A New Baby

So I thought I’d better capture our weekend before I forget all the details in the fog of Newborn Land. Because it really was quite the eventful weekend…

I had my first contractions, irregular and mild, about 6 am on Saturday morning. In fact, they felt a lot like the “false labor” I had with Megan. (That time, I had contractions from 2-6 am before they petered out, starting again for real about 6 pm that evening and ending in Meg’s birth about noon the next day.) So I figured my body was just working the baby into position and it could be hours or even another day or two. We’d just have to see where things went. And they didn’t go far. At least it didn’t seem so. The contractions were not comfortable, but they stayed 15 minutes apart for most of the day. And as it was Saturday, Eric was home to manage things whenever I needed to get through one. So far, so good.

Of course, Saturday was also McKenna’s birthday. She turned 2 and the family was gathering to celebrate. To be honest, I almost didn’t go, but the kids were really looking forward to it, and I still hadn’t seen much change. So I figured I had time and could manage for a couple of hours while we celebrated McKenna. We headed out to Karen’s about 5:00. And it was also right about 5:00 that something did change. Out of nowhere, my contractions dropped to 10 minutes apart. Still bearable, though not fun, but much closer together. No problem, right? We hung through the party, and then just as we were leaving, things changed again, and I dropped to 6 1/2 minutes apart.

After 9 hours of random contractions, suddenly, between 5 and 8 pm, it became clear we might be marching toward a baby after all. Thankfully, my parents had come prepared with an overnight bag, so they joined us at our house after the party. We put our kids to bed, and I kept working through contractions. And then…my contractions started going the other direction. Suddenly, they were 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 10 minutes apart again. And I had no idea what to think. They still hurt. A LOT. And I have very, very long contractions (normal for me is at least 1-2 minutes). But they were getting farther apart. So should I call the doctor or not?  

I didn’t. Instead, I sent Eric to bed for a bit, determined to keep dealing with them at home as long as possible (we had walked the hospital halls for 2+ hours with Meg before being admitted, and I was not doing that again.) My parents went to bed, too, and I just walked my bedroom, breathing and trying different techniques to get through what were becoming increasingly painful contractions. Finally, I could not bear it. They were still averaging 8 minutes apart, but they just plain HURT. I wanted to cry. I wanted some help. But I still had no idea what to do or where exactly I was in the process. So I called the on-call doctor.

I explained my situation. I was running 7-9 minutes between contractions but they were hurting so bad I could barely get through them. She said, “Normally, we’d tell you to wait for them to be 5 minutes apart. But you are a VBAC, so in this case, it’s probably better if you go and get checked.” Okay. We hung up.

Eric got the bags in the car, and we let my mom know we were off. Another contraction hit me while we talked to her. 6 minutes from the prior one. The next one hit before I could even get in the car. 5 minutes. We pulled out the driveway onto wet, snowy roads and another one started. 3 minutes later. I told Eric, “I just want to get there and get an epidural so it stops hurting like this.” For the entire drive to the hospital, they were every 3 minutes, lasted 2 minutes long, and “hurt” doesn’t even begin to cover how they felt. I could barely breathe. Surviving them was taking every technique I had and a couple of new ones I invented. And by the time we got to the hospital, I was just praying not to throw up in the car. 

More contractions came just outside the car and in the hallway to the elevators. At the check-in window, I simply announced, “Hi, I am in labor.” She took my basic information and buzzed us in. I was only halfway out of my clothes before the next contraction hit, and the triage nurse said, “As soon as this one is done, we’ll check you.” Fine by me. She checked. I was at 10. “No time for an epidural,” she announced and pushed the bed towards the door. 

I’m sorry…what?!?

The only thing that kept me from pursuing that comment further was that the next contraction hit me on the way out the door. They left Eric to gather my things, promising to get him to where I was. I was pushed into the first room in the hallway where the OB resident met us, introduced herself (I cannot for the life of me remember her name now), and proceeded to work with about 4 nurses to get me and the room ready as fast as humanly possible. I had just gotten from the gurney to the bed when the next contraction hit, and I knew. I needed to push. They were still putting in IV’s and gathering stuff and asking me the most necessary questions, but he was ready to come. Right then. 

I, however, was not. This was not what I was prepared for. Precipitous birth? No epidural? Breathing through pushing out a baby in that kind of pain? WHOSE INSANE IDEA WAS THIS? Thankfully, the nurses gave me directions and Eric held my hand, and I did my best to breathe like they were asking. My contractions were so long I could get three pushes in before each one ended, but I was struggling to get enough air to do that kind of pushing. Someone gave me an oxygen mask which made a world of difference and cleared my head a bit, but I have never in my life done anything so hard. Ever. 

But somehow we did it. He arrived on the fourth pushing contraction. He was healthy. He was crying. He was perfect. 7 lbs, 12 oz of perfect. Timothy Jack Hogue. They took him over to clean him up and weigh him, and I glanced up at the clock.

It wasn’t even midnight. Eric had parked the car at 11:25 pm. He made his arrival at 11:49 pm. On December 29 – McKenna’s birthday. So much for his instructions to wait until January. 

I will spare you all the details of the next few minutes. One nurse asked me all the pre-admission questions we hadn’t had time to cover before. The on-call doctor had arrived just after he was born, so she and the resident took care of the after-birth activities.  Eric called our parents to let them know. And I laid on the bed with my son on my chest trying to fathom what had just transpired.

Surreal couldn’t even begin to cover how that day had gone. I had meant to stay home until I was at 7 cm so I could be admitted and get an epidural. Instead because of my crazy contractions and irregular labor pattern, we almost didn’t make it. The on-call doctor laughed that it was a good thing she hadn’t told me to wait for my contractions to be 5 minutes apart. I agreed. But at the moment we hung up, everything seemed fine. Everything was fine. And just that fast it all changed. 

Which is why the only reaction I could muster, as I laid there being sewn up and holding my new son, was “Thank you, Jesus.” I had been praying for hours that Jesus would help me. That I could not manage this one on my own. And He showed up in an unfathomable number of ways. My parents were ready to stay. The on-call doctor didn’t tell me to stay home. The roads were wet but not icy because it hadn’t quite dropped below freezing. Eric made that drive in 15 minutes and there was almost no traffic. I did not throw up. My lack of preparation for an unmedicated delivery did not cause serious problems. We did not have a baby in the car (and it was very clear to everyone in the room that night that had anything gone differently that is precisely what would have happened). Someone put an oxygen mask on me just when I needed it, but didn’t know how to ask for it. There were four nurses, ready to go. Almost as soon as he was born, they had a shift change and I didn’t see any of them again. But they were there and ready. And so was He. 

And all I could do was to thank Him. It was not my plan. I will never, willingly, do that ever again. But He provided. He sustained. He was there. And I am grateful. 

Oh, and on Monday morning, we got to bring home this little bundle of adorable, christened Baby Timmy by his siblings:

Welcome to the family, Little One. We’re so glad you are here.