Baby Time

Baby time is great. It really is awesome being a mom. I can't even explain the joy in Lazadae's eyes when she wakes up in the morning, turns her head, and grins at me just because I'm next to her. She is so very special to me and I feel a special honor just being her guide through this world.

And there are hard times that I know aren't unique to me. I've noticed that what is most difficult for me during this postpartum time is letting go of my identity as a do-er. I used to get things done - my whole life - and now I can't do anything extra.

I probably am exerting more control over this postpartum time because of my lack of control during the birth. While I was pregnant I was feeling that I'd be doing more things around the house by this time, but I just can't - and I'm becoming okay with that.

I'm a mama and that's all I want to be.

Dave asked me to make breakfast more often but that would require me giving up my chair cuddle time and I don't want to do that. I would rather eat a handful of nuts then hand Lazadae over to Dave during our morning snuggle.

I've set a goal; by the time Dave goes back to teaching workshops in the fall I'll be cooking dinner 3 times per week. Having a container to put this anxiety in helps a lot. For this summer I can bask in Lazadae's grin and not worry about where I'm meant to put her while I cut veggies. And Dave is okay with that.

I'm so keenly aware that this time with her is precious and I really don't want to miss a moment.

Our Birth Story - Day 3, Part 7

Friday, April 1, 6 - 9:30 a.m.

As I was walking with Liz to the OR, I couldn't help being surprised that they were actually letting me walk. I could feel the meconium rushing out of me, and was convinced the baby was dead. I couldn't share this with Liz though - I was too scared to talk. Liz, meanwhile, kept whispering reassuring things to me. I wasn't listening.

The OR was well-lit and cold, and everyone was waiting for me. The anesthesiologist wanted to get started, but had to wait as I had a contraction next to the table. Before I could get on the table, Liz had me take off my underwear. I was so scared that people would see what I was feeling that I actually kicked my underwear under the table. I couldn't bear the thought of them seeing what was actually going on inside me.

In total I had three contractions from start-to-finish as they were trying to put the epidural in. I've seen many women get epidurals, and I was expecting a lot of pain. Either I had an amazing anesthesiologist, or the back labor had numbed me - either way, I didn't feel a thing.

I had no idea how much time passed and what went on. Essentially, once I stopped feeling the contractions I started trying to manage the surgeon, asking him things like how he would protect my bladder and how was it that he could cut me open without me feeling any pain.

The idea that my baby had died would slip away from me then suddenly rush back. In the moments that the thought was gone, I would slip into the worry that I wasn't going to bond with the baby.

Liz performed a vaginal exam and said the baby was breech. I corrected her, and she said, "I just gave your baby a rectal exam....your baby is breech."

When someone new came into the OR, Liz filled them in on my background, what the situation was, and what my request was for this birth. I never felt alone, I never worried about Dave not yet being in the room - at this point I was numb.

Back in the birthing room, the midwives and I were getting concerned about how much time Courtney's prep was taking. When they left they said it would be 15 minutes, but we closed in on a half hour before someone came to get me.

In that time I let my brain run amok with all of my worst fears: Courtney was going to die, the baby was going to die, they were both going to die.

In the middle of this I finally broke down to the midwives about my fear regarding how the birth will affect Courtney's mental health. I was worried about how she would respond and recover from not having a vaginal birth, and figured she would shut down from the idea of having another child someday.

Finally a nurse came to get me, told me to follow her and immediately disappeared. I was completely disoriented when someone pointed me toward the OR. To my surprise I simply walked in by myself - the nurse was already back at her station. Liz greeted me with calm and kindness in her eyes. She brought me a stool and told me if I wanted I could sit, or else stand and watch over the operating curtain. I chose to sit. I wasn't interested in the surgery. I only wanted to watch Courtney's eyes.

Dave was on my left side, and Liz was on his. She was watching what was happening around the curtain and giving us play-by-play.

I could see the surgery in the lights overhead. I remembered having told all of my moms in childbirth classes that if they were having a cesarean, they could watch from the lights. I realized I didn't want to watch and I never looked again.

During pregnancy, I'd had two nightmarish dreams where someone had handed me a baby without me having actually given birth. My biggest fear was not bonding. As I was being cut open those dreams came back to me - "Here I am living my worst dream." Then I would bounce back to the thought that my baby had died, which was an even worse worry and spun into another new worry: how would I tell everyone that I didn't have a baby? In that moment, as I thought about telling people, I became embarrassed at the fact that after two pregnancies I was unable literally incapable of having a baby.

I did my best to relay the play-by-play to Courtney, who couldn't hear anything the surgeon was saying. When he said the baby was breech - the first I'd heard of it - a look of complete bewilderment went over Courtney's face, and I imagine over mine too. Toward the end of the surgery I discovered I could look up into the lights and watch the reflection of what was happening on the table. It was my first glimpse of the baby, albeit blurry and in reverse.

At some point it dawned on me that I was actually going to meet my baby - I started crying, and an ecstatic feeling came over me. I felt similar emotions to those a mom feels as she's about to push her baby out.

The doctor said "he" a few times when referring to the baby. I said to myself, "That's not right..." I really wanted to use the name Lazadae, and didn't think we'd be able to use it again. People continued to say "he." I was crying, but I couldn't hear my baby crying. I thought that a baby after a cesarean should be crying since she would be over-stimulated. I was sure now the baby was dead. I told this to Liz, who said they weren't stimulating the baby because of the meconium in the lungs. I told her she was lying. Then she said, "There, did you hear him cry?" I said, "No." I was still sure the baby was dead.

I watched the last few seconds as they lifted the baby out, then popped up from the stool and watched as nurses carried over to the table. Everyone was saying, "he," and I thought, "Holy shit, I have a son." I asked over the curtain if it was a boy and someone actually said, "We don't know yet." I wanted to run over there but Liz kept telling me to wait another second...wait another second. We didn't even know if the baby was alive at this point, but Liz reassurred us based on how they were handling her that everything looked good.

Finally I went over and stood by her with Courtney's voice in my head the whole time, "Stay with the baby...don't let them wash the baby...bring the baby over here..." I made it to the table and glanced over the baby's purply-gray body and finally saw....we had a girl!

"Get over and talk to her," Courtney said. They were suctioning snot and phlegm out of her lungs, but she still didn't seem to be breathing. I put my finger on her chest and said her name, "Lazadae, you're here." Then she cried, and so did I.

I finally heared the baby...I knew she was here now without denial. Dave called back that we have a girl. I finally got to sneak a peek...."She has my chin," was the first thing I said, the second being "She looks like my mother."

Dave carried the baby - Lazadae - under his scrubs back to me. I wanted Dave to wear a coat with no shirt so he could easily put her against his skin, and so I'd be able to see her. Instead he was in normal blue scrubs. She was warm and safe, no doubt a little freaked out, but I couldn't see her. Finally I asked Liz to cut Dave's hospital scrub shirt, which she did - a simple but profound and enormous gesture. And there was my baby looking back at me.

Finally, after 41 weeks, I got to hold her even as they wheeled us out of the OR - a gesture I knew was special, and not normal hospital procedure. She was naked against my chest and cried the whole time - her way of letting me know she was here with us...Lazadae Althea Jarecki.

Placentadendron

An update on the placenta situation (this is long in coming). About 6 weeks ago we buried the placenta under the Rhododendron in front of our house. A few professionals agreed that there would be nothing left of a cremated placenta, so this was the next best thing.

Dave dug the hole, I examined the placenta (fresh is much better than preserved) and Lazadae and I buried it.

No ceremony.

It's nice to have a place to go to look at it. And I always look forward to seeing the rhodie's pick flowers in the spring. It's outside my office and I thought it would be the tree I stared out as I pushed my baby out. So it seems like a perfect place.

Our Birth Story - Day 3, Part 6

Friday, April 1, 4 - 6 a.m.

From the bathroom I walked to the kitchen where the midwives were talking to tell them we had to transport. Kim mentioned that she's only ever seen that much meconium in a frank breech baby. Still, that statement wasn't enough to pull us from the idea that the baby was head-down.

I asked what their plan was anyway, just to see. They said they were willing to stay for another hour, do a cervical check and talk after that. What I didn't want to happen was to get to the hospital and find out that the baby was close and I was ready to push. I wanted Kim to do the second check, but seeing as Laurie had done the first, we agreed it was best for Laurie to do the second since she could refer back to what she previously felt.

I don't remember anything about the second check but Dave does.

We returned to the bedroom for the second check, resuming the positions we'd occupied three hours earlier. Laurie spent maybe half the time inside of Courtney as she did during the first check, and her prognosis came quickly once she removed her hand. It felt to her that the constriction ring hadn't softened at all, and perhaps had even grown tighter. Even though the midwives were still comfortable giving it another hour, neither Courtney or I saw the point in waiting, and decided it was time to go to the hospital. I was still hopeful that she would have a vaginal birth. Courtney hadn't yet communicated that she suspected we were heading to the OR, but based on how quickly she deflated and withdrew, I should have known she already knew the outcome.

(During a postpartum visit after the birth, Laurie communicated that she thought my cervix had swollen to one-centimeter. Chances are, she was feeling the baby's rectum. However, since no one suspected that the baby was actually breech, we didn't consider this possibility in the moment.)

The next half-hour was a flurry of movement, anxiety and worry. Kim started helping me pack, asking what essentials I wanted. She didn't know where we kept our bags and I told her to ask Dave. The dogs, meanwhile, were tapped into our energy and were responding in their own ways: Satchel watching intently, Maji pacing, trembling and hiding.

I wanted my hoodie, and at one point had everyone looking for it. I told Dave to pack a laptop and he refused. In his mind we'd be home later in the day or evening. I knew better. I wanted Kim to grab a specific baby blanket in the event I'd want something nice in the hospital - there I was in the midst of everything falling apart, and I wanted to be sure I had this one very comfortable looking blanket for the baby, which seemed to me to be an extension of a special love I was no longer able to provide because of how the birth was unfolding.

The worst part of it all was that my contractions continued, but now I was faced with the fact that this horribly painful back labor was all for not.

Dave bounced from room to room looking for things, trying to find bags. He also called Lynette to come for the dogs.

I fell into the place where I hated everything - a dark, unfortunate place I hate visiting. But there I was, suddenly and completely at a loss, unsure how to help and pissed off at what was happening. I grabbed backpacks and started jamming things into them. Courtney wanted to pack a laptop and I refused - what was the point? Everything we'd planned was falling apart, and the house itself seemed to be spinning.

At some point I put Maji in her crate then brought her back out. Everyone was pacing and the dogs were getting in the way. I called Lynette who answered half-asleep and told her what was happening. I pictured her springing up in bed as she said she'd be at the house in 30 minutes for the pups. Knowing she was there to help was a brief glimmer in an otherwise depressing and disheartening span of time.

The midwives asked who I wanted to go to the hospital with us while the other stayed behind. I asked for Kim to go, and asked Laurie to stay back until Lynette showed up. Just knowing the dogs wouldn't be alone for even a second was a huge relief.

Kim walked me to the Zada. It was 4:30 now, we were out in the middle of my street in the dark, and I started to have a contraction. During the contraction I said to Kim that I could never have kids again - this was my second pregnancy, and, in my mind, the second one that I'd messed up (the first being the miscarriage, which had happened almost exactly a year earlier).

During the car ride I said aloud that the baby would be born in the OR. I smelled meconium; I'd never attended a birth with this much. We still thought the baby was head-down, and for the first time I thought something must be wrong, though didn't share this with Dave.

I made one unsuccessful stab at conversation, then drove slowly and silently to nearby Emanuel Hospital, where the midwives had called ahead. There would be a nurse midwife waiting for us, which was comforting, though my comfort didn't seem to matter. Courtney had at least one contraction during the ride, and by now was pissed off at the simple fact that she was still contracting. I still held out hope that she'd have a vaginal birth, but she was convinced otherwise.

I followed behind Kim through the maze of hospital parking lot construction. She wound up going to the wrong garage, which caused us to have to back up and try a new spot. We parked near the emergency room and were soon walking through a temporary plywood corridor, itself more distressing and maze-like than even the parking lot had been. We had no barings or idea where we were, which seemed fitting for the experience. Finally we popped out to a front desk area and were soon ushered into one of the hospital's birthing rooms.

Kim pushed me in the wheelchair. I wanted to tell how fun it was riding in a wheelchair, but I didn't allow myself to communicate at all. I had a contraction and had to get up from the wheelchair before we got in an elevator. In the birthing room, all I wanted was an epidural. Before that, I had to have an IV inserted and needed to receive a full bag of fluid.

The hospital staff wanted a urine sample. In the bathroom, I noticed that the amount of meconium had literally quadrupled since we left the house. I was too scared to tell this to anyone.

Everyone at the hospital was incredibly kind, acknowledged my midwifery backround, and shared that they knew I didn't want to be there and were sorry I had to be

. I never had to get in the bed, but instead stood at the side, unable to deal with the contractions as well as the fact that I was still contracting.

When it came to signing waivers, I knew I didn't want the baby to receive the Hep B vaccine, Vit. K injection or eye ointment. I verbalized this, then asked for Do Not Consent forms to sign because I didn't trust that my verbal request would be honored. I asked twice, which was the only time I had to ask anything more than once.

Next came the IV. The nurse said, "Let's try to get the IV in," which concerned me because every time I've ever heard anyone say "Let's try" with regards to giving an IV, they've failed. I looked at Kim, who saw my distress and came over to hold my hand. The nurse did fine, and the IV began to flow.

I still wanted my epidural. I knew I was going to have a c-section, but was the only person in the room who was expecting it. Everyone else stayed positive about a vaginal birth. This made me feel like they stupid and that I was merely placating them when I went along with their positive thinking.

I continued to manage my contractions standing at the edge of the bed or sitting on a birth ball. I felt very angry and also imagined that I was acting meanly and loudly. Apparently this wasn't true, as the nurse midwife, during a postpartum visit a few weeks later, would tell me she thought I handled the situation gracefully, all things considered. In the moment, it seemed like I was yelling at everyone, and was even yelling at the IV itself for dripping too slowly, thereby delaying the epidural. At one point, Kim literally squeezed the liquid (when no one was looking) to speed the drip. That made me smile.

The hospital staff was questioning the midwives about my history, and wanted to check on my GBS results. I was grateful that I'd chosen to test for GBS - elsewise I would have been hooked up to the IV antibiotics even longer than I was, and the baby, once she arrived, would most likely be held for observation.

When Laurie comes in, the first thing I asked was about the dogs - other than that, I kept my focus either on Kim or Liz, the latter of whom was growing concerned about the fetal decels she was seeing on the monitor after every contraction. I know now that Dave was nearby, but I have no recollection of acknowledging him or even seeing him in the room. Liz, who looked like an angel at this point - big bright eyes and blonde hair - continued to voice her concern, made a print out and left to consult with the physician on staff. In a few minutes they both came into the room to try to delicately break the news that I might be headed toward a cesarean.

After another couple of contractions Liz left again. This time, when she and the physician returned, they were more matter-of-fact. The baby would indeed be born in the OR, which I'd secretly known for at least the past two hours.

All sense of overwhelment had gone away for me at this point. There was a strange calming factor to the birthing room - perhaps it was the resignation we were all feeling that, for all intents and purposes, the labor would be over soon, as Courtney was about to head in for surgery. The attending physician began to explain what was happening in great detail and I abruptly cut him off and said I didn't care, I trusted what he was saying and just wanted the process to get started. Later, with Courtney out of the room, I finally broke down to the midwives, but for the time I'd slipped into a hyper-focus mode where I wanted the hospital staff to take over.

If I wasn't out of my body prior to all of this, I was definitely gone by now. Someone presented a consent form for the cesaraen - I scrawled my name.