Lukas Soren’s Birth Story

Friday, February 5, 2010
7:30 pm-9:00ish pm:

Joe and I went to see Youth in Revolt and had dinner at Ceviche’. All was going great, revelling in the last date night before the baby arrived. Dinner was going well, and we ordered the Mediterrean salad to share. The words,”You will start your pregnancy eating mussels and you will end your pregnancy eating mussels,” said by my half-joking husband… Oh, crap. I thought. Mussels..I ate a bucket way back in May (yes, never go to a seafood place and eat ANYTHING out of a damn BUCKET) in Tampa of various seafood items when Joe worked on getting his CCNA. BTW, never go to a seafood place and eat ANYTHING out of a damn BUCKET. I thought, “I could eat 12 oz. of seafood a week.” Of course, that would just go perfectly with laying out in the beating sun for two hours in Clearwater. Later that night, I had a bout of food poisoning. Could it have been due to the sunbathing? Mollusks? A combination of the two? I felt bad. I worried about the baby.
Anyway, the Mediterrean salad had four or five mussels. I really didn’t want to eat them at all. But I tried one, maybe two. I have no allergies to any foods, medications or anything environmental, and I’ve had them in the past and they never bothered me.

In a way, this bad choice turned out to be a blessing.

I joked during the day that I should eat spicy foods and walk…I think I might have this baby this weekend, I told my husband. I wanted to enjoy these last days, moments, as just my husband and I. We packed the hospital bags and put them in the trunk of the car. We were ready.

Saturday February 6, 2010
4:00am-6:00 am

Around four o’clock, I woke up with that feeling that something in my stomach was not right. The churning of nausea elevated swiftly and I raced to the bathroom and threw up, waking up Joe. I kept vomiting so he called the hospital and spoke to a nurse who told him to take me to the hospital. I was still very much ill even as I got to the second floor of the hospital. I entered the maternity ward. The nurses immediately secured a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor around my belly. The doctor, who I never had met before, was finishing up another delivery. My OB practice has five or six doctors, and the one doctor I hadn’t seen yet was there that night. I wasn’t too worried about it..I thought I would get an IV, become stable and maybe go home. The nurse’s told me the doctor wanted to monitor me for an hour or so, and that hour was like a blur to me. It was so fleeting, and then the nurse’s gave me oxygen. Oxygen? What’s wrong? Was I going through acidosis? The nurses took me to another room which looked like a recovery room, and then Dr. Patil showed up. He said that after looking at the monitor strips for an hour, my baby’s heart rate would decelerate every time I had a contraction. He said I would need to have an emergency cesarean, and if I could sign a consent for a blood transfusion..I got scared. The possibility of hemorrhaging entered my mind. My husband looked at the monitor and said, “Yes, I see it. His heart rate is going down every time you have a contraction,” He looked at me and I cried. This wasn’t part of the birth plan. I asked if they could monitor me longer to see if my baby’s heart would stabilize, but that was not an option. Options. I wasn’t exactly out of options, as some would say. I could refuse treatment and go home and pray my baby’s heart would start accelerating by his due date, Feb. 11, or I could have this cesarean and not risk having a difficult labor and putting my baby in danger. I cried because I knew that this also meant that I would never be able to experience giving birth again, unless it was by cesarean. VBAC’s are now not considered at my OB practice or by many doctors for that matter. This was the most painful part. At the same time, I felt it was the right thing to do..things happen for a reason.

6:00 am-6:40 am

No time to wait. Operation Open My Uterus is scheduled for NOW. In minutes, there were nurse’s and an anesthesiologist rushing around, prepping me, explaining what they’re going to do. It’s near shift change, so new nurse’s are coming in. I wonder if my doctor just wanted to operate me because his shift is almost done in about an hour…Anything to make me think that, No..my baby is ok. This is just an operation of convenience. I put my best game face on, and hold Joe’s hand. I feel a little scared, but I’m ready to see my baby and the look on Joe’s face reassures me. He leaves to get the camera from the car. He comes back and calls our families. I’m wheeled into the operation room and Joe is told to put on some scrubs and wait in the hall.

6:40 am – 8:00 am

I started to get a little scared under the bright florescent lights. I start to go over the risks involved inside my head. The anesthesiologist and a nurse begin the epidural. They tell me that the needle will feel like a mosquito bite and that I need to lean forward and curve my back like a shrimp and not tense my shoulders. I can’t help but tense up my shoulders a couple times. The needle going into the dura of my spine is a little uncomfortable, but the really uncomfortable part is the little tube the anesthesiologist started to push side to side on my spine. It hurt and I let out a couple restrained screams. Yes, I told him. I could feel it on my right side, then my left. This isn’t working he said. We need to start over. Another anesthesiologist was there and the one putting in the epidural remarked how a bone on my lower spine was “ossified in a way….I’ve never seen it like that.” Oh. Comforting. I absolutely love it when doctors or healthcare workers do that- “Hey, Mike. Come check out this anomaly.” As a nurse, I remind myself, I should never do that…Round two. The needle goes into my mid-lumbar region and I feel the epidural tube for a moment and then I feel warm. Warm. And then weird..I start babbling and going on about how weird I feel. And then cold. So cold. I ask why I have to have my arms out like Jesus and the anesthesiologist says to “be able to monitor your vitals, get to your IV.” Oh. Duh. I’m out in la la land. My husband comes in and sits by my side. The operation begins and I can smell the cauterizing of my belly or little vascularities, whatever they may be. I have a blue sheet keeping me from looking. I feel calm again. Waiting.
My teeth start chattering and the anesthesiologist wraps a towel around my head, which by the way, was a fine touch when it came time to take my first pictures with my baby.
They start to warn me that I will feel deep pressure -this is when someone’s ARM will be in my uterus!- I think to myself. Huh. Cool. I wait for the pressure, but that feeling doesn’t come. Just my body being tugged left and right. A moment goes by, it feels like time stops, and then I hear a wave of a cry permeate the room. I waited for that cry all my life. That first reassuring cry, and I can hear him being whisked onto the table where they take his APGAR score and shove (rather harsh looking, anyway as seen on tv) a Bulb syring into his mouth and nares.
My husband looks over and his face changes from happy into a father’s worried concern and he looks like he’s going to cry, as he looked and asked what they were doing. They’re getting rid of some meconium that he aspirated. I thought, meconium is pretty normal, although it could become a problem. It must have looked pretty abnormal for Joe to watch though. The nurses clean him up and bring him over to me. Those moments were surreal, I saw his little face and body wrapped in a swaddle and head covered in a hat. He was so serene.

I could see my belly’s reflection on the bright operation lamp above me. I could see scapels and tools separating my skin, my abdominal muscles..even after being under an epidural, this doesn’t make me nauseous. I’m actually intrigued. It’s funny to see my stomach in that way. Like a textbook cesarean. It doesn’t look like my stomach belongs to me. I watch for a moment and tell Joe that, Hey. Look up there. I can see my innards! They suture me up and it takes about a half an hour or more. They put me on a stretcher and push me down the hall into the recovery room. My baby is taken somewhere and my husband goes. I can’t remember exactly because the fog of the epidural. Soon I’m taken into the recovery room, where I meet my parents, brothers and Joe’s parents. I don’t remember if they already saw Lukas, I just remember extending my hand and Lukas’ finger gripping mine. And immediately, I fell in love. I felt bounded to this little human being forever. I love that our families are surrounded by this new person. Things start to get foggy here, but I believe a lactation specialist comes in and I feed my baby for the first time. I’m swollen and groggy by the epidural.

Saturday February 6, 2010
8:00 AM-4:00 PM

Family come over and hold the baby and happiness fills the room. Afterwards, I think I fell into a deep sleep. I wake up and I’m in a lot of pain. From now until I leave I learn to know the time from when I take my pain meds, when they peak and wear off. Four hours. The nurse takes me to the bathroom and I put on a pair of mesh undergarmets and walk back to the bed with her help. I feel so itchy because of the epidural, and I receive Nubain and then Benadryl. The Nubain knocks me out. My husband and I are so tired and exhausted. Sometimes we take it on eachother. All of it, I remind myself, is normal.

Sunday February 7, 2010

I stay in bed most of the day. Lukas goes in for his circumcision at 8 in the morning, and when he comes back, he sleeps until 1 in the afternoon. I tell the pediatrician and nurses that I wasn’t able to feed him every two hours because of that. He gets weighed that night and he drops to 6 pounds 1 oz. I’m determined to get his weight back up. Even if it hurts. Nobody told me that nursing would hurt so much, at least at first. It becomes a hurdle and I ask for a lactation specialist any chance I get. It gets frustrating because every nurse and lactation specialist has a different approach and answer to a problem and after being in pain and everything else, it’s just a pain in my ass. Which is exactly what the hospital bed is doing to me, because if you raise the head of the bed, where it angles, there’s a dip and I’m convinced I’m going home with a bed sore. My incision is beginning to really hurt now, and every move I make, I get a burning feeling as though the incision has dehisced. It’s painful even to move up in the bed to feed my baby or eat. My diet is clear liquids, so jello becomes a good friend of mine. So does broth. Joe and I argue, mainly due to exhaustion and stress. Joe goes home and picks up things I wrote down on a list. He comes back and things are better. He sleeps on the most uncomfortable couch in our small hospital room, our son sleeps in a basin between us, swaddled.
The pediatrician mentions that my baby is also a little jaundice, as many breast fed babies are, and wants to take labs. Turns out, Lukas won’t need any light therapy and iron levels are fine.

Monday February 8, 2010

I take my first shower in three days. I peel the large bandage off of my incision site with soap and water, and I can’t even see the incision or the steri-strips. I look at my new body and I’m in awe of all that has taken place in the last two days. I’m finally at a good place where I can say I love my life. I am healing to the point that I can walk down the hall with my baby in his basin. It’s good to walk and will help me heal faster. But I think it hurts a little worse later.
I can also finally eat solid food. I ordered breakfast, since it was free, but it comes an hour late and cold. I can’t complain much, but I also can’t eat it.

Tuesday February 9, 2010

My doctor visits me around 5:30 or 6 in the morning and checks out my incision. I’m good to go home today! Permitting the pediatrician checks Lukas out as well. She comes in at 8 and tells us our baby is healthy enough to go home. I feel lucky that my baby is healthy and is able to go home on time. Discharge begins. We leave by 2 PM- The transporter wheelchairs me to the pick up area and I wait carrying my baby. People’s faces light up when they see him. His name means “bringer of light”. He’s sweet smelling and quiet in my arms as we wait for Joe to pull up.

::::

It’s been over a week since I came home. Time has gone by so fast. I want to hold this time and save it as: Newborn. The first two days were so hard, and we didn’t have family to help us then. I’m now beginning to feel myself again, despite some pain. I can get up from bed for the most part on my own, without gasping in excruciating pain. I’m amazed at how much he is growing, his folded ears from still-developing cartilage is turning into a regular ear. As much as I want to say he is so special, I am grateful that he does go through the normal milestones and is healthy. He spends most of his time eating, sleeping or in our arms. His eyes, when he does open them are bright and button eyes (not beady as I teased-incorrectly- Joe about). These moments are the most important and meaningful moments of my life.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.