Eliana's Birth

Our precious darling girl entered the world on Saturday, September 22^nd at 12:36 pm and forever changed our lives.  Here is the story of her birth:

Eliana was due on Tuesday, September 18^th; Tuesday came and went without any sign of our baby girl, but I wasn’t too worried.  In fact, I was fully expecting her to be at least eight days late since this was my first pregnancy and late babies tend to run in my family.  I had an appointment on Thursday, the 20^th with one of the midwives; I had refrained from ‘getting checked’ until then but thought it might be a good idea to see if I was dilated or effaced at all since we were officially past our due date.  The midwife Sarah asked if I wanted her to strip my membranes; my answer was an emphatic no at that point; I anticipated Sarah telling us we were going to have to wait a while longer, but after she checked me, she said we were 2-3 centimeters dilated and about 80% effaced and that it could be ‘any day now’.  The reality that we were going to become parents soon (and very soon) hit me like a ton of bricks that morning.

The next day was an absolutely gorgeous Friday; I remember hoping our baby girl might make her appearance that day since I was born on a Friday, but even though Mom and I went for a nice long walk after lunch, there was absolutely no indication that Eliana would be joining us anytime soon.  I was having Braxton Hicks contractions throughout the day; Mom kept telling me I would know when the real contractions began, that the true contractions were much different than Braxton Hicks.

Isaac, Mom, and I decided to go out for a nice meal on Friday night.  We chose Thai food, and I issued Eliana her official eviction notice at the restaurant.  I still only ordered very little spice in my dinner because I was terrified of the heartburn that would result if I ordered my food very spicy as an effort to induce labor.  Yes, I wanted my baby girl in my arms sooner rather than later, but I did not want to deal with another night of constant heartburn.  When we got home, Mom and I went for another walk around the neighborhood, but still nothing seemed to develop.   

We decided to watch one of our favorite movies that night: the classic John Cusack 80s movie of Better Off Dead (it is hilarious- go watch it now if you’ve never seen it).  About 10:30, I got up to go use the bathroom when I felt a contraction that was different than any other Braxton Hicks I felt before, and I discovered Mom was right after all- I could definitely tell that contraction was a bit more serious than what I had been experiencing over the past several weeks with the Braxton Hicks. 

And then I felt my waters begin to leak.  It wasn’t a big gush, but it was noticeable.  When I went to the bathroom, I saw some bloody show.  I knew exactly what it was, but I called my mom to come and look at it anyway.  I will never forget when she said, “Yeah, you’re starting labor baby.”  It was a very defining moment of my life.  

Isaac and I decided to try to get some sleep.  Throughout the night, I woke up to a few contractions; they were uncomfortable and slightly painful, but they weren’t regular by any means.  I did wake up in the peak of one contraction; I think it was at this point I began a conversation with Jesus about how I know He knows all our pain, but that since He was man, He had never been in labor and given birth before and therefore couldn’t know the pain I was in at that moment.  Of course, a few seconds later when the contraction was over, I realized that being crucified was probably more painful than giving birth; I apologized to Jesus for my earlier rationale.  I think God just kind of chuckled at me at that point. 

I got up around 6:30 Saturday morning and took a hot shower to help with some of the contractions, which still weren’t regular.  I called my midwife Alison about 9:00 am and told her I had started leaking fluid and was having very irregular contractions.  She suggested I go for a walk and do other labor-stimulating activities to help speed the process along; she also said if within 18 hours of my waters breaking I wasn’t progressing, I needed to come to the hospital to start antibiotics.  Isaac, Mom, and I went for a walk around the neighborhood, stopping for each contraction with Mom timing them on her recently-purchased contraction app.  We came home, and Isaac headed to work for a little bit since things seemed to be progressing rather slowly.  When he left, I was sitting on the birthing ball, breathing through contractions, but still able to hold a conversation. 

About thirty minutes later, I asked Mom to call him and tell him to come home.  My contractions had progressed rapidly, and when he walked in the door, I was now leaning over the birthing ball (thank God for that birthing ball), moaning and humming through the contractions while Mom rubbed my lower back and applied some counter pressure.  I was trying every position Angela (our fabulous birth class instructor) had taught us over our seven week class with her; I even used my aromatherapy comfort measure for a few contractions (thank you dear Angela for giving me that Aveda spray), but I was rapidly becoming very uncomfortable.

After a few contractions, Isaac asked me if we needed to go to the hospital.  I said I didn’t know; he asked how far apart the contractions were coming.  Mom looked at her phone and told him every three and a half to four minutes or so.  He immediately said, “We need to go.”  Mom agreed, we packed up the car, and headed to the hospital.  Before I got in the car, I asked no one in particular to make sure I didn’t have a contraction for the ten-minute ride to the hospital.  Mom said she didn’t think that was going to happen.  Apparently, I had three contractions during the drive.

We made it to the hospital about 11:00 or 11:15 am.  Isaac dropped us off and went to park the car as we went to register.  Almost as soon as Mom and I were in the door, I got hit with an extremely intense contraction; I was halfway down the stairs into the lobby when I just stopped and grabbed the railing and breathed through the pain of the contraction.  I’ll never forget that spot in the hospital; I think that was when I truly realized I was going to give birth that day. 

Isaac made it in a few minutes later as his cell phone was exploding with text messages.  The person at registration asked if I could walk up to Labor and Delivery or if I needed a wheelchair.  I told her I could walk, so off we went.  Along the way, I had a few more contractions and was hanging onto walls, railings, and whatever else I could find.    

We made it up to Labor and Delivery and were taken to our room, complete with a tub for laboring (not that I got a chance to make use of it).  We met our super sweet nurse Jodi, who requested my urine sample and that I change into the lovely and oh-so-flattering hospital gown.  Isaac began to pray for us, but I only made it through about half of the prayer before I was leaning over the bed and moaning again. 

At this point, I was really feeling pain and my contractions were very close together; I already felt like I wasn’t getting much of a chance to recover in between each one.  I was asked to lay or sit on the bed so they could hook up the fetal monitoring device for a few minutes to check on the baby.  As the nurse was hooking all of the equipment up, she commented that my belly was very tight.  Hello, I was in the middle of a contraction.  Jodi came in to check me and said, “Well, that changes my plan a little bit.  You’re 100% effaced and at an eight, but I can pretty much flip that cervix back easily.”  She left to go update the midwife and came back a few minutes later. 

Of course, I had no concept of time at this point.  I had no idea how long I’d been in active labor or even at the hospital.  When Jodi told me I was dilated to eight centimeters, I remember thinking, “Not too much longer now then.  Okay, okay, okay…”      

Because I didn’t have the energy to get up and walk around, I just stayed on the bed, flat on my back.  I knew that was not how I wanted to be when it came time to push, but at that moment, it felt good to lay down.  With each contraction Isaac was rubbing my head or wiping my forehead with a cool washcloth (holy heavens, I got so hot so quickly) while my mom was reaching underneath me to rub my lower back through the contraction.  And I was squeezing the heck out of Isaac’s hand while humming and blowing through the contractions. 

Meanwhile, Jodi was trying to get an IV in my arm to get the saline lock in place (which is hospital policy even if the patient is planning on having a natural birth).  After a few failed attempts, she tried the other arm and when that vein blew too, she finally resulted to my hand.  She was so apologetic about not being able to get the IV on the first try; I remember thinking, “You sweet angel woman, that is the absolute least of my worries right now.” 

It wasn’t long after that I declared I felt like I had to push;  my mom got right down into my face and told me I couldn’t- that I needed to blow through it.  I must have looked at her like she was crazy because she stayed in my face and said, “Blow with me now.”  She started blowing while still rubbing my lower back, and I finally nodded my head and started blowing with her.  It helped, but I still wanted to push with every core of my being.  Isaac kept rubbing my head and applying the cool wash cloth.  But in between each contraction, I remember watching him walk from one side of the room to the other to get a tissue to blow his nose.  He was crying because he hates seeing me in pain and because he realized just how close we were to having our baby girl in our arms.

I don’t remember saying much during labor (apparently I was rather nice and didn't say anything too mean), but I do remember saying, “I don’t think I can do this” and was met by my husband, mom, and nurse all telling me I already was doing it.  I looked at my mom at one point and said, “I don’t think this was a very good idea.”  I think she might have laughed a little.  I honestly don’t remember. 

We were still waiting on my midwife to arrive when I asked how much longer she was going to be.  Jodi told me that she was coming soon, but that even if Alison wasn’t there after the next contraction, we were going to try pushing.  I don’t even know the thoughts that went through my head at that point.  I was all business and wanted to do what my body was telling me to do- which was push my baby girl into the world.

When the contraction came, I was still laying on my back.  I pushed and immediately said it wasn’t going to work; gravity was not on my side and I was tired of being on my back.  Jodi and the other nurses quickly pulled up the bed and converted it so that I could squat and lean on the birthing bar in front of me.  My midwife Alison walked in about this time (I was so glad she was on call that weekend); I remember making a quip about how my baby needed to make her appearance before Alison and her family left for Disney World the following weekend; Alison smiled and told me I was right and then reminded me to just do what my body was telling me to do.  She (and the entire staff at the hospital) was so calm and reassuring; her encouragement infused me with confidence.

I started pushing as I was leaning on the birthing bar; sure enough, I felt like I was taking a poo (well, I was- just like every other woman in labor) but even though I knew I was also pushing our baby girl down the birth canal, I didn’t feel like I was making any progress.  I remember thinking the pushing wasn’t nearly as bad as the contractions; I took a short break and thought about changing my position but almost immediately felt the urge to push again.  I leaned forward into the birthing bar and began pushing again and again, all the while hearing my birth team and the hospital staff and our dear friend Julia who was photographing our daughter’s entrance into the world telling me I was doing good and to keep going.

At some point I remember Alison telling me that our baby is starting to crown and that I needed to look at her and listen to what she told me to do to avoid tearing badly.  I pushed once or twice more and I began to feel the infamous ‘ring of fire’ and a split second later, Alison told me to reach down and feel my baby’s head.  I reached down with my left hand and touched her head and could feel the hair on her little head; someone mentioned she had good hair, and I vividly remember thinking, “Yes, she better after that heartburn.”  I brought my hand back up and looked at my fingers which were covered in blood but had just touched my baby’s head.  I pushed and pushed until I finally realized she was out. 

I fell back into the bed, and Alison and the nurses handed her right to me, placing her on my chest as she wailed at the top of her lungs.  Isaac was bawling and Mom was bawling and Julia was close to bawling, and I remember feeling nothing but sheer joy and contentment as I listened to our baby girl crying.  She had an incessant wail going, but Isaac got down close to her face, and she simply stopped and looked up at him, mesmerized.  It was one of the most precious moments of my life.

As my midwife was cleaning me up and the nurses were going about their duties, Isaac and I just stared at our perfect baby girl.  Our sweet little Eliana Rae had made her appearance at 12:36 pm, less than two hours after checking into the hospital and after what was only about 15 minutes of pushing.  My mom told me later that I had just redeemed myself for almost 30 years of being the family wimp and that she was so very proud of me and impressed that I had given birth naturally, without any medication whatsoever.  It turns out it was a good thing we weren’t counting on an epidural since there would have been no time for it anyway!

We were given some alone time, just our little family of three, before the nurses completed her assessment.  Her Apgar scores were an 8 and 9 and she breastfed within an hour of birth.  During her assessment, the nurse explained everything she was doing.  Our bundle of joy was eight pounds and seven ounces and 21.5 inches long.  When the nurse mentioned something about the baby pinkie, my mom thought something was wrong with her hand until the nurse said, “Yes, you see this little baby pinkie?  She will have you wrapped all the way around it very soon!”  And, indeed, it didn’t take long for that to happen!

There is so much more to her story, from her sudden transport to the children’s hospital on her second day of life to her week-long stay in the NICU to her homecoming to finally be with us.  And even though she is not yet three weeks old, both Isaac and I simply can’t imagine our life without our daughter.  I’ve realized that I am married to the absolute most wonderful man who is the most wonderful father, that being a parent is the most humbling experience of my life, and that even though we love our baby girl more than anything in the world, the Lord still loves her more than Isaac and I would ever be capable. 

~Shared by Jenny J.

Judah's Birth

This is one story I never thought I would be writing.

After almost two years of trying to conceive, my husband, Ben, and I were halfway finished with our home study with Lifeline Children’s Services and ready for the next step in the process of adopting a child (or children) from Peru when we saw those two little lines! In August of 2012, I had been diagnosed with PCOS (a hormonal disorder that causes cysts around the ovaries) after several months of waiting and wondering why I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. After 5 months of Clomid and Metformin (the typical drugs used to treat PCOS symptoms—not the root cause!!), I decided to do a little research on my own and stop all the pills. I learned that by changing my diet and allowing my body to heal, I could most likely get pregnant without medication! I went on what was basically a paleo/eating clean diet, cutting out all added sugar, greatly reducing my carbs, upping my protein, switching to full fat organic dairy, and eating as much organic foods as we could afford. I exercised 4-5 times a week and also got rid of all the chemically-laden products in our home –many of which are known to affect our reproductive hormones. It was a huge change for both me and my husband, but after about 7 months, I went back to my OB and the 8-9 cysts that showed up previously on the ultrasound has diminished to only 1! Obviously I give all the glory to the Lord for healing my pretty-messed-up body!

Needless to say, we were both absolutely ecstatic to find out I was pregnant in August of 2013. I had been charting my temperature faithfully for almost 2 years and when it didn’t go down 14 days after when I knew I had ovulated, I was really surprised. I had quit taking pregnancy tests long ago, not wanting to put myself through the disappointment that inevitably came each month. But this Saturday morning, I thought I might as well use one of the many I had leftover from a bulk order from Amazon J I actually ended up taking 4 tests that morning—one positive result wasn’t enough for me!

As I began researching pregnancy and childbirth resources, I was really surprised by the c-section rate of the hospital with which my OB group was affiliated. A friend told me about the natural childbirth classes they had taken called the Bradley Method and I looked at her like she was crazy. Doesn’t everyone get an epidural when they have a baby? After spending countless hours reading everything I could get my hands on, I was convinced that I wanted to try and have an unmedicated birth. We signed up for the 12 week class the following week, and it was absolutely the best thing we did to help my husband and I prepare for the upcoming birth of our little boy.  At 20 weeks, I switched care providers to a group with three midwives that are affiliated with a hospital that is known for their support of natural births (and had beautiful birthing rooms with tubs and all kinds of other birthing supports.) Just a few more months to go!

Fast forward to April 18, 2014…

I started feeling contractions at around midnight on Friday, the day before my actual due date.  I had taught my ESL class that day and had to sit down a few times due to the strong BH contractions (which I had figured out were really BH contractions only a week or so before! I always just thought baby boy was just in a weird position and that’s why my tummy was so tight!)  Ben and I had spent most of Thursday evening walking--first around the neighborhood and then at Lowe's and Target. We were ready to meet our little guy! We learned in our class that when I started feeling contractions, I should first try to go back to sleep (and save my energy), so thankfully I was able to do that. I woke up again with contractions around 2:30am and got up and ate a bowl of cereal and walked around a bit, wondering the whole time if I might be in the beginning stages of labor. I finally woke Ben up at 4:30am and said, "Honey, I think something is happening," to which he replied, "Oh, okay. Well, can I go back to sleep for a little bit?" J To which I replied, “well, I guess we can try.”  I tried to go back to sleep but ended up just resting while he rubbed by back. We called our moms (who live in Knoxville) at 5:00 am and told them to go ahead and start the drive up. We both got up at 6:00am and took showers and cleaned up around the house a little bit. Our moms arrived around 9:45am and by this time, my contractions were about 8 minutes apart. I was able to still walk around a little bit in between, but really had to focus on being still and relaxing during each contraction.

At around 11:30, Ben thought it would be best if we went ahead and left for the hospital (our plan was to labor at home as long as possible).  Thankfully we had preregistered, so the check-in process was super easy! When we got to the triage, the nurse said I was already at 5cm, which was great news to hear--I did not want to be sent back home!  I was transferred to an L&D room at around 12:30pm (but not one with a tub--they were all full!) I labored for about 5 more hours, walking around and constantly changing positions to help baby move down, as we had learned to do in our class. At times though, all I wanted to do was lay in bed and rest, which the nurse encouraged me to do also, so I wouldn’t wear myself out too much! I was surprised that the pain was pretty manageable up until those last couple of hours or so. Ben was such a wonderful coach! My mom was also in the room, and offered great support and comfort. I definitely knew the point when I was in the transition phase and it was intense! My midwife had not been in to check me yet (I later found out she had delivered 6 other babies that afternoon!) so I asked if she would come check me. I needed to know how much longer I had to do this! I was at 7 cm, which was good, but I have to say I was hoping I was a little farther along! They put the monitor on me (I had chosen intermittent monitoring during the labor process) and everything went pretty quickly from then on. I began to feel incredible pressure and the nurse said I’d be ready to push when that pressure was constant. I began pushing around 5pm and about 30 minutes into the pushing process, Judah's heart rate dipped into the 60s, which got everyone a little worried. I looked up and saw that one of the OBs from my group had come in, which I knew wasn’t a good sign (I think my exact words were, “What is HE doing here!?). My midwife advised me to change positions and I was given an oxygen mask and also put on a heart rate monitor. She asked me to try not push so we could focus on getting his heart rate back up, but at that point, I couldn't not push. I heard her mention the forceps and vacuum and I (probably not very politely) asked her to not use either one! She said, “Well, okay...let’s get this little guy out then!” Just when I thought I couldn’t push any more, I heard everyone saying they could see his little head.  The Lord definitely had his hand on our little guy, and at 6:02pm we welcomed him into the world! Judah had a little bit of a hard time breathing on his own at first, but with the help of some vigorous rubbing, he did just fine. I was able to nurse him soon after that and had some great skin to skin time.

About 3 hours after I delivered, we were transferred to the mother/baby floor where we welcomed family and a few friends.  Our first night as a family of 3 was not exactly restful, but that was to be expected! I was so glad the OB gave the OK for me to go home on Saturday as soon as we hit the 24 hour mark.  Other than being sore, I felt fine! We sure were glad to get home!

We are so thankful the Lord chose to bless us with this sweet gift! Blessed be the name of the Lord!

~Shared by Lindsey W.

Ellie's Birth

I'm not exactly sure where to begin here. So here's some background. We married a few months before our 20th birthdays and I was 4 months pregnant. So I was young, fresh out of high school, and for all purposes innocent and naïve. We lived in a 1 bedroom apartment and he worked grave yard shift at ups.
* Fast forward 4.5 months. *
We sat down with our doctor to have the whole "how do you want your delivery to happen" conversation. Philip and I had decided to forgo the birthing classes and just go with an epidural and drugs. Lots of drugs. We assumed the doctor was writing all of this down since it seemed he was taking notes.
   I had a wonderful pregnancy. Until the last month, when serious Braxton hicks kicked in. Starting July 4th, we were at the hospital almost weekly because no one could or would explain to me what a contraction felt like.  One night on my nightly walk around our complex, I felt them. Real contractions.
    This had to be it. I rushed home to call Philip for the 3rd time that month to tell him I think I'm in labor. He came home, contractions were still going strong. Picked me up, and the short but long trip to the hospital began. Over the railroad tracks I once loved to go over now feeling like jarring knives up my spine.
    We arrived at 11 pm on Wednesday night. The doctor decided to keep me at the hospital. I was approximately 3 cm and starting to efface (sp). They sent me for a catheter and an ennema (sp) cleaning everything out from inside me. Back to the room I was sent. To sit in my bed, not able to get out, all night.
    By lunch time Thursday I had only dilated to 5 cm and the doctor ordered pitocin. I had stalled out and hadn't dilated for several hours. I thought ok, here we go this aught to kick things into gear. By 6pm I was being moved into labor and delivery, yippie I was in transition! "May I have my epidural now? "
  I was informed that the nurses could only give me Demerol since there wasn't anything written in my chart about an epidural and they couldn't order it without orders. My eyes about fell out of my head realizing I wouldn't get the relief I though all along I would be getting.
The Demerol had started to kick in so my memory of things are very scattered. I apologize ahead of time.
  My father and step mother showed up. I barely noticed until my stepmother decided to start reading the monitor. Lol.
"A contraction is starting! Oh this is gonna be a big one!" After a couple times of that, I think I told her off. I'm not sure. Maybe I just decided to ignore her. Maybe in the Demerol haze I just truly can't remember. But I think she stopped.
 Next thing I remember is looking at my wonderful husband and how beautiful he looked holding my right hand. And then I looked at my dad holding my left hand. I remember telling myself not to be a typical woman in labor, and did my best not to hurt Philip. So I squeezed daddy's hand. I think I broke something, and whinnied "daddy, it hurts!"
  I don't know how long it took, but I remember I needed to push and the doctor wasn't there. The nurses were delivering my daughter. I was concentrating on trying to breathe. The nurses were yelling at me to stop holding my breath when I pushed. Then the doctor ran into the room stripping his clothes and putting on scrubs. The only thing I remember from that is him saying "sorry I'm late, I lost my keys." And thinking seriously!?!
He came over, grabbed a scalpel and sliced me tip to tail. Next thing I know I'm looking between my legs at a blue.... seriously she was baby blue... Baby. And I said "oh my God she's blue!" After the nurses assured me that was ok, I blacked out. Seriously. I don't remember anything until after midnight. Elizabeth (Ellie) had been born at 7:23 pm on July 23rd in room 223. My step mom still plays those lottery numbers.
  When I awoke from my drug induced black out, I was alone. Philip had gone home to change and sleep, my parents had left to go home. I paged the nurse and asked where my baby was. She brought Ellie to me. I remember nursing her, and just bawling my eyes out.  

~Shared by Barbara V.

Emily's Birth

February 12, 1984 – This was the date doctors had given Ed and me for the birth of our first child.  Having been married 12 years and just a year before been told we would probably never have children of our own, we were awaiting the birth of our first child.  

February 12^th was a beautiful winter day; bright and sunny.  This Sunday was no different than any other in our nearly 12 years of marriage.  We arose at our usually time and prepared to go to church.  As I sang in the choir that morning, our baby seemed to move more than usual and I had feelings I had not experienced before. (In hind sight, contractions)  They continued throughout the day, but otherwise the day went as usual.  After the evening service Papaw and Ed had a meeting after church, so I went home with Memaw to wait for Ed to pick me up on his way home.  Memaw and I had our usual after church snacks that included Vienna sausages, pickles, crackers, cheese and an assortment of other snacks.  At this point in my pregnancy, I ate most anything.  Everything looked and tasted good. 

After Ed arrived we stayed a while longer and went home around midnight.  I had already finished my last day of work until after the baby’s birth, so I planned to sleep late the next morning.  This was not to be.  As I sat down on the bed to remove my shoes, my water broke - time to call the doctor.  As we called the doctor we were told to go as soon as possible to the hospital to be checked out.  Due to my age I was considered a high risk pregnancy and my doctors wanted me at the hospital.  After I arrived it was determined that I was in active labor, but had not dilated so I was put in a room to be watched.  One of the first questions that I was asked was what had I eaten in the last 24 hours.  I had to remember all of the things I had eaten at Mamaw’s that evening.  Much of which came back up before the night was over. 

During a previous visited one of the doctors in my group had suggested that I would need to have a C-section.  (He was the only one who had ever said that.)  Because of that I had become set on not having a C-Section delivery.  Throughout the next few hours I napped when I could and had contractions off and on with no regularity and little dilation.  About 7:00 am the doctor decided that he would go ahead and give me the epidural to see if my contractions would become regular and I would dilate.  Even after the epidural I continued to have irregular contraction only now I could not feel them.  Ed monitored our baby’s heartbeat and well as my vitals as I continued to doze.  Ed, being the curious sort, wanted to know everything that was happening.  Therefore, it was no surprise to him when Dr. Blank rushed into my room at 9:00 am saying that the baby’s heart rate had dropped and he would be doing a C-Section immediately.  I was quickly rushed to an ER and at 9:05 our precious baby girl made her appearance into the world and into her lives.  She was beautiful and Ed & I were delighted with this wonderful girl from God.

Although we had waited 12 years for the gift, we were not prepared with a name for a baby girl.  Our families had many male children, but few girls.  We assumed our first child would be a boy.  Being a teacher there were many girl names that were OFF of my list of possible girl names.  Emily Elizabeth was my preferred name for a girl - Clifford, the Big Red Dog, being one of my all-time favorite children’s books.  For that same reason Ed preferred not to name her Emily Elizabeth.  By Wednesday we had decided to name her Emily – a family name, my great aunt.  It wasn’t until Friday when we were told we had to have the birth certificate filled out by noon that we finally decided that Elizabeth (also a family name – Memaw’s name) would be her middle name.  On Saturday, February 18^th we took our beautiful daughter home with us.  For 30 years we have treasured that marvelous gift from God.   

~Shared by Teresa C. (My Mom :) )

Ectopic Pregnancy Story

            For as long as I can remember, I have desired to have children. My lifelong dream was to be a wife and mother. My mom was a homemaker herself and every day she would faithfully teach my brother and sister and me the word of God. It was through her example and influence that the conviction of motherhood was confirmed in my heart. This was no longer just a desire. It was, I knew, my calling in life.

                When my periods started when I was eleven, I was confused by them. My confusion however, melted into excitement as I began to understand what the purpose behind this madness was. Every month I would see that flow and recognized God’s promise in my life that someday I would have babies and children of my own. I felt this was the Lord’s promise to me.

                Skip ahead thirteen years to 2011. I was now twenty-four years old, and the Lord had given me a wonderful husband, Andrew, three years earlier. We had moved to Louisville, Kentucky right after our wedding to attend seminary. Before we were married, Andrew and I had decided that I would take birth control until I was out of seminary and finished with school. We thought we had the perfect plan. In the summer of 2011, we were ready to be parents. I had finished school, as planned, and it was time to start a family, or so we thought.

                Pretty much right after I got off birth control, I got pregnant. It was early August when we found out, and we were so excited. We had decided we wouldn’t tell our parents just yet because in September my parents were celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary, and we thought we would surprise them then. I felt good, and I hadn’t even felt sick when I found out. In fact, I felt so blessed that the Lord was answering another prayer in my life. I was going to be the mother that I had always prayed and dreamed about.

                My husband and I told a few friends, and Andrew told our church. It was a decision I don’t even now regret. One week went by and I still didn’t feel any discomfort or nausea. I set up my first doctor appointment for a twelve week exam, and my due date was set for April 15, 2012. When I was seven weeks pregnant, the following week, I started having some issues when I went to the bathroom. It wasn’t pain, but whenever I would go, I would feel pressure in my lower extremities. The only way I know how to describe it was there was a feeling of needing to push something out or passing something.  When I was done going to the bathroom, the pressure would go away and I would forget about it until I went to the bathroom next.

                It was an odd enough occurrence, and never being pregnant before, I went ahead and called the OBGYN’s office. The nurse told me that it sounded like I had developed a urinary tract infection (UTI) and that these were common in pregnant women.  She offered to set me up an appointment to come in and get myself tested. Instead of making an appointment, I decided I would treat myself with cranberry juice. I thought I could beat the supposed UTI on my own since I had not had any bleeding or burning and I was probably in the beginning stages.

                A couple of days later, it was August 18th, a Thursday, and Andrew had just left for school. Out of the blue the OBGYN’s office called me. The nurse proceeded to tell me that she shared my phone call a couple of days before with my doctor and that my doctor wanted me to come in for a routine ultrasound just to make sure things were all right. She assured me that there wasn’t anything to be worried about and proceeded to give me two options of when I could come in. I initially chose the appointment later in the afternoon because the first one she offered me was just in an hour and I was not at all ready to go out that day. Then, after hanging up the phone, I thought, “Wait a minute, if I pick the one in an hour, then Andrew could go with me and we could see our baby for the first time together.” So, I hurried and called the nurse back and asked her if I could switch my appointment to the earlier time. As I got ready to go, I slipped on my necklace that I have had since high school with one of my favorite verse imprinted on it, Job 42:2, which says, “I know you Lord can do anything and that no plan of yours can be thwarted.”

                Andrew met me in the office, and pretty quickly the nurses got me back for an ultrasound. Never having gone through this before, I had no idea what to expect. She got her ultrasound wand ready and began the ultrasound. The nurse didn’t say a word and we didn’t see anything on the screen. I looked at the nurse and said something to the effect of, “Is the baby so small we can’t even see it yet?” She just quietly said, “I don’t see the baby, but I will let the doctor discuss this with you because I’m not an expert. All I see is some stuff floating around in your uterus.” I quickly looked at Andrew and for the second time in our marriage (the first being when I walked down the aisle at our wedding), I saw him with tears in his eyes. Did he know something I didn’t?

                When the nurse finished she told me to get dressed and left the room. By this time, Andrew had tears down his cheeks and I don’t think it registered in my mind what had just happened. I remember praying together and Andrew telling me that he thought the nurse was trying to tell us that our baby was gone. We went to our assigned room and just waited for the doctor. It was a long wait since they had squeezed our appointment in last minute. We just sat there, staring at each other, scared.

                Finally my doctor came in and showed us the ultrasound pictures. She explained that she didn’t quite know what was going on either. She felt around on my belly to see if there was any pain. I think she was shocked when I said there was none. She sat down and explained that she knew the baby wasn’t there or where it was supposed to be, but she knew that I was pregnant.  She didn’t know if what she saw in my uterus was the baby already miscarried and starting to deteriorate, whether it was an ectopic pregnancy where the baby was caught in one of my fallopian tubes, or maybe a molar pregnancy somewhere else in my body. All she knew was she needed to see what was floating in my uterus. She asked that we go home and be back at the office at 4:00 that afternoon for her to perform a D & C in order to biopsy this “debris.” 

                We agreed and she ushered us to the surgery appointment desk. While we were walking, I had this sensation like I peed my pants, and I told the doctor. I think maybe she thought I was so nervous and saddened that I wet myself. She showed me where the bathroom was and told me where she and Andrew were headed.  In the bathroom, to my horror, there was blood all down my legs. It was in that moment that I knew, my baby was gone, and it was with the Lord. I called for help out the door, not caring who saw me when the nurses rushed in to help me clean up and wrap sheets around me. My doctor turned to Andrew and said, “Forget 4:00, we are going to surgery now.”

                They wheeled me back through the “secret” halls of the hospital to prep for surgery. It was around 12:30 in the afternoon. When they had me settled, the staff asked me question after question. They even had Andrew in the hallway asking him questions. It was chaos. When the staff left, they had to escort Andrew away too. When I was left alone, I just let it out and really cried for the first time. Here was my dream of being a mother, slipping away all in moments. I cried to the Lord, “Oh Lord, hold my baby for me right now when I can’t.” I knew that my baby was safe in the Lord’s arms, but I just wanted to hold it and tell it that I loved it. My heart swelled with love for this little soul who I had never met, let alone seen. I was trying to cling to the verse around my neck that the Lord knew and that His plans couldn’t be thwarted.

                I knew too that my parents were on a cruise in Alaska and there was no way we could get a hold of them to let them know that I was pregnant, but now I was going into emergency surgery to remove my baby and fix my tubes and ask them to pray. It was a very scary time for both Andrew and me. The Lord was gracious to us that day. The doctors were able to get me in surgery by 1:00.  I came out of surgery well. My doctor was able to locate the baby in my right fallopian tube, remove the baby, and repair my tube instead of having to remove it, like so often happens with ectopic pregnancies, performing laparoscopy and a D & C. I praise God for the saving of my tube. More than my tube though, I praise God for the sparing of my life. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realized and was told the gravity behind ectopic pregnancy and how they can be life threatening for a woman. I praise God for every single breath that He has given me. Andrew and I decided to name our baby John, which means “gracious gift from God.”

                After my surgery, I had a hard time registering that I had lost a baby. My husband contracted a strep infection in his hip two days after I was in the hospital. He was unable to walk, and I was his “crutch” for a few days. I didn’t take my pain meds even though I had soreness around my abs. He was then hospitalized for five days and had to have hip surgery himself in order to cut out the infection just one week after my own surgery. This turn of events led me to a place where I wasn’t able to grieve or care for myself because I was constantly looking after him. He was on IV antibiotics (administered by me) and had to be re-taught how to walk for the next five weeks (again, by me). I became his nurse and physical therapist. It was a strange time. When people asked me how I was doing, I would say I was fine because I think I was running on adrenaline just to make sure Andrew was okay.

                By the time Andrew was back to work a month and a half later, I wasn’t okay anymore. Everyone who had asked me if I was okay before had forgotten about my grief and stopped asking. No one mentioned the baby I had lost, and still they never do. I had a lot of time to think and it led to my sorrow. There were a lot of questions that dominated my thoughts. Why would God take something away that was so precious and that would fulfill my calling in life? Did I kill my baby since the doctor had to abort my pregnancy in order to save my life? Why did no one care? Who was there to talk to? Why me? There were also unthoughtful comments others made that still sometimes ring in my ears.

                I still don’t know the answers to all of these questions, and there are days when I still struggle with the pain of our baby’s death and the questions resurface. Sometimes I cry when I see the scars on my belly from surgery knowing that little John is safe with the Lord. I do know though that the Lord did not forget me in his mercy. When I was told I could get pregnant again in December after my surgery, I found out I was pregnant again in January. The Lord gave Andrew and me the blessing of our son Isaiah, whose egg came from the ovary and fallopian tube my doctor helped repair.

                There are times when I still struggle to see the Lord’s purpose. Just this last October, Andrew and I lost our third child (Abel) through miscarriage when I was almost twelve weeks pregnant. All of these events have not altered the Lord’s goodness in my life. He is still God in the midst of the pain and struggle. I pray this story has been a blessing to you as much as it has grown me in writing it.  Through all this, I pray every day for strength to be able to say with confidence the words of Psalm 18:30, “But as for God, His way is perfect.”  May each of us be able to “Be still and know that I (the Lord) am God” (Psalm 46:10) and say with Job in Job 1:21, “Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

~Shared by Meagan Record 

Who Should Be Present At My Birth?

This question was asked of me at my last Childbirth Conversations class. Having spoken briefly about it on my last post, I would like to speak a little more on it and hear what others think.

This question gets into knowing yourself and the type of birth you are desiring to have. Birth is already an intense time just by the nature of giving birth. Whether you are planning a completely natural birth or as many medical interventions as possible you need to be able to relax to the best of your ability. A stressful environment makes it difficult for the cervix to dilate. I'm not 100% sure why this is, but it is true. (Please note their are other things that can effect dilation, this is just one possibility.)

Personally I recommend your husband being there. This is such an amazing time and something that we have the privilege of being able to share with our husbands in our culture. It can be a time of growing closer together, which is a beautiful thing.

When thinking of who else should be there think about these things:

1. What are your husbands thoughts on someone else being there?
2. Will your husband be able to give the needed support? (I say this because some guys cannot handle seeing blood or their wives in pain without freaking out.)
3. How many visitors are allowed to be in the delivery room (if delivering at a hospital or birth center)?
4. Do you want more people in your room?
5. What are you expecting of the people at your birth? (This is super important to ask yourself and then make clear to anyone who you invite to your room so that it doesn't add to an already intense situation.)

Whether it's a doula, parent, sibling, child or friend think through it carefully and pray over it. Invite people that you know will respect you and be a support to you.

Who did you have in your room for your birth? How did you decide who would be in your room?

Amelia-Grace's Birth

          In March 2012, we discovered that God had blessed us with another baby. Clay and I were shocked. We were stunned. We were speechless. All I could do as I stared at my positive pregnancy test was think, “FOUR?” None of our friends have four kids. Teachers certainly don’t have that many. But apparently this one was about to.

          We were apprehensive about telling our families. Number three had made his debut only ten months earlier, so what on Earth were they going to think? Clay and I tried to think of a fun way to tell our families, but truly we were just overwhelmed with the idea of another baby, especially when we already had one!

          One of our favorite weekend traditions is for both of our families to eat at Wallace’s BBQ, so at the end of March almost all of us went to dinner there one evening- the four grandparents, two uncles, one aunt, plus the five in our family. Everyone was in such a good mood that I looked at Clay across the table and asked, “Maybe today?” He just smiled and said, “Whenever you want to, baby.”

          After we had all finished dinner and were in the parking lot getting ready to leave, I handed my mom my phone. On the screen was a picture of my two positive pregnancy tests. She stared at the phone and then stared at me. To say she was shocked was an understatement. Standing around in a group in the parking lot, we shared the picture and our news to the many shrieks of “What?” and “Are you serious?” Yes. We. Were.

          That spring I endured morning sickness that began with nausea as soon as my alarm went off and typically ended with me losing my breakfast before I headed off to work. That summer passed with a lot of time spent in the pool, at White Water with my boys, and purchasing anything pink after we learned number four would be a girl in June. Fall was busy and hectic as I set up my new classroom and redecorated the nursery to accommodate my two babies. In typical pregnancy fashion, the first 36 weeks flew by, and the last five crawled.

          During October, I swelled to Shrek-like proportions. My ankles disappeared, and my hands tingled from the circulation being cut off by my wedding ring. I couldn’t be ten minutes late taking my Zantac, or I would be tormented with heart burn. I had lots of head aches too, which even left me in tears in the middle of Babies R Us one afternoon. Also, baby girl was so big, and my torso was so small that I couldn’t take a deep breath no matter what position I tried. Needless to say, I was miserable.

          In those final weeks, I experienced a lot of contractions and not just your typical, painless Braxton Hicks. These contractions would plague me consistently for three uncomfortable hours and then fade away. My body’s preparations for delivery were driving me crazy.

          At 38 weeks, my midwife Linda looked at me and said, “You’re done. I’ll write you a note for work, but you are too stressed out and you need to be off your feet.” Glorious, glorious words. However, I didn’t accept her advice/directive for three more days when my parents begged and bribed me to do so. Even when you are 34, you’re apparently still your mom and dad’s little girl. On October 29^th, I worked my last day, turned in my doctor’s note that required minimal activity, and was blessed by my class throwing me a baby shower.

          During the next nineteen days, I nested and crafted from my bed. I literally painted nursery décor in my nightgown while watching endless episodes of A Baby Story. As with my other pregnancies, I considered watching this show to be important preparation for my labor and delivery. I took a nap every afternoon with my sweet baby Collin, who I could not believe was about to be a big brother at 19 months. The big highlight of each day was getting dressed for carpool.

          Nine days before my delivery (three days before my actual due date), I went for a stress test. For an hour, I reclined in a chair and watched my contractions on the monitor, hoping that they were enough to convince my midwife that I needed to head to the hospital. A nurse monitored me during the test, and midway through she had me drink a bottle of orange juice, because the baby was not reacting appropriately when I was having a contraction. However, after my baby girl was all sugared up, her heartbeat gave the nurse the numbers she wanted to see. Midwife Chastain checked me after the test was over and deemed that I had a “dial-a-cervix,“ meaning that when pressure was applied my cervix would open from 2 to 5 centimeters. She encouraged me that my baby girl would be here soon and not to worry. Her words were not what I wanted to hear.

          My due date, Sunday, November 11^th, came and went without a single contraction. To make me feel better, Clay and the boys took me to O’Charley’s where I thoroughly ate my feelings. No roll or cheese covered twisted chip was safe from my 40 week pregnancy anger.

          Four days after my due date, I went for my weekly check up. Midwife Linda, who was currently my favorite because she had told me I had to stop working, declared that I was 4 ½ centimeters. Being a little sneaky, she that if I had any contractions to head for the Women’s Center and say that when I had last been checked I was 3centimeters. She promised that when the triage nurses found me to be 4 ½ centimeters, they would think I had progressed and would keep me, especially since I was already past my due date. I was totally up for a little deception at that point. 

          To further help me along, my midwife stripped my membranes. She said that my bag of water was bulging and actually made her nervous that it was going to rupture during the procedure. I had heard horror stories of people getting their membranes stripped but it was actually not that uncomfortable. Perhaps, my desperation to not be pregnant anymore masked the pain I should have felt. Before I left, we scheduled an induction for Monday, just in case. However, my midwife didn’t think I would make it until Monday. If I did, she said that with a little Pitocin and a rupture of my water, she thought I’d be in full labor with no problem. I was grateful to have an actual end in sight.

          On Saturday at 4:30 AM, a day and a half later, I awoke to contractions. These were more intense than the others from the past month, and I knew they were the real deal. I waddled to the kitchen to get ice (my constant, nagging third trimester craving) at 4:45.  While standing in front of the refrigerator, I was hit with a terrible contraction. As it gripped my belly, I banged my head against the freezer. As soon as it passed, I hurried back to my bedroom and barked at Clay to wake up and call my mom. I immediately headed for the shower, scared that if I didn’t hurry Keaton’s labor experience would be repeated.

          Quickly, I showered, shaved my legs, and did my hair and make up. During this busy hour, my contractions became slightly less intense and frequent, but I was a determined woman at that point. I was having this baby today!

          As Clay and I finished getting ready and triple checked all my bags one last time, Mimi came over to take care of the boys. McLain and Collin woke up before we left, but Keaton remained passed out on a pallet in the floor of our bedroom. He was oblivious to the chaos around him.

          We arrived at the hospital at 6:00 AM. This being our fourth baby, we knew exactly where to park and enter. My parents were waiting for us at the Women’s Center entrance, surprised that they beat us there. My mom had requested a wheelchair from the front desk clerk, but I was capable of walking on my own and refused it.

          My parents stayed downstairs in the waiting area while Clay and I rode the elevator upstairs to triage. I explained my contractions to the nurse and emphasized how I was six days past my due date, so the baby and I were promptly hooked up to monitors. As midwife Linda had instructed, I said that I had been 3 centimeters Thursday afternoon. However, when the nurse checked me, she said I was still 3 centimeters. Clay and I didn’t say anything in front of her, but as soon as she left, I almost had a small heart attack. Where had the other centimeter and a half gone?

          As I lay on the uncomfortable hospitable bed, I grew increasingly frustrated. My contractions were not being consistent, and I knew that evidence would be documented on the monitor. Scheming a way to convince the triage nurses I was in real labor, I rolled from side to side every two minutes to trigger a contraction. There was no way I was going to be sent home. This mama wanted no more part of cankles, heartburn, waddling, or multiple middle-of-the-night potty breaks.

          At 7:00, after a shift change, a new nurse checked me and said I was 4 ½ centimeters. Hallelujah! My other centimeter and a half was back! Immediately, the midwife who had delivered Keaton came in to talk with Clay and me. She said that even though my contractions weren’t completely consistent yet that they were clearly productive, and since I was already past due, she was admitting me. If I had not been the size of an elephant, I would have done cartwheels across the room! My scheming had paid off. She also said because I was 4 ½ centimeters that I could go ahead and get an epidural. Her actual words were, “Why not?” Why not indeed!

          I was moved to a labor and delivery room where Clay, Mom, and I broke out all the day’s essentials: cell phones, I-pad, and cameras, and their necessary chargers. The anesthesiologist came in very soon after my room change and said he would give me my epidural between my contractions. I said that sounded great, but I was chuckling on the inside. My contractions had completely stopped, but the medical staff didn’t know, because my monitors were off. I knew that they would hook me up with Pitocin after my epidural was in place, and the nurses saw that they had faded away. I had had a little Pitocin help with McLain and Collin’s delivery, so I wasn’t concerned about restarting my contractions.

          However, I was a little worried about how the epidural would affect my blood pressure. I warned the anesthesiologist and my nurse that when I received an epidural with my last baby that my blood pressure had plummeted to 45/22 and that I could barely talk. They readied a dose of Ephedrine in case it happened again, which it did. Almost immediately after the medicine was administered in my epidural, I felt the complete exhaustion that comes with low blood pressure. This time it dropped to 70/something, which was bad (normal being 120/80), but I was able to tell the anesthesiologist and nurse how I felt this time without feeling like I was trying to talk from under water. The anesthesiologist gave me the prepared bolus of Ephedrine and my blood pressure quickly normalized. I was a happy girl.

          When I was hooked back up to the monitors, the nurse noticed that my contractions had stopped. Just as I had predicted, she started me on Pitocin to regulate my contractions. My lower body immediately developed a steady rhythm, which thankfully I could not feel.

          As I lay in bed watching TV, I noticed that my hands felt numb. I didn’t think much of it at first, so I waited until my nurse came back to check on me to ask her if feeling my epidural in my hands was a normal side effect. She said, “No,” and dug into her pockets for an alcohol swab. She wiped my forehead, neck, and chest and had me tell her when I stopped feeling the cold, wetness of the alcohol swab. My nurse determined that my epidural was working from my shoulders down and temporarily turned it off. Her concern was that it could affect my breathing. However, I was much more concerned that I would start feeling my contractions.

          Dr. Green stopped by to see how I was doing. I asked him to check me, not because I thought I was ready to push, but because I could feel the baby descending into my birth canal and wanted to know my progress. When he checked me, he said that I was now at 6 centimeters and that the baby was definitely working her way down. I was grateful that my labor was steadily progressing. He also instructed the nurse to turn my epidural back on since the level of where I could feel it was down to my belly.

          About 12:30, I started to feel my contractions, not at all in my stomach but definitely in the birth canal. Because I had the same experience with Collin near the end of his labor, I pushed my personal epidural button for an extra dose of medication, hoping that would help. My contractions intensified quickly despite the extra medication, and I couldn’t for the nurse to stop by. Instead, I frantically pushed the call button and asked for her.

          The nurse hurried to my room and checked me. She said I was 8 centimeters with a very bulging bag of water. Dr. Green and she agreed that my water should be broken to see if I would fully dilate. They were confident that since this was my fourth baby, I would be at 10 centimeters immediately and that I would be ready to deliver. Feeling like I was being unnecessarily tortured, I had no such confidence in their suggestion. 

          Dr. Green broke my water and so began twenty minutes of absolute hell. I held on to my mother’s and Clay’s hands and cried in absolute fear that I was going to be forced to have another natural delivery. I writhed, yelled, and cursed in agonizing pain. Because the epidural was only working to control the contractions in my stomach, I was acutely aware of every nerve and muscle in my birth canal. I knew the baby had not descended since my water had been broken, and I was unwilling to continue laboring without a properly functioning epidural.  

          My nurse rechecked me, and as I already knew, I was still at 8 centimeters. My mother and I explained (her more nicely than me) that I had received a bolus in my epidural at the end of my third labor and that I was able to easily push the baby out, even though my lower body was completely numb. Thankfully, the nurse believed us and called the anesthesiologist.

          At 12:50 my epidural was topped off. The anesthesiologist sat me up in bed, so that the bolus would travel down my spine faster. Within one minute, I was blessedly pain free again and remained that way for the rest of my labor and delivery. Another accidental, natural birth was thankfully avoided. 

          Thirty painless minutes later, I was checked again. The nurse informed me that I was 10 centimeters, and it was time to push. Immediately, several nurses came into my room to ready it for delivery. My bed was broken down. Tables of tools were set out, and the infant table was readied. As usual, Clay moved to the left side of my bed, and my mom stood on my right, ready to hold up my dead weight legs when prompted. When the nurse suggested where to put the camera, my mother told her, “Oh, we have a lot of practice with this.” Then, she set the video camera behind my head on my pillow to film discreetly. The nurse found my mother and Clay’s expertise humorous.

          Dr. Green returned to my room dressed in blue scrubs. He agreed that I was very ready and instructed me to start pushing with my next contraction. When the monitor indicated that I was having a contraction, I pushed with every ounce of my being, knowing from experience that the more effectively I pushed the sooner I would meet my baby girl. Several pushes and contractions later, the labor and delivery nurse climbed on my bed. I was surprised but didn’t say anything. Using her weight, she repeatedly pushed on my belly to get the baby’s head to move under my pubic bone. Finally, her head appeared, and I stopped pushing in an effort to see her. My nurse told me to keep pushing as hard as I could, and with a lot of twisting, turning, and shoulder manipulation from my doctor, my sweet Carolyn Amelia-Grace entered my world at 1:51 PM. As I lay holding my 9 pound 7 ounce baby girl, Dr. Green said, “She was a tight squeeze.” I agreed!

          For the fourth time in my life, God blessed me with a sweet, healthy, happy baby. Although she was not planned by Clay or me, we are amazingly grateful she was part of God’s great plan and that He knew Amelia-Grace would be the perfect addition to our family. We cannot imagine life without our pink, girly surprise.  

~Shared by Ashley B.