Eleven Years Ago Today

My husband and I had gone out for dinner on April 27th to celebrate his 25th birthday. Sitting in a booth (that I barely fit into) at our favorite establishment, the waitress asked me when I was due. "Yesterday," I replied. She freaked out. She thought that meant that at any point during my meal I would surely burst into labor right there in the booth. We laughed at her anxiety throughout the entire meal. She rushed us through our meal, anxious for us to get out of there before anything happened.

On May 1st, after unintentionally outlasting a month that already held three family birthdays, my mother-in-law called me and said, "Amy, it's May Day! What a glorious day to have a baby!" At this point, five days past my due date, I was more than ready for this child to evacuate the premises. I had been patient and calm up until this point and now anxiety was taking over.

J had a meeting after work that night. He had a pager and was no more than 10 minutes from the house so I wasn't concerned. I called my best friend Suzan and asked if she wanted to go for a walk with me after she was done at work. She had new hiking boots she wanted to break in and quickly agreed. She was sorely disappointed after we slowly waddled around three blocks and I called it enough. She didn't understand that I couldn't walk three or four miles with a baby hanging between my knees.

Since J was at his meeting, we decided to grab a bite to eat. Knowing that any day now I would be done being pregnant, I decided to splurge and eat a horrendous meal - cheeseburger, fries and even cherry pie (a la mode!) for dessert! When we finished, I made a trip to the restroom already regretting my indulgence. Suzan wanted to stop at a small book store in town to find the Rolling Stones magazine with the X-Files on the cover. As we walked into the store, around 7:30, I felt my first contraction. No biggie, nothing to get worked up over. I just stood near the front while Suzan shopped and as we exited the store I told her that our walk had worked and I was having contractions! Suzan wasn't amused by this announcement.

At home, Suzan stayed with me, hoping J would come home at any minute. I was packing up a bag to take to the hospital and had trouble walking around the baby's room. I had to stop several times and wait out contractions. I finally decided to take a shower before I went (some sense of decency, I guess) and spent the time in the shower with the shower head on full tilt right on my stomach. I realized I couldn't really feel the contractions so I decided I'd better stop and get out so I could monitor them better. I went and laid down on our bed and felt like I was hit with a freight train. The contractions were coming faster and harder and I knew with certainty we'd be headed to the hospital soon.

J arrived home and Suzan informed him of my condition. I suggested that he grab a quick bite to eat as I wasn't sure when he'd get another chance to. He stood in the doorway slowly looking at the mail, in no hurry to move or think about dinner. Suzan came running upstairs to tell me that J wasn't understanding. I went down the stairs as best as I could, and calmly informed J that I was HAVING CONTRACTIONS and we NEEDED TO GO SOON. Oooooh, he said. He went to McDonald's and got some dinner. While he was gone, my dad called. He was coming up on Friday and was now concerned that there wouldn't be a baby yet (this was Wednesday) and so perhaps they should wait? I sat in my glider, rocking through the contractions, wincing when they hit, telling him the baby was on the way and would be here long before Friday as it seemed. He didn't believe me. "We'll see," he kept saying. We were scheduled to be induced on Friday morning, but I was glad to be in labor sooner as I didn't like the OB on rotation on Friday.

Meanwhile, Suzan, sitting across from me on the couch, was frantically pointing at her watch mouthing to me that my contractions were five minutes apart already!!

When J arrived home we called our doc. He asked when my contractions had started and I told him about an hour and a half ago. He told me we had a long time before they would be serious and not to go to the hospital until they were five minutes apart for an hour. Within five minutes of that call we realized they had been five minutes apart since the start and that was well over an hour ago. We decided to head to the hospital, much to the relief of Suzan who was glad to be relieved of all duties pertaining to childbirth.

We loaded up the car and headed towards the bridge.

Living on the Mississippi River gives you a number of options to get across. We could go the long way, to the big bridge, or the short way and risk the lock and dam being open and have to wait for boats to go through. As we headed towards the lock and dam, with J expressing his great worry that the bridge would be open (which could be a 40 minute wait) I remember him screaming at me - me, who was calmly sitting in the passenger seat only wincing when the contractions hit - screaming "THOSE ARE NOT FIVE MINUTES APART! THOSE CONTRACTIONS ARE ONLY THREE MINUTES APART!!!" J had never been good in a crisis.

The bridge was not open, we went right across and were at the hospital in Davenport, Iowa with no trouble. We had been to the hospital before and made sure we knew where to park, but it was after hours now and we had to enter in through the emergency room doors. As we trudged in, J's arms laden with extra pillows, a stereo, my overnight bag and other assundries, the nurse placed me in a wheelchair and pushed me to the elevator. As we rode the elevator she asked how far apart my contractions were. J, with a tremble in his voice said, "THREE MINUTES!" The nurse got excited and said, "What are you people trying to do to us tonight? Everyone is waiting until the last minute to get here!" I calmly explained that my contractions had only started about two hours before and that I had plenty of time before the baby arrived. This was my first child, it would take awhile. The nurse calmed down, but J certainly didn't.

I remember throwing up when I got into my room, and having the nurse tell me that was quite all right, it was going to happen sooner or later. They wanted me to give a urine sample (I think) and it was the first time I was unable to pee in six months. They tried an external monitor for the baby but it wasn't working well, so they decided to do an internal. They asked if I wanted meds and I assured them that I could wait it out awhile, I didn't want to jump into meds too soon, but wanted to feel some contractions for awhile. She said she'd check back in fifteen minutes. I thought she was insulting thinking I couldn't last another hour. I certainly had perhaps twelve more hours of this, I could certainly wait it out a bit longer.

When she returned I figured I might as well just take meds if it was easier, but she informed me I was too far dialated, I had missed my window. That's when I freaked out. "Missed my window?! I just got here!! I've only had contractions for a few short hours! How can I already be that far gone? This is my FIRST child!!" The nurse informed me that I would be holding my newborn before the day was through. It was currently 10:30pm. I couldn't imagine we were that close to delivery already.

Things didn't go well after that. They couldn't get the baby's heartrate and had to change internal monitors. Every time they turned me, everytime they moved me trying to get the heart rate my contractions intensified. Finally we got the heart rate but immediately we could tell it was slowing. J panicked. He screamed for someone to do something. I still well up thinking about the fear in his voice. We were scared. Everyone in the room was scared. The nurse told J to hit the red button by my head and someone screamed to get the doctor who was down the hall, unamused that he had been called in this early for a delivery.

When doc arrived he told me it was time to get this baby out the cord was around his neck, but nothing seemed to cooperate to that effort. Episiotomy, then forcepts, finally cajoled the itty out at 12:31am on May 2nd, a Thursday, and as I sit here today I cannot remember the pain, I only remember how blue his feet were. I remember the doctor telling me I had a boy and I was stunned. I had been certain I was having a girl. I remember looking over at the little bed they had for him and watching as they wiped him off and I didn't hear a cry. I heard nothing. They finally handed him to me and I remember looking him over searching for signs of breath. He was fine. He was alive. He was beautiful. We had a son. Our little Jacob Gideon.

Before the drugs kicked in, the ones they gave me right after delivery but I swear I didn't felt the effect of (I can tell you how long the stitches took) I remember J asking me who I wanted to call first. I told him I wanted to call my mom. He said he understood, but maybe I could call my dad (my mom had passed several years before). I remember whispering to J never to tell anyone, but I had been hoping for a girl. He said he knew that, everyone knew that, but I would love this boy just as much. I called my dad and woke him up to tell him the news. At some point during the conversation I remember handing the phone to J telling him I didn't know who I was talking to or why. The meds had finally kicked in and J made the calls on my behalf.

LM's APGAR score was a one and then a seven. The nurses told me I needed a transfusion but J wouldn't allow for it. He was too scared of all the risks and said only if it came down to life or death, so I was watched like a hawk throughout the night until my color finally returned and the nurses stopped nagging. LM was fine, but there was some initial concern because he had been deprived of oxygen for too long and his heart rate had sunk so low.

Now, eleven years after that day, I can vouch for the fact that we are both just fine. And that I will never, for as long as I live, forget what it felt like to have a son. As traumatic as LM's delivery was (and by far it was not the worst that could have happened) I will always be grateful that I was the one delivering and not the one standing helplessly by. I cannot imagine what that experience was like for J. It is the only time I have ever seen him scared. It is the only time I have ever heard him make a demand.

It is no small thing to be a parent. We are blessed in enumerable ways, but we are also tried and worn. The physicality of parenting a small child is soon replaced by the emotional struggles to raise a moral and loving young adult. But I am better for being a mom.

And I will never forget it.

Note: I would post pictures, but in an effort to simplify the potential moving process, I took all my albums to Michigan last summer, so I do not have access to LM's baby photos. It is enough that I could sit here right now and close my eyes and see him as an infant as if it were an hour ago that he was.