Annalise Elizabeth

          In March 2014, I became overwhelmed with the urge to have another baby. I didn’t just experience a little tug at my heart but a true I-can’t-think-of-anything-else desire. While I was at work on March 10^th, I texted Clay and told him that I was so overwhelmed with the yearning to have another baby that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I clarified that I didn’t know if it was my crazy hormones, the Holy Spirit, or the Holy Spirit using my hormones to tell me that we should consider having a fifth child. He suggested that we pray about it and with his suggestion came complete peace for me about this idea that we had never seriously considered before.

          Later when we had a moment free from the general chaos of our home, we thanked God for blessing us with four healthy, happy children and prayed for His direction regarding any addition to our family. We knew that we had a houseful of great kids and that we didn’t need any more. However, Clay and I truly wanted to be in God’s will, and if His future for us included a fifth baby, then we were willing to welcome another little one into our madness.  While we did not actively begin trying to conceive, we prayerfully put away our birth control.

          During the middle of May, I began noticing a few pregnancy signs. Because I have been pregnant so many times, I think I am super sensitive to my body and everything it craves or feels. In the mornings, I would experience a little nausea. I caught myself eating fruit, which I don’t enjoy doing unless I have a bun in the oven. I became excited at the thought of sandwiches, which have always been my number one craving in all my pregnancies. However, I kept these symptoms to myself. It was so early, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

          When school was out, Clay and I packed up our herd and headed to Myrtle Beach with both sets of our parents. My pregnancy signs continued, but I still didn’t mention them to Clay. On one of our last nights at the beach, our parents sent us off on a date while they kept our kids. We ate dinner outside at a BBQ restaurant where I tried to figure out how to bring up the possibility of being pregnant. It was as if the words were stuck in my throat with super glue. I just couldn’t get them out. After we ate dinner, we went in search of an ice cream parlor. It took us and our GPS several attempts before we could locate one. As Clay pulled into a parking spot, I promptly burst into tears and told him my suspicion. He just hugged me and said, “If you are, it’s not like this is our first time. We know how to do this.” He handled the possibility of another baby much more calmly than I did.

          At the end of May, we received God’s clear answer that we would be blessed with another addition. While we weren’t shocked that we were pregnant (yes, we have figured out how this process works), Clay and I were still pretty stunned, stunned enough that we kept our secret from our family for another six weeks.  

          On the 4^th of July, our families got together at my mom’s house for burgers, hotdogs, and dessert. Our second born made a very patriotic red, white, and blue cake. As our family sang “Happy Birthday” to America, I pulled a sign from my purse and stuck it in the middle of the cake. It read, “Welcome to Our 5^th Little Firecracker, Popping Out February 2015!” To say we shocked our family with this news would be an understatement. However by the end of the evening, everyone was excited and claimed that they knew we weren’t finished having kids.  

            We still waited until the end of the month to go public with our news. Clay and I wanted to let our bosses know that we would need some time off in February before going public with our addition on social media. On July 28^th, we posted,

“In March, Clay and I started praying for God’s discernment regarding having anymore children. We received His answer in May and will welcome our fifth blessing in February!

‘As for you, be fruitful and multiply; Populate the earth abundantly and multiply in it.’ Genesis 9:7
Yes, Lord!”

            Finding out we were pregnant again was a definitive moment in our marriage and in our walk with God. Either Clay and I truly believed that God would provide everything we needed for our family, including baby number five, or we didn’t. This pregnancy was our test of faith, and Clay and I were ready and willing to walk together in God’s will, scary and overwhelming though that was.

          At my second OB/GYN appointment, my midwife was annoyed on my behalf that the doctor who had completed my pregnancy confirmation exam had not scheduled a first trimester ultrasound. She asked me if I wanted one and shared that she could justify it with my insurance. Of course, I told her, “Yes!” I love seeing my babies, even when they are tiny. So at 14 weeks and 5 days, I went for an ultrasound with Clay, my mom, and my three youngest kids. We happily watched our number five wiggle and squirm. However, when the technician paused and asked if we wanted to know the gender of our baby, we were completely surprised, as we had assumed we couldn’t find out what our baby was until 20 weeks. I peered at the monitor looking for boy parts, but the ultrasound technician had other news: we were having a girl. Clay and I were shocked and completely ecstatic!

          On the following Sunday afternoon, my family gathered at our house for a gender reveal lunch. In our front yard, Clay and I untied a box decorated with the words “Tutus or ties?” As we opened the box, we released a bundle of pink balloons, sharing our girly news with our family.

          On October 1^st at just over 21 weeks, I started experiencing mild contractions. With each pregnancy, my Braxton Hicks contractions began earlier and earlier, but none had begun before six months. I told Clay what I was feeling, and he got me a big cup of water to drink. I took a bath and then went to lay down. None of my usual tricks stopped the contractions. They weren’t strong or very long, but they continued throughout the night and the next day. I didn’t think I was in labor, but I also didn’t know what was going on with my body to produce these contractions.

The following morning I went to work, thinking the activity might stop the contractions, but when they didn’t, I called my OB/GYN’s office. The nurse I spoke with directed me to go to the Women’s Center, so I left work and headed there with my mother. After a cervical scan and several hours of contraction monitoring, the doctor determined that it was stress induced preterm labor and that I needed three days of bed rest with no more worries about work.

          Throughout the rest of my pregnancy, I had several more ultrasounds to make sure that our baby girl was healthy. The ultrasounds shared that baby girl was growing well and was very comfortable in a transverse position. After my third ultrasound at 32 weeks showed her still relaxing sideways, I started Googling safe ways to encourage my baby to shift her position. Many methods sounded crazy, including one that suggested doing handstands in a warm pool. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around how someone as pregnant as I was would begin to get in such a position.

At my next appointment, I asked my midwife for suggestions, and she said that it was time to play “Breech Games.” I was all in. She recommended drinking something highly caffeinated and then playing music in my lap. My midwife explained that the baby should turn and seek out the music that it would hear, especially if it was all sugared up and well caffeinated.

My midwife’s recommendations sounded so much better than pool headstands, and so when I got home, I eagerly drank one of Clay’s Mountain Dews. While selecting a song to play for my baby, I decided I didn’t want to play her something random. If she could only hear one song, I wanted her to listen to one that was meaningful and shared our faith with her, so I chose Newsboys’ “We Believe.” My baby listened to lyrics that painted the most important picture of our beliefs:

We believe in God the Father.

We believe in Jesus Christ.

We believe in the Holy Spirit

And He’s given us new Life.

We believe in the crucifixion.

We believe that He conquered death.

We believe in the resurrection

And He’s comin’ back again! We believe.

I played this song for my baby multiple times during the next two weeks. I would pull it up on my phone and set my phone in my lap whenever I was driving or lying in bed. When I went back for my next OB/GYN appointment, my midwife shared the good news that my sweet girl had turned and was head down. Hallelujah!

On December 23^rd, I went in for my regular bi-weekly appointment, and my midwife said that I was measuring two weeks ahead. I was slightly hopeful that the baby would could come early, but I didn’t obsess over that possibility as I had to get through Christmas and its myriad of details first.

Two weeks flew by, and on January 7^th, I saw a different midwife who said I was measuring four weeks ahead and that I was three centimeters dilated, 50 percent effaced, and the baby’s head was in an anterior position. This midwife said that I could go into labor at any moment and gave me multiple suggestions how to get my contractions started. True panic set in. My February 7^th due date was a month away, and I still had not bought any diapers.

While waddling to my van, I called Clay and shared the update with him. I also told him that we would NOT be doing anything to prompt labor yet. Then, I called my mom as I drove to her house to pick up my other four kids and had a small melt down with her on the phone. When I arrived, I sat on my mom’s couch in the midst of all my kids’ chaos and texted my hairdresser to request an immediate hair appointment (I couldn’t chance labor pictures with dark roots!) and texted my team at work to keep them in my loop. It was a dramatic afternoon.

On January 12^th, I was walking my kindergarten class down the hallway at dismissal, and as I turned a corner, I slipped in a puddle and fell. As I sat in the hallway with my students around me, I was equal parts livid that there was water in the hallway and scared that my fall could have hurt my baby. I pushed myself up, took my class to the buses, and then stomped to the nurse’s office. My school nurse took my blood pressure and checked my heart rate, which she said was high. That news wasn’t surprising as I was boiling mad. I left a voicemail at my OB/GYN’s office and headed to a Leadership Team meeting where I became aware that my typically active baby wasn’t moving and that I was having sporadic contractions.

Growing up, my grandmother regularly told me the story of how her mother fell in the yard while she was pregnant. When my great grandmother later delivered her baby, it was stillborn, having broken its neck in the fall. The image of that baby was one that my grandmother spoke of often, and as I sat in my meeting, that story kept running through my mind.

Thirty long minutes passed before a nurse called from my OB/GYN’s office. She told me to immediately head to the Women’s Center at Cobb Hospital to have myself and the baby checked. In a hurry, I left work and drove myself there. Clay also left his job to meet me while my mom took care of our kids at her house. When I got to the hospital, a bed wasn’t available yet in triage, and I sat in the waiting room overanalyzing every twinge of my belly. Clay arrived shortly before I got a room, but we were called back before he even had time to plug his phone in a charger.

When I got back to my room, I changed into a gown and lay down on the bed. Straightaway, the nurse hooked me up to a fetal monitor, and much to my relief, the sound of my baby’s heartbeat flooded the room. I was monitored for the next five hours and taken for an ultrasound. While Clay and I watched our baby on the screen, the technician explained that my baby and placenta looked well but that my amniotic fluid level was low (a level 9). I was sent home with instructions to follow up with my OB/GYN and to rest.

Three days later, I went for my follow up ultrasound at my OB/GYN’s office. The ultrasound tech said that my amniotic fluid level was now normal (a level 17) and that it can replenish itself when resting appropriately. She also mentioned that the baby was measuring one week ahead of her due date. By this appointment, I was finished listening to my baby’s measurement’s concerning her arrival. I knew she would arrive exactly when God wanted her to and not a moment before!

Despite measuring weeks ahead according to multiple midwives and an ultrasound tech, my pregnancy continued and with it came its typical end-of-third-trimester discomfort. Having been pregnant five times, I realize God’s design in this misery. If He did not make women truly uncomfortable, we would never be eager to experience contractions and to push a human from our bodies. As with my last three pregnancies, I experienced severe heartburn and could not bear to be five minutes late taking my Zantac. My feet swelled, and I had hot flashes that necessitated my running the air conditioner in January no matter how much the rest of my family shivered. When the middle of the night leg cramps hit, I was a sobbing mess and ready to welcome labor.

A week after I fell, I went for my weekly checkup on January 23^rd.  My midwife said I was still at 3 centimeters and that the baby and I both were doing well and looked healthy. That day my nesting instinct kicked in, and Clay found me scrubbing the walls of the kitchen late at night. I reminded him that he was supposed to clean the carpet as I had been requesting for a month and that I couldn’t very well bring a newborn home to a house with dirty carpets. While he was sweet and finished cleaning the kitchen walls for me, he still didn’t clean the carpets much to my aggravation.

          At 5:00 AM on January 27^th, I started yelling like only a very pregnant (perhaps slightly irrational) woman can do. I kept screeching until Clay woke up and told him that he was uninvited to the birth of his fifth child until he cleaned my carpets. I told him that it would be all his fault that he missed it and that he could explain to his daughter how he missed her birth, because he chose not to clean my carpets.

I was completely furious and went to work and complained about my dirty carpets all day. My poor teammates and para pro listened without judgement as I vented and ranted about how long I had been asking for my carpets to be cleaned. They assured me that they would bail me out of jail if I ended up burying my husband in the backyard over dirty carpets.

          Sixteen hours after I began my carpet tirade, my contractions began. At that same moment, I heard the hum of our carpet cleaner. (God’s timing is everything!) I decided to keep my labor a temporary secret, because I wasn’t about to chance that Clay would stop cleaning my carpets that so desperately needed to be cleaned.

          My contractions continued through the complete cleaning of my carpet and multiple episodes of Call the Midwife, my favorite TV show during this pregnancy. Around midnight, our two year old woke up and walked in our bedroom. She tried to climb in bed with me, but Clay took her back to her bed to lie down with her. After he had been in there with her for half an hour, I texted him and told him that I thought I was in labor. After he managed to sneak out of our toddlers’ room, he crawled into our bed and asked for details.

Since 9:00 PM, I had had continuous contractions but their timing wasn’t in a consistent pattern. While I was fairly sure I was in labor, I wasn’t completely certain and definitely not sure enough to go to the hospital. I knew that if I was in real labor that my contractions would continue no matter what, so I lay down to try to sleep, and Clay did the same.

          Around 4:00 AM, I woke up and decided to take a shower. My contractions continued but were still irregular. I texted my mom and let her know what was going on, and Clay put his parents on notice too. After I showered, did my hair and makeup, and got dressed, I noticed that the frequency of my contractions had decreased, so I lay back down to monitor them, and they picked up again in frequency. At 5:45, I was frustrated with my body and texted my supply teacher to be my sub. Then, I emailed my boss and secretary that I had been up all night and wasn’t coming in. Even if I had been in false labor, I would have been way too cranky to teach a room full of five year olds.

          I fell back asleep for an hour, and when I woke up, I was just emotionally ready to go the hospital. Clay and I got our kids dressed, and at that moment, I decided that we should split up. He took the oldest two boys to their schools and our other two kids to his mom’s. Without a second thought, I drove myself to the hospital after laboring at home for eleven hours. Looking back on that decision, I find it a little reckless that I drove myself, but when you have a lot of kids to transport, having a chauffeur for yourself is a luxury that you cannot always have. Plus, my hospital was only two miles from my house.

          At 8:00 AM, I arrived at the hospital. I grabbed my purse and one of my bags and walked through the hospital’s parking lot and construction zone in the cold. The 31 degree temperature was a welcome relief from all my hot flashes.

I headed upstairs to triage where I was the only patient. I was given a gown, hooked up to a monitor, and given a cervical exam. To my great frustration, I was measuring between three and three plus centimeters. My eleven hours of contractions had done little to change my cervix since my last appointment. At this time, I was 38 weeks and four days pregnant, and my OB/GYN’s policy is that the doctors and midwives will not strip your membranes, break your water, or do any procedure to induce labor until a patient is 39 weeks, unless she is in actively contracting on her own. I was completely frustrated and hungry.

I texted Clay the news as he sat in the parking lot eating Chick-Fil-A for breakfast, having finished dropping everyone off. He was kind enough not to eat in front of his wife who had not eaten since dinner the night before! When he was finished, he came to my triage room where we watched my irregular contractions on the monitor. While I was lying there, I texted my teammates to share where I was. One of them cautiously texted me back and asked, “Did Clay clean the carpet?” I was so happy to be able to text back “YES!”

At 9:40, the nurse checked me again, and I measured the same. My favorite midwife Linda consulted with my nurse and said that she suspected I was in early labor and that I had a choice: I could either go home and probably come back later when labor intensified, or I could walk the floor for the next hour and see if this caused me to dilate further. After all the trouble it took to distribute our four children to three different locations, we chose walking!

          Unfortunately, the shoes I had chosen to wear that morning to the hospital, my tan Sperrys, did not coordinate with my pastel pink gown. Even 38 plus weeks pregnant, I have my fashion standards while in public, so I decided to leave my shoes in my triage room and just walk in my pink socks. From 9:40-10:40, Clay and I walked dozens of laps around the Women’s Center third floor. I waddled with all the fierceness I could muster, because I wanted to meet my baby and was fearful of being sent back home. While we walked, I ate countless cups of ice (Thank goodness we kept walking past an ice machine!), babbled continuously to Clay, and texted with my supply teacher and parents who were on their way to the hospital.

          When the hour of walking was up, Clay and I headed back to my triage room where I removed my filthy socks (Gross!). I expected not to have made any progress, because while walking, my contractions had spaced to ten minutes apart. I hoped for the best but mentally prepared myself to receive discharge papers. When my midwife checked me a few minutes later, she paused and turned to my nurse. She told her to check me too and then tell her what she thought. My nurse obliged, and when she said that she measured me at 5 centimeters, my midwife broke into a huge smile and said she did too. I was deemed to be in active labor; I was staying!

            Immediately, we texted all our family to let them know we weren’t leaving the hospital until Brooks number five made her debut. Our baby girl was officially on her way! The moment was a little surreal, knowing that I’d meet my new daughter within hours.

Although I had just spent the last 60 minutes lapping the third floor of the Women’s Center, I was required to be transported to a labor and delivery room via wheelchair. My triage nurse pushed me to my new room while Clay carried my purse and bag. Even after I crawled in the big bed of my L&D room with the empty baby bassinet nearby, I was still a little nervous that some medical personnel would notice that my contractions were still irregular and far apart and would send me home. But once my new nurse, Dayna, introduced herself, hooked me up to a fetal monitor, and gave me an IV, I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere until my baby arrived. At that time, my nurse also assured me that my epidural had been ordered, and I was incredibly relieved to know that I wasn’t going to have another accidental natural delivery, like I had had with baby number two.

            As I settled into my new room, my contractions continued, still fairly mild and inconsistent. Clay went downstairs to get the rest of my bags, and my parents arrived, both thrilled that they would have five grandchildren by nighttime. Shortly after their arrival and Clay’s return, the anesthesiologist entered my room at 12:20 with a large rolling tray of equipment. Because I could only have one support person with me during my epidural placement, my parents went to the waiting room to get coffee and to update our family on the baby.

          Anyone who has ever discussed childbirth with me knows I am completely team epidural, especially after having delivered a baby without any medication. However, the more epidurals that I receive, the more I dread the five minutes that it takes to have one inserted in my spine. With baby number five, I feared those few moments more than any other part of my pregnancy and had been anxious about it since I first discovered I was pregnant. 

          As was our routine, I sat up on the edge of my hospital bed and curled my big belly as best I could over a pillow, holding Clay’s hands with a white knuckle grip. I was trying not to panic as I knew the brief pain of an epidural is nothing compared to hours of unmedicated contractions and a natural delivery. Before he began, the anesthesiologist asked me what procedure I was about to have done, and I told him, “You are about to electrocute me and give me an epidural.” He found my answer funny, as well as an accurate description.

          As the anesthesiologist worked quietly behind me to numb the lower half of my body, I clutched Clay’s hands and cursed at him, swearing that he was not going to put me in this position again. The very idea of having another epidural instilled enough fear in me that I fiercely vowed that we would never have any more children. Observing that my heartrate had increased to 124, my nurse asked me if I was ok. Even my body knew that this epidural was rapidly unnerving me and so was the vision of ever having to repeat this process.

          After two attempts, the anesthesiologist successfully placed my epidural, and he and Clay lay me down to rest and allow the medication to take effect. At this time, my parents returned, concerned that the epidural had taken longer than usual. They stood bedside my bed, suspecting that something was wrong. Initially, I felt normal, but within minutes, I was overwhelmed by the familiar sensation of my blood pressure plummeting. Experiencing sudden weakness, I voiced my concern to my nurse, who verified that my blood pressure had dropped to 60/30. I had warned her earlier that my blood pressure had severely declined when I got my epidurals with babies three and four, so she had prepared for that possibility.

Conferring with the anesthesiologist, my nurse administered a bolus of ephedrine and watched my monitors closely. My blood pressure continued to fall and the shakes settled in, but despite those effects, I craved ice and demanded cups of it. Somehow eating the ice grounded me in the midst of the well-controlled panic in the room. While I continued to feed myself ice with shaky hands, my anesthesiologist and nurse determined a second bolus of ephedrine was necessary, as my blood pressure was not improving. With the second bolus, my blood pressure finally stabilized, and I soon felt well enough to request a hair brush, mirror, and chapstick.

            After my epidural drama had dwindled down, I settled into bed to relax and enjoy the rest of my labor. Clay and I took pictures and posted labor updates on social media. At 1:40, my nurse checked my progress and determined me to be dilated to six centimeters and 60% effaced. My midwife Linda suggested breaking my water to speed along my labor, and I agreed, since my epidural was working well. I couldn’t feel any pain, but I was still able to move my legs with only minimal support.

With what looked like a knitting needle, she broke my bag of waters, and amniotic fluid spilled off the bed and puddled in the floor. My waters also drenched my midwife, who laughed that she was going to have to change her scrubs before my baby’s delivery. Midwifery is not for the faint of heart.

            At 2:40, I was assessed again and informed that I was between six and seven centimeters and 70% effaced. I requested a pillow to apply a technique that I learned during labor with baby number four. With help from Clay, I rolled to my left side and placed a pillow between my knees, allowing lots of room for the baby to descend.

            Less than hour later at 3:30, my progress was checked and my nurse shared that I was between eight and nine centimeters. Clearly, the pillow trick was working, and I told Clay that he better call his mama and tell her to get to the hospital fast. I didn’t want her to miss the birth of the grandbaby we were naming in her honor, and I was predicting that she would make her debut by 6:00.

          While Clay was talking to his mother, I started feeling a contraction, not around my stomach but in my birth canal. After all the trouble of getting my epidural, it suddenly stopped working when I dilated to eight, just like it had with my last two labors. I told my mom what was happening and to call the nurse. I am not a wimp; I have survived a natural delivery. But when I already have an epidural in place, I expect it to work, and another pain-filled delivery was not an acceptable option for this veteran mama.

            My nurse rushed in my room and questioned what I was feeling. She prompted me to use my personal epidural button for an extra dose of medication. I told her that I could fill the medicine flush down my spine but that it was only numbing my abdomen. I could feel my baby’s head descending in the birth canal, as well as painful contractions there. She placed a call to the anesthesiologist, and while she did, I assured her that I know how to push a baby out when completely numb.

          While we waited for the doctor, my contractions intensified, and Clay’s mother arrived. She entered my room as I was in the midst of a contraction, holding on to my bed’s railing with a death grip and trying not to curse at anyone. Her quick arrival was impressive, and I was grateful that she would see the birth of her granddaughter.

          At 4:30, I was checked again by my nurse who deemed me to be ten centimeters. At the same time, the new on-call anesthesiologist entered my crowded room, and I convinced her and my midwife that I needed a bolus of pain medication in my epidural. Again, I promised and assured everyone that I could push, no matter how numb my body was. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist and my midwife believed me and more pain medication was administered. Within five minutes, my pain disappeared, and I felt back in control of my delivery.

          After giving me a few private minutes to allow the pain medication to take effect, my midwife told me that she was ready whenever I was. She said that she was playing “Trivia Crack” with the other nurses who were waiting on me. I told her that I wanted ten more minutes. I believe she thought I was fearful of the pain recurring, but I really just wanted to touch up my concealer and lip gloss before pushing. I know how those birthing pictures are around forever!

          When my midwife came back to check on me, I told her that I could really feel the baby far down in my birth canal, not in a painful way but as in a sensation of feeling full. Immediately, she had the nurses set up my room for delivery. My dad headed to the waiting room to sit with my brother and oldest son who had just arrived. Clay’s mother got my camera ready to take pictures, while my mother turned on and set up her video camera at the top of my bed. As with my previous four deliveries, Clay took his usual position on my left side.

          My midwife broke down my bed and set up the stirrups. At this point, my shaking was terrible, and she instructed me to take slow, deep breaths to help it stop. As she prepared, she commented, “You were determined not to feel a thing!” to which I replied, “I really wanted my money’s worth out of the epidural.” After placing my completely numb legs in the stirrups, my midwife positioned herself between them and shared that my baby had a lot of dark hair. I couldn’t believe that my baby was already so far down that her hair could be seen without my pushing at all.

At 5:13, I started pushing as my midwife directed, with Clay and his mother on my left and my mother on my right. When my contraction was over, the nurse covered my belly with a pink and blue receiving blanket, and my midwife quickly put on her paper scrubs. I’m no rookie; I knew that meant the baby would be here soon. With the next contraction, I pushed again and my life forever changed. At 5:17 PM after 20 hours of labor, Annalise Elizabeth was born into our family, just as God planned. She weighed 8 pounds 1 ounce and was 19 inches long.

My midwife caught Annalise as she made her entrance into our world and gently placed her on my chest. As I cried and stared at my baby’s face, I couldn’t believe she was finally here. What a blessing I now held in my arms after nine months of anticipation.

Jeremiah 1:5 reveals, “I knew you before I formed you in your mother's womb.” I’m so grateful that God picked this sweet baby for our family, knowing long before we did that Annalise would be a perfect fit. Through her birth, Clay and I have an amazing testimony of our faith to share. We know that God will give us everything we need to train up this child that we did not plan to have and are eager to see how He uses our daughter to tell His story and bring others to Him.

~Shared by Ashley B 

Kate's Birth

A little background- Josh and I have been married for almost 5 years- 9/4/10. We always knew we wanted kids, and motherhood was more than a dream for me- it was like a life requirement. I never expected to deal with infertility because I am extremely healthy and have always had regular periods. After about 2 years of trying, we discovered that I had a uterine anomaly- a huge muscular septum. I also had very poor quality eggs. This was all extremely devastating. We looked into adoption and actually got packets from a couple of agencies. Our very good friends (small group leaders, actually) also went through infertility and had adopted their son and were in the process to adopt their daughter, but adoption just didn't feel right to us at the time. Because my husband and I are both in the medical field, Pershing fertility treatments just felt more right- especially after lots of prayer. I also had an extreme desire to experience pregnancy and childbirth since I have been an L&D nurse for over 8 years. In February 2014, I had surgery to resect the septum. They couldn't quite get the whole thing, but my doctor felt that it was a success. After healing and then attempting to try to get pregnant on our own and pursuing less invasive fertility help, we eventually turned to IVF, and Kate was conceived after a 3 year struggle with infertility. We also conceived 2 other embryos that we hope will become a sibling or siblings for Kate. Because of the uterine septum, I had an extremely complicated pregnancy. I had lots of preterm labor and a short cervix. I lived at the perinatologists office. When my cervix started shortening, I was only 20.6, so Kate was not yet viable. It was probably the scariest thing we had ever gone through knowing we could lose this precious baby that we already loved so much. Because of this and my infertility history, truly every day, moment, second of my pregnancy was a gift. By a miracle (the doctors still don't know why my cervix stopped shortening- they attribute it to prayer- no exaggeration at all), I made it to 36 weeks.


Before infertility, I knew exactly what type of birth I wanted and had everything planned out. After infertility and going through a high risk pregnancy, I just wanted a healthy baby and didn't care how she got here.

The doctor let us go on a "babymoon" as long as we were sort of close by, so we got a hotel room in midtown. We had dinner reservations, a couples massage, we were going to the dogwood festival, and then my water broke in the bed at the hotel on Sunday morning at 4:50! My husband was ready to go to the hospital right away, but my cervix had only been a fingertip at my 36 week checkup and I didn't feel painful contractions. I didn't feel in a hurry to go to the hospital at all, plus my fluid was clear and baby was moving well. We didn't find out the gender of our baby beforehand, so it was very exciting to know we would find out that day!

We slowly showered, packed up and checked out of the hotel. They were really nice about letting us cancel the second night. I knew I wouldn't be allowed to eat in labor at the hospital, so I insisted on stopping for breakfast. We went and got bagels at an Einstein brothers near the hotel. It was there that I started having painful contractions. Josh wanted to go in, but between the contractions and the thought of leaking fluid at a restaurant, we just went through the drive through and ate in the car. I also wanted to go home. My suitcase was in the car, but there were a couple of things I wanted to grab. I also needed to see my house for some reason. I contracted all the way home in the car and at the house. I had called the midwife from the hotel, but I called the hospital and spoke with the nurse who would be taking care of me (perks of being an l&d nurse). She asked if I was sure I was ruptured and I told her that there was a puddle in my driveway!! We then went to the hospital, which is about 5 miles from our house. We checked in, and my practice was not on, so the OB hospitalist took care of me. This was kind of a "full circle" moment because he also took care of me for a preterm labor episode at 23 weeks when we weren't sure if we would end up with a living baby at all. I told him that he would probably need to induce me because I was a fingertip that Friday in the office and my contractions weren't that close together. They hooked me up to the monitor and I was contracting more than I was feeling- every 2-5 min and I was 4-5 cm/90% effaced and 0 station! That was a big surprise! I refused to let my coworker give me an enema, and I knew I needed one, so I made everyone leave and I did it myself. Afterwards, they checked me again and I was a good 5 cm. I knew I was going to get the epidural no matter what because of my history of uterine surgery. If there was an emergency like a uterine rupture, I wanted to be awake for my c-section! I got the epidural at that point. During the epidural, my contractions got super painful. I was actually in tears. After that, we actually had a nice day. I am normally a very anxious person, but felt surprisingly chilled out. I munched on ice chips and played on my phone, and we watched the masters. I remember being incredibly thirsty!! I was determined not to make plans or be upset no matter how the labor went. I progressed rapidly until 9 cm, and then things just stopped. I was 9 cm for over 3 hours. My doctor gave me the c section talk and even the "1 more hour." At that point, I was really disappointed. My main prayer about the labor (besides of course the safety of baby and myself) was that I would have a scheduled, planned c-section OR an easy delivery. I didn't want to be one of those people who labored forever and then got cut. So, I did actually start to pray there. After my hour was up, I was still 9 cm. I felt like the baby's head was crooked because I had this hip pain everyone gets when their baby's head was crooked. No one believed me! ( she was crooked and now is in physical therapy for torticollis for being crooked in my pelvis the whole time). The doctor suggested that I try to push, which I thought was ridiculous because I was 9 cm and the baby was at a 0 station. I gave a little half push, and she shot all the way down!! I didn't realize how low she was, but the doctor said "wow, you are a great pusher" and everyone scrambled to get the room set up.

At the time, I was thinking they were wasting a set up! I spent this time explaining to my husband that I would push about 2 hours since I had an epidural and this was my first baby. The next contraction came, and I actually pushed for real, and she just came out- in that one single contraction!! Total pushing time was maybe 90 seconds. The doctor opened Kate's legs and asked my husband to announce the gender. He was so stunned by the quick birth, and he was so convinced that she had been a boy that he just stood there stammering. Later on, he said I kept looking for the penis and didn't see one, so I wondered if there was someone wrong with the baby!! I finally took over and looked and announced. It was a girl!!

Kate was screaming and pink. I just can't even express in words how thankful we were. She was super tiny and covered in vernix as well.

The team left because Kate was doing so well, and I was able to keep her on my chest. I nursed her right away and she fed for 20 minutes each side! She has been a champion nurser from the start- not at all like a 36 weeker. We are still going strong at almost 5 months old! The next couple of hours was a blur of discomfort! Because Kate was born so quickly, my perineum didn't stretch so I tore pretty badly. I am still healing up. I got stitches. My placenta refused to budge because it was stuck to my lovely uterine septum. The cord evulsed off the placenta and the doctor had to do a manual removal. He thought he got the whole thing, and he did an ultrasound after, which seemed clear. I bled A LOT! Right after that we called the parents (remember no one knew I was in labor or had delivered). They were so excited and shocked it was a girl! Everyone thought I was having a boy because of the shape of my belly. If people didn't like the name- Emma Katherine- I didn't really care because we loved it, and it was our daughter's name, not just some arbitrary name we were considering at that point. I was so incredibly thirsty. I drank about 72 of those little apple juices and of course started throwing up. My night shift nurse came in shortly after I delivered (Kate was born at 6:40 pm) and gave me some Zofran, which really helped. By the time the parents arrived, I was eating a gross hospital sandwich, but it tasted like a gourmet meal. I seriously scarfed down the whole thing. By the time everyone left, and Kate had her bath and assessment finished, it was super late- maybe 10:30 pm, and we were all exhausted. I was so thankful to get to my postpartum room. Josh saw us to our room, and then he had to go home to take care of the pets and because he had to work the next day. I was alone with Kate. This was the first time I really got to inspect her, and I was shocked at the amount of hair she had and how cute she was. It was really special to be just the two of us.


We had a super rough recovery. Kate ended up at Scottish rite for unstable blood sugars and temps for 4 days related to her prematurity and low birth weight. We were sent to the ER 8 hours after our discharge from Northside, and that was super scary. Also, at 5 weeks postpartum, I had a major hemorrhage due to a piece of placenta that was retained. I had a 2 am d&c, a blood transfusion and nearly lost my uterus. Whether I will be able to have more children is still up in the air, and I go back to the fertility specialist this winter to see if I need additional surgery on my uterus. Overall, we just have so much to be thankful for- from the perfect little girl we got to the fact that we are both okay. Kate is the greatest gift I have ever received and I pray daily that I can bless her with a brother or sister someday.

~Shared by Allison W.

Nehemiah's Birth

We had been praying since the first of June, for our 6th baby to make his appearance. Due to some family things, we were praying that he would come sooner rather than later. I had had contractions regularly off and on for over a month, which is very normal when you have had many pregnancies. My parents came Saturday afternoon, and not much had happened labor wise that day, so I was not expecting anything. We made plans for church and lunch for Sunday and got to be around 10 pm.

About 2:30 am I woke up because I really had to pee. After settling back in bed I realized I was contracting. It was already every 5 minutes, but they were not strong. I tried to go back to sleep, but was unable to. At 4:30 I decided to get up and go to the living room to read my Bible and pray. After reading a couple of the Psalms that have been helpful and praying for God's grace in this birth, I was able to nap for about an hour.

Around 6 am, my oldest came into the living room. I told him what was going on and asked him to pray for me, and he did. (He prayed every day for his brother to come.) Not long after this, the contractions got a bit stronger and were more like every 3 minutes. Jim came down the hall at 6:15 am and I told him I was in labor. We got a quick shower and the contractions changes. I knew then was in full blown labor. I called the doctor to help me determine if I should head on to the hospital, and since it was my 6th baby, we decided to go ahead so I did not have a baby in the car.

A little before 7 am we got in the car and headed to the hospital. God was very gracious to me and spaced out my contractions a little so I did not have too many really strong ones in the car. Once I got out at the hospital, they were right back again. I checked in and went to triage. They told me I was 6 cm and got my IV in place. (This is the WORST part of the whole experience every time hands down.) I kept having to stand up because I could not sit during contractions. I walked over to my labor room where they got the baby on the monitor and saw everything was fine. I stood up again and did not sit down until after my water broke.

Around 8 am my water finally broke, as I had been praying it would since getting into my labor room (so about 30 minutes). Jim called out to the nurses station to let them know, and they came in to check me. She told me I was 9 cm so I could not fully push yet. I looked at Jim and said, "I need to have a baby." I could feel my body pushing with each contraction. They were busy getting the room set up as I finished my labor.

At 8:20 am, our baby boy entered the world! We named him Nehemiah Ezra, which means "God is my comfort and help". This is what God has been teaching me so much the past few years, and has taught Jim and me together the past year.

I was so blessed to have the labor I prayed for (except for the IV) and it could not have been any better. We are so thankful to have Nehemiah in our family and cannot wait to see how else God will use his precious life.

Original story shared on The Manor Manor

Barrett's Birth Story

So, here's the story of how little WB came into this world.... I was scheduled to be induced Monday morning, since my specialist didn't want me to go past 40 weeks due to my history. I had planned a natural waterbirth and did everything to try to naturally induce my labor, but nothing worked. When We arrived at the hospital, they too, tried to start labor without drugs, the balloon method dialated me to 5cm but did not start labor, so, then came the pitocin! The one thing I wanted to avoid the most (besides epidural). So, finally after enduring 14 hours of pitocin induced labor, I hit transition (which is right when you are just about ready to deliver) it came hard and fast. We stopped the pitocin which made my contractions less intense, and I finally felt like I COULD continue to birth without asking for an epidural. However, during this time, most women throw up, myself included. Well.....as I was throwing up and convulsing, my body decided to rip the muscle off of my rib bone, I heard a pop, and instantly felt EXCRUCIATING pain and pretty much became immobile. I continued to get sick, adding to the rib pain, while contracting causing more pain than than I could have ever imagined. Which meant there was literally no possible way at all I could have pushed through that pain even if wanted to. My body simply would not have let me if I tried. So, in came the epidural. Well, the anesthesiologist hit a nerve, thus, causing EVEN MORE extreme pain, and then yelled at me for moving because it made my back spasm, which was not something I could control. So he stuck me again and hit another nerve! He spent a full 2 minutes jabbing nerves, and me begging him to stop! At first, it only worked on half my body, but it finally caught up to the other side. So after a quick nap I was finally ready to push, the pain had subsided, and I just wanted him here. The nurses came in, I pushed for less than 10 mins, and then he was in my arms! FINALLY! So after everything we did to prepare for our peaceful, natural birth, we did not, however, prepare for craziness that actually happened. But in the end none of that even mattered, he's here safe and sound and I couldn't be more thankful.

When I asked Ivy about sharing her story this is what she said:
"I would love to share my story on your blog, I'm sure it will help other women understand that no matter what our plan is, essentially, it's out of our control."

~Shared by Ivy L.

Keaton's Birth

From the Archives

We waited five very long years to begin trying for our second child. Wanting to be rid of our tiny, two bedroom duplex and secure in a house, my husband insisted on waiting for what felt like an eternity to me. Being a teacher, I had to consider and plan when the ideal time to become pregnant would be during the school year. We felt that February would be the earliest reasonable time for me to take maternity leave, so we counted down the days until May of 2006 when we could begin trying.

To our surprise conception occurred very quickly, after only a week and a half. I was suspicious that I was pregnant for several days before I decided to take a pregnancy test. I had been experiencing food aversions, intense fatigue, and endless weeping over unusual circumstances, such as watching a Memorial Day parade. My five year old and I went to Walgreen’s where I bought a pregnancy test for me and apple gum for him. I brought the test home and left it in the bathroom where I refused to think about it for two hours. In the middle of an episode of Oprah, I said a quick prayer, retrieved the Walgreen’s bag, and took the test, which was of course positive. I immediately dragged my husband off the computer to the bathroom where I showed him the test and then promptly burst into tears.

Almost two weeks after discovering that we were expecting, we told our son that “The Baby Boss” had answered his prayers and had put a baby in Mommy’s tummy. He was very excited and asked a lot of questions. That evening he gave my tummy a kiss, explaining that “the baby’s never had a kiss before.” After a few minutes of playing with his Legos, he changed his mind and said, “Actually, Mommy, that was probably the baby’s second kiss. I bet Jesus gave the baby his first kiss before he left heaven.” We knew then that he would be a very thoughtful big brother.

My second pregnancy proved to be very different from my first. I suffered from severe “morning sickness” that occurred from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed at night. Not only was I ravenously hungry but also intensely repulsed at even the idea of food. I was thrilled when this misery finally stopped at 14 weeks. During the second and third trimesters, I experienced the typical pregnancy ailments: Heartburn, leg cramps, back pain, and an inability to take deep breaths. I was very much looking forward to the conclusion of my pregnancy.

At twenty weeks, my mother, husband, son, and I gathered in the ultrasound room in my OB/GYN’s office. After several minutes of checking the baby’s heartbeat and measurements, the technician informed us that another little boy was on his way. After pausing a moment, my son excitedly declared, “Mommy, it’s a boy fiesta!” Laughing, we all agreed with him.

My due date was Sunday, February 4^th. Unfortunately, that day came and went without a contraction. My doctor scheduled an induction for the following Friday. Having heard multiple horror stories about inductions, I prayed that one would not be necessary and that my little boy would appear on his own.    

On Tuesday, February 6^th, I went to work as usual, feeling very annoyed that I was still hugely pregnant and having to teach. After school, I went to Target to pick up curtain rods for the nursery as the curtains had just been delivered, and they were the final item I needed to finish the nursery. That evening I went back to school for my grade level’s PTA performance. Despite being over 40 weeks pregnant, I conducted over 80 second graders as they sang a Japanese song about frogs. Occasionally, I would experience a contraction, but none that made me think that my baby would arrive soon.

That night I went to bed irritated that I would have to teach the next day when I would have much preferred to stay home and mentally prepare myself for my baby’s arrival. I fell asleep quickly about eleven o’clock. At three o’clock, just four hours later, I was awakened by my first real contraction. This contraction was painful, but I chose to ignore it, because I was convinced that this baby would come out only by an induction. Ten minutes later I experienced another contraction that was as painful as the first. At 3:30, I experienced a third contraction that was followed by a noisy pop. Having read hundreds of birth stories during my pregnancy, I knew this sound was my water breaking. The pop was followed by a loud and very painful clanking sound, which was the baby’s head descending into the birth canal. I knew at this point the baby was finally on his way and an induction was not going to be necessary.

I chose not wake my husband yet because I assumed that we had many hours until we would have to leave for the hospital. I was even considering going into work for a few hours. Having had a 39 hour labor with my first son, I was not in a rush to leave for the hospital.

After hearing the pop and feeling the baby start his descent into the birth canal, I got out of bed and waddled down the hall to the bathroom. I noticed I had a slow leak and then decided to crawl back into bed to rest for a while longer. After getting back into bed, my contractions immediately increased in frequency and intensity. I grabbed my husband’s hand and squeezed through each one. Around 4:00, he awoke and asked me groggily if this was it.

By 4:30, I was crying and telling my husband that this labor was so much worse than my first and that I couldn’t bear it. If I had paid closer attention to what I was saying and how I was feeling, I would have realized that I was probably in transition at this point and should have rushed to the hospital. Instead I headed for the shower, insisting that I needed to be fresh and clean for my delivery.

The shower was a miserable experience. Each flurry of cleaning was halted by an excruciating contraction. I turned the shower massager on full blast and let the spray hit my stomach where the pain was most intense, desperately trying to find some relief. Repeatedly, I mumbled through my tears “What time I am afraid, I put my trust in Thee.” After an agonizing thirty minutes, I was finally shampooed, conditioned, scrubbed, and able to leave the shower. 

Upon exiting the shower, I instructed my husband to call our families and his boss. Between contractions I quickly texted my friends and co-workers, letting them know my water had broken. My mother-in-law was due to arrive soon to pick up our son, while my mom was getting ready to meet us at the hospital later that morning.

Our son woke up during this time and was very excited to learn that his baby brother was on his way. However, I was unnerved at the thought of him watching me in pain. I told my husband to keep him out of the room as much as possible. Before he left to put on his clothes, my son said a prayer for me, asking God to “help Mommy be very brave.”

While I struggled to put on my makeup and fix my hair, my husband called his boss to notify him that he would not be coming into work. While he was on the phone, I yelled at him to hang up and hold my hand because my contractions were more than I could bear alone. At this point, I told my husband there was no time for him to take a shower and to call his mother to question where she was.

A few minutes before six, my mother-in-law arrived and took our son to her house. After having my husband snap my last pregnancy picture, I headed for the car. My husband grabbed my bags, tossed them in the back seat, and quickly took off. Giving him instructions to drive fast, I suffered through several contractions on the short ride to the hospital. As he drove, I begged my husband to pray that I was at least four centimeters and could get an epidural upon arriving. I was convinced that in the five years since my son was born I had become a complete wimp as this labor was so much more intense than I ever experienced with my first child.

We pulled into the hospital parking lot at 6:10. After struggling through a contraction, I quickly exited the car and headed for the registration desk. To my dismay, no one was at the desk when we entered the lobby. After two or three very long minutes passed, a receptionist meandered up to the desk and inquired about my social security number. Unable to speak for myself, my husband managed to correctly supply this information after three failed attempts. I was extremely agitated that he could not remember my social security number, but I was neither able to voice my frustration nor the needed numbers. The receptionist took my insurance card and after I endured fifteen minutes of painful and very loud contractions, she declared that I was ready to go to triage. The receptionist questioned if I wanted a wheelchair. I asked her if she could get me one quickly. Her response was so slow that I determined walking would be faster and barked at my husband to get me to the elevator.

Upon entering triage at 6:30, I was met by the gazes of five nurses. I noted that I was their only patient and hoped that this meant I would be checked and given my epidural quickly.  I was shown a room, given a gown, and told to undress. I quickly shed my clothes and put on the hospital gown between contractions. I lay down on the bed, grateful to be in a horizontal position to endure my contractions. When the nurse entered my room to hook me up to the monitor, I asked her to check me. She explained that she had to ask me a few questions first.

With agonizing slowness, the nurse inquired when my water had broken, when I had last drank anything, what my religious affiliation was, and when I had last had a b.m. At this last question, I lost my patience and yelled that I needed to be checked immediately because the baby was right there. While the nurse was scrambling to find someone to check me, I demanded that my husband pray for me and then promptly yelled at him because I could not hear his prayer over my own moans and screams.

A new nurse entered the room and had me roll on to my back. Upon checking me, she said, “She’s nine centimeters, 100% effaced, and at a plus one station! Get her to delivery!” I was shocked to learn of my status, and then in the next moment my body was consumed by its first urge to push.  As several nurses ran me from triage to the delivery room, I asked, “Am I going to be able to get my epidural?” I knew the answer even before the nurse replied, “Honey, you’ll have this baby before the anesthesiologist can even get up here.” Unhappily, I resigned myself to a natural child birth.

As I was rolled into the delivery room, I told my husband to call my mother and tell her to hurry. Medical personnel scurried around the room as I lay on my side and screamed through what felt like never-ending contractions and an all-consuming urge to push. I begged for water or ice chips as my throat was completely dry from my continuous screams, but I was ignored.  

The nurse checked me again and said, “She just has a small lip left.” My body paid her no attention as it pushed of its own accord. The midwife hurried into the room and had me begin pushing along with my body. After my first intentional push on my side, I realized that I was solely responsible for getting this baby out of my body and for ending my pain. I rolled on my back to be able to push more effectively. With the next contraction, I pushed as hard as I could, screaming, “Get out!” as he crowned. My mother ran into the room at this moment, having been directed upon exiting the elevator to “follow the screams.” She ran quickly to me to support my neck as my husband and a nurse supported my legs. 

As I cried and gasped for breath before my final contraction, the midwife asked if I wanted to touch the baby’s head, and I quickly replied, “No!” I knew that doing so would make the delivery longer than necessary, and I wanted it over immediately. With one more push and several screams of “Get him out,” Keaton Parker entered this world at 7:08 a.m., just four hours after my first contraction.

My little boy weighed 8 pounds 2 ounces and was 20 and ½ inches long. His arrival was unexpectedly fast and extremely tough.  However, God knew that this baby would be an enormous blessing to our family and worth every painful contraction. I am grateful that He was right. 

~ Shared by Ashley B.

McLain's Birth

         From the Archives

          As long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mommy and have lots of babies. Growing up, I practiced mothering on my two brothers, my two cousins, and my multitude of dolls. I baby-sat almost every weekend for a decade and loved every minute of these opportunities to fine tune my diaper changing and bottle warming skills. At 22, I learned that I would be able to use this expertise in April of 2001 on a sweet baby of my own. I was both terrified and absolutely thrilled.

          During the nine months of my pregnancy, I prepared for the arrival of our first addition. As would later become my tradition with every pregnancy, I watched A Baby Story every weekday. I read What to Expect While You’re Expecting until I was so frightened by the possibilities of what could go wrong that Clay took the book away from me and hid it until after our baby was born. I washed loads of baby clothes in Dreft, painted bookshelves, and organized and reorganized the beautiful nursery that Clay and I decorated in stars and moons.

          In December, Clay and I went to the OB/GYN for our baby’s five month sonogram. As the ultrasound tech scanned our baby’s body, we learned that we were going to have a little boy. Knowing we had a son on the way made the idea of parenting a lot more real.

          At 6:00 am Monday, April 2^nd, I awoke briefly to cramping feelings in my back. As they were not too uncomfortable, I went back to sleep until 10:00. At this time, I awoke and put in a recorded tape of Survivor. Snuggling with my husband, we watched the reality show while I experienced continued contractions. Shortly after the show began, I felt my baby make a big turn, perhaps moving his head in the necessary position for exiting. At that point, the contractions moved from my back to my abdomen.

          As I was still six days from my due date and this was my first child, I was uncertain if these contractions were truly labor or a false alarm. Clay began timing them at 10:23, and we noticed that while they were not spaced perfectly apart, they were consistently coming. I called my mom to let her know what was happening, and she agreed to go with Clay and me to my previously scheduled doctor visit that afternoon.

          Hoping that we could speed labor along, my husband and I decided to take a walk. We dressed in shorts and t-shirts, and then I slowly waddled up my street with him, holding his hand. Every two to three minutes I had to pause for a contraction. I was surprised at how close together they were, having expected them to start far apart like all the books, Lamaze instructors, and doctors had said they would.

          After finishing our mile long walk, I went back to our house to shower. My grandmother had since learned that I was in labor and was convinced that if I took a shower that I might very well have the baby in the bathtub. Instead of letting me relax in the shower, she stood her ground in the bathroom and talked to me while I shampooed, conditioned, and shaved my legs. There was no privacy as I readied myself for my OB/GYN appointment.

          At 3:00, nine hours after my first contraction, I went in for my scheduled doctor visit with Clay and my mother. I was nervous in the waiting room and even more anxious in the exam room. While I waited alone for the doctor to enter the room, my contractions continued, and I lay down to ease them. They were not very painful yet, but they were nothing I could ignore.

          The doctor examined me and determined that I was a “loose” one centimeter, 25 percent effaced, and probably in labor. All I could think was nine hours of contractions and only one centimeter? This mama was not happy.

          After the doctor’s visit, Mom, Clay, and I went to Chick-Fil-A. I ate soup and French fries, feeling annoyance and contractions throughout our meal. I knew my baby was on his way, but I had no idea how long it would be before he arrived.

          When we got home, Clay and I went for another walk. Again, I experienced a contraction every two to three minutes, but their intensity wasn’t strong enough to even justify a call to the doctor.  My contractions continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

          At dinner time, we went next door to my mom’s house. My mother had made my favorite vegetable soup, which I ate not knowing that this would be my last meal for the next 26 hours. Clay talked on the phone to a friend while we were there, giving him the details of my labor. As my contractions continued, so did my frustration with Clay being on the phone. After I snapped at him, he quickly hung up, and we headed back to our home.

          Throughout the day, my contractions had slowly increased in intensity but not significantly.  Nevertheless, I was exhausted from the day’s emotions and 18 hours of labor. I crawled into bed at midnight and slept until my bladder woke me up at 3:30 AM. Initially, I thought my water may have broken, but this being my first baby I wasn’t sure. 21 and ½ hours of contractions though prompted Clay and me to ready ourselves for the hospital whether it was my water or my bladder that had broken.  

          After making this decision, I called my mom to give her the update. She said that she would get ready and shortly be over. Clay called his parents, and they made plans to meet us later in the morning at the hospital.

I waddled to the shower and again readied myself. As I sat in my rocking chair and curled my hair, I wondered when my baby was going to make his appearance. A few minutes later, my mom knocked on the door, and we all piled in our car. I was determined that I would not come back home without my baby.

          On the way to the hospital, Clay mentioned that he was hungry. He stopped at the Quik Trip that we passed and went inside to buy powered doughnuts. I was annoyed.

          At 5:00 AM, we arrived at the hospital, a long 23 hours after my first contraction. I was assigned a triage room, and after I changed into a gown, a nurse checked me. She determined that my water had not broken (apparently it had just been my bladder) and that I was still at one centimeter. I was so disappointed. However, the nurse could see that my contractions were painful, so she instructed me to walk the maternity floor for an hour to see if I could further my dilation. And so began the hour of hell.

          Around and around the floor, my mom, Clay, and I walked. Each time a contraction gripped me, I had to stop and cling to Clay. The more I walked the stronger the contractions became. At one point, I claimed to have to use the bathroom and just went into the waiting room restroom to escape having to walk. I was stunned by how horrible the pain was and was ready to run away if there had been any way for me to do so. Reluctantly, I left the bathroom after ten minutes to continue the most painful walk of my 23 years.

          Because my contractions had developed a steady pattern, I would experience one every time I passed the triage station. The nurses witnessed my being able to neither walk nor talk through the pain. I thought nothing of that at the time, but their seeing my physical distress while walking apparently convinced them that I was not experiencing false labor.  

          When the hour was up, I returned to my triage room. Walking even one extra step was not an option to me. I was immediately checked by a triage nurse. She stated that I was still a “loose one,” but she also said that I was now 80% effaced and my cervix was soft. She also explained that because my contractions were clearly regular that I was in labor and here to stay. I was so grateful that a medical person finally believed that I was in labor, something that I had known since my first contraction 24 hours earlier. Briefly, my in-laws came in the triage room, and Clay explained that I was being admitted and that their grandson was on his way.  

          Because I was not eligible for an epidural yet, the nurse offered me a narcotic shot. After having experienced such horrible contractions while walking, I gladly accepted her offer. She gave me the shot in my right hip, and I could feel the medicine’s impact almost immediately. The nurse forbid me to try to walk to my labor and delivery room, even though I had just been doing laps around the hospital floor. In the words of my nurse, “You’re drunk, and you’re not walking anywhere.” Without argument, I sat down in my wheel chair and rode to my new room.

          The narcotic shot was not what I expected. The nurse had told me that that it would “take the edge off” my contractions. However, my pain did not diminish but my ability to stay awake did. Instead of being able to try to relax as the intensity of each contraction built, I would wake at the peak of each one, groggy and terrified of the inescapable pain. I would fuss at my husband to hold my hand as I tried to endure the pain and then would promptly shove him away, so I could go back to sleep as soon as the contraction was over. This cycle continued for ten hours. The frustration of being unable to relieve my interminable exhaustion or pain was the most difficult part of my labor for Clay.

          Throughout the morning and afternoon, many parents, in-laws, siblings, and friends were in and out of my room. This long stretch of labor was painful and hazy to me, especially after I received a second narcotic shot. I remember waking to see my mother-in-law in a rocking chair, my husband eating Taco Bell (which he was forbidden to ever bring into a labor and delivery room again), and my baby brother and little sister in law telling me how they had snuck away from the waiting room to play on the elevator and had gotten in trouble. 

          Brandi, my best friend from high school was at the hospital and didn’t want to miss her opportunity to video the birth. She asked the doctor if she could go to class without missing it. The doctor said, “You could drive to Tennessee and back and this baby still won’t be here.” She went to class and made it back with hours to spare.

          At 3:00, the labor and delivery nurse checked me. After 33 hours of contractions, I was finally deemed to be four centimeters. I was equally grateful to learn that my body was progressing and that I was ready for my epidural. However, I had to endure another hour of contractions before the anesthesiologist arrived at 4:00 to give me the relief I so desperately wanted.  

          As the nurse and anesthesiologist set up my room and readied me for the procedure, I became nervous. My mom told me, “Don’t worry. As soon as you get the epidural, you won’t feel any more pain. The hard part will be over.” I clung to what she said and was later relieved when her comforting words proved to be true.

          Receiving the epidural was nerve wracking. As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed with a pillow in my lap, I tightly gripped the hands of my nurse. She encouraged me to stay curled up like a ball so that the needle could be easily inserted into my spine. However, staying relaxed and in this uncomfortable position while being hit with a contraction was almost impossible. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was patient and able to place my epidural between contractions. The procedure was quickly finished. More importantly, the contractions I experienced while I received my epidural were the last ones I felt during this labor. My mother was right. The pain was over. 

          After receiving my epidural, I was happier and willing to interact with my visitors between my drug induced naps. My family and friends periodically came in to talk to me. However, I was still very tired because of the narcotics and slept the majority of the evening, waking periodically to scratch my face or my chest. Itchiness proved to be a side effect of the medication in the epidural, but I hid that information from the nurses as I did not want them to turn it off. I much preferred itchiness over pain.

          Not long after getting my epidural, my body began to relax and my contractions grew less frequent. My nurse followed my doctor’s orders and added Pitocin to my IV to help reregulate my contractions. In less than four hours after this medicine was administered, I went from four to ten centimeters. I was ready to push but unfortunately the medical staff was not.

          Not surprisingly, multiple women were in labor at the same time I was.  Because of them, I had to wait until other women delivered before my midwife or nurse could prepare my room and me for my son’s delivery.  During this time, I started shaking. My exhaustion and nerves were reaching their peak. I was ready for this long labor to be over and to meet my baby. Testiness began to overwhelm me before I even began to push.

          At about 7:45, I was finally prepped and ready. My labor and delivery nurse sat on the end of my bed and instructed me when to breathe, when to push, and when to relax. Clay and my mom stood on either side of me while Brandi stood back and to the left of the bed with a video camera. Through my narcotic haze, I began pushing. It was awkward. It was difficult. It was also extremely embarrassing to be that exposed to so many people in my room.

          I pushed and was encouraged. I pushed and was cheered on. This cycle continued and still I had no baby after an hour had passed. The nurse coached me to try long pushes while holding my breath. Still no baby. The midwife told me to try short pushes with every other contraction. Still no baby. My frustration could not be contained as I told everyone in the room to be quiet and threatened to kick my mother out of the room if she made one more joke. This exhausted mama was about to lose it.

          Because my laboring was taking so long, my midwife and nurse could not stay in my room the entire time. They began checking on other mothers, leaving me in the room with just Clay, my mom, and Brandi. Despite their absence, I continued my pushes with each contraction and finally saw my son’s head begin to emerge. I was so completely ready to be finished with this labor that I was unconcerned if there was any medical staff in the room to deliver my son or not. I kept pushing. 

          The nurse returned and immediately summoned the midwife who was surprised by my obvious progress when she reentered my room. As she quickly slipped on her gloves and delivery garb, she told me to relax and not to push. I was aggravated and just wanted this delivery to be over. After what seemed like an eternity to me, my midwife instructed me to push with my next contraction.

          With Clay and my mother each holding one of my legs, I pushed with every ounce of strength I had remaining. Slowly and through several more contractions, my baby finally made his entrance with a great rush of amniotic fluid that sprayed all over his daddy’s arm. I was overwhelmed at the sweet sight of him.

          After 39 ½ very long hours of labor and an hour and twenty minutes of pushing, Bryan McLain entered my world at 7 pounds 4 ounces and 20 inches long. God blessed his father and me with a strong, healthy, incredible son that captured my heart from the moment I first looked at him, forever changing me from daughter, sister, and wife to mom. I am so eternally grateful that God chose me to be McLain’s mother and cannot imagine my life without him. 

~Shared by Ashley B.