minutes.  Tuesday morning, my OB’s office called to tell me my doctor was sick, so my appointment was being cancelled.  In tears, I called my perinatologist’s office. (I had three doctors, a resident, an attending and a perinatologist because my gestational diabetes put me in a high risk category.)  They had an opening a few hours away.  I was relieved, and went outside to mow the lawn. That’s right.  Mow. The. Lawn.  I was willing to try anything to bring on active labor.  But, I couldn’t get the lawn mower started because Ben had converted it to run on propane, making it more difficult to start.  And my neighbor caught me trying and told me to knock it off.

I drove myself to the perinatologist’s office, which is in a wing of the immense Oregon Health Sciences University hospital.  I told my doctor how wretched I felt.  She put me up on the table and said, “No wonder you’re miserable.  You’re water’s broken.”  There had been no gush.  I had what’s known as a “high leak.”  Likely, Nora had kicked a hole in the top of the amniotic sac and fluid was leaking out at a trickle — which explained my ludicrously frequent trips to the bathroom.  I had no idea this could happen.  My doctor wasted no time in getting me in a wheelchair and I was pushed to the birthing center while I called Ben on my cell phone. 

“Apparently, my water’s broken,” I said.

“Since when?” he asked, as confused as I was.

Ben’s job was to leave work, pick up my suitcase, drop our dog off at boarding and hustle to the hospital.  It was a warm, sunny day in May.  Light was streaming in the window of my room.  Ben arrived with my luggage and his camera, a bit breathless and expectant.  It was about one-thirty in the afternoon.  I was ecstatic, this baby is coming out!

We met our nurse (here’s where my notes would come in handy).  I think her name was Janice.  She was about our age and we immediately clicked.  Her boyfriend was into film photography, too.  She admired Ben’s Leica.  I admired her Danskos.  She told us what to expect.  Since my water was already broken, they wanted the baby out today, to reduce the risk of infection.  This would mean I would get Pitocyn to bring on labor.  We discussed options.  I didn’t walk in with a full-blown birth plan.  This wasn’t a process I felt I could control, and I didn’t want to be disappointed if the experience didn’t match my expectations.  I wanted to play it by ear and do what felt right at the time.  Pitocyn can cause very strong, painful contractions, so we discussed the possibility of an epidural.  I decided to wait and see.  She warned me that at the point I decided to get one, it would take at least a half an hour to get it administered.  Once you get an epidural, you can’t really tell if you have to pee, so most people get a catheter.  I took a wait and see approach to this as well.

They started a fetal monitor, an IV and Pitocyn.  Not much happened for a while, the contractions became more regular, but not terribly painful.  Janice suggested we walk around.  The IV bag was on wheels, so Ben walked me in circles around the birthing center.  When a contraction would come, I’d stand still, and practice my Lamaze breathing while looking at my focal point object.  It was a heart Ben made me for Valentine’s Day, made of  brass, with a little brass heart nestled inside, to symbolize Nora in my belly.  (I know, he’s amazing.)

I was handling the contractions pretty well, but Ben gently suggested I start thinking about asking for the epidural while things were still manageable.  I was very short on sleep, and maybe it wasn’t the best idea to attempt any feats of daring, like a “natural” birth on Pitocyn.  Especially considering I had hemorrhoids the size of kumquats. Smart man.

As promised, it took awhile to get the epidural.  When the doctor showed up, he gave a detailed explanation of how he was going to stick a needle in my spine.  I took one look at Ben’s pallid complexion and gave him permission to take a coffee break.  Once the procedure was over, I relaxed.  It took Ben awhile to get back from his coffee break.  When he returned he explained that he had accidentally locked himself out of the hospital.  He wandered around until he found a kind security guard who let him back in.  Good thing they put admission bracelets on daddies, too.

The nurse asked if I had to pee, and as I realized I had no idea, I decided to get the catheter.  I was now of the mindset that the more they could take off my plate, the better.  Soon, they increased the Pitocyn to speed things up.  Slowly, the pain crept back in, but only on the right side.  Then it quickly got worse.  Every contraction was like being stabbed with a big knife on the right side of my belly.  The nurse called for the anesthesiologist.  I got pissed about how long it took him to come back.  When he showed up, I was crying.  I can’t remember what he did, but the pain finally went away.   

Sadly, it was now about eleven at night, and Janice’s shift was ending.  Our next nurse was great, too.  But she wasn’t Janice.  Also, my doctors were dropping like flies.  My normal OB (the resident) was sick.  They called my attending and he had been awake for about 48 hours, and it was decided he shouldn’t deliver another baby until he got some sleep.  My perinatologist was not the doctor on call for her office that week.  Nora was delivered by a bunch of doctors I’d never met before.  Thankfully, they were all terrific.  Except the resident was too talkative.  She would have been obnoxious in large doses.  (After my labor she told me I had a “roomy pelvis.”  Screw you!  I thought, I’m a good pusher!)

I think I remember that they had to break my water again so it would gush.  I think that’s when they found the meconium.  Nora had her first bowel movement in utero, which can cause the lungs to aspirate.  They called in an emergency resuscitation team, in case Nora was in distress when she came out.  This was scary, but on some level I knew she was okay.  And it was a relief to see my medical team so prepared for anything.

Finally, a sleepy attending doctor arrived.  It was time to push.  Pushing took some time, too and everyone started to look a bit bored.  I briefly wondered if I was doing something wrong.  Then it got exciting, there was progress, Nora was crowning.  I asked Ben to do the counting to ten for me while I breathed through contractions, and he totally missed the first round and the nurse had to do it.  He reports we both gave him withering looks.  He did great after that.   The doctors did not even have their scrubs on and all of the sudden I was told to stop pushing.  What?  Ah, no.  Not an option.  Ben said the doctors put their scrubs on faster than he thought humanly possible, the looked like scrambling cartoon characters.  I was given the go-ahead to push and Nora came out like a little cannonball.  She shot out.  I didn’t see it, but Ben did and he said everyone looked stunned at her velocity. It was 3:11am on May 16th, 2007.

In a moment, the little visitor was on my chest.  Ben and I marveled at her as the doctors fussed over post-birth activities.  She was here!  She stared at us.  We stared at her.  Ben picked her up, she pulled on his beard. Our life together had begun.

Join me tomorrow for Part Two.