While pumping away on my tender udders hoping for milk in the wee hours of the morning, I decided I need to start a blog to help us remember the experience of the birth of our son, Jackson Morrison. In this moment of delirium, I find it ironic (is this a correct use of irony?) that his title and derivative of his name is son, because all of the sudden he is the center of our universe. The driving force of our life. The source of all our energy, or lack thereof.
Jackson Morrison joined the world via anesthetized cesarean at 4:25 p.m. in the Family Birthing Center operating room at St. Charles Medical Center in Bend, Oregon on Tuesday, August 6th, 2013. It was not at all how I had planned to bring him into our lives, but then again, it seems since Jackson has come along it is not me who has been calling the shots this whole time. I wonder why it took sleep deprivation coupled with physical and emotional distress to finally understand this?
No, I had planned something way more convenient for myself and everyone else involved. I would carry Jackson to term in late September (or at least close; the closest full moon to his due date was going to be September 19th), go into labor like they do in the movies ("Honey, it's time!"), and show up at the hospital with realistic expectations for a fantastic delivery ("Hi, I am Stephanie. I am here for my epidural.") All the grandparents and close friends would get to share the joy of my son's birth and two days later I would be wheeled out of here with a shiny new baby.
Well, at least I made it through July. At least the nursery is close to done. At least Jackson can start kindergarten at age five rather than six. At least, at least, at least, at least..........
Around 2:30 a.m. on August 1st I woke up with upper abdominal pain. We had just finished our second and last childbirth class at St. Charles and I recall that my stomach did not feel so good in class. However, Peter, the adorable baby brought in to demonstrate the joy of bathing your newborn, kept me occupied enough I wrote it off as no big deal. When I woke up that morning, I could not write off the pain. Mom told me to listen to my body when pregnant. I writhed around our Temperpedic for hours hoping Colin would wake up and realize I needed his attention. It was not until around 6 a.m., when normal people start to wake up, did Colin stir enough to prompt me to make the statement "Honey, something is not right".
Of course the doctor wants me to come in. That is what doctors do, right? If it is bothering you enough to call, then you should get checked out. No big deal. Colin even took a shower because he assumed he was going to work after he got done placating to his pregnant wife's needs for attention.
Keep in mind, I had a beautiful pregnancy. First trimester was a breeze, other than having to hold in such big news. Morning sickness was minimal and all I had to really battle was fatigue, which, who isn't tired in February? Nothing a little extra couch time could not take care of. Second trimester was glorious! I was coaching track and super-busy at school but I had the energy and stamina for it. I woke up on weekend mornings motivated to get stuff done. Sure, I fractured my fibula in May, which sidelined me a little, but I wasn't going to let that get me down. We took an amazing trip to Hawaii after school was out in June and made it our babymoon. All was right in the world.
I admit, third trimester started to get a little difficult. Perhaps Colin was a little sick of me being pregnant and so was I, but things were starting to change a bit. It was no longer as cute to grunt every time I got up. Being too tired to do something was old news. Swollen feet, ankles, fingers, and wrists were unattractive and quite frankly, inconvenient. At least I had finally figured out not to try and eat a whole meal in one sitting. No one likes to hear someone complain about feeling "so full they are going to burst, literally". Regardless, pregnancy was starting to get old.
But wait! Not old enough to just go away! The stomach ache that we came in for turned into "You are going to be staying with us for a while, and I would plan on not leaving here without a baby". My labs showed elevated liver enzymes and decreased platelets (to keep it simple) and I needed to be observed closely because minor preeclampsia can turn into something serious called HELLP syndrome (or severe preeclampsia) quickly and at any time. So we settled in.
For days my labs would change only slightly. One doctor would tell me I was getting out of here in no time, the next doctor would say we were not leaving until I delivered. It was a roller coaster ride, full of ups and downs. We were moved to a bigger room and made ourselves comfortable, dogs and all. Then Tuesday, August 6th happened.
I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to my daily encounter with a vampire (aka: phlebotomy lab tech) and the upper abdominal pain was back. As she took my blood, I had the feeling again something was not right. I tried to sleep it off, but my morning blood pressure was up when the nurse came in around 6 a.m.. I expressed my concern, but everyone else seemed to write it off as a stomach ache. By early afternoon, I was convinced something was wrong and something needed to be done. The doctor called in more lab work and there it was. Liver enzymes had shot through the roof. The nurse came in and took away my drinking water and I knew it was bad. As we waited on an updated platelet count so the doctors could decide full anesthesia v. epidural, my blood pressure shot up to 200/100. I could feel it pulsing through my head and it made the abdominal pain minimal in comparison. An ultrasound was performed to look at how my liver was holding up, which fortunately it was. It all happened pretty quick; within an hour I was being wheeled away in my bed. My platelets were so low I was going under general anesthesia and Colin was not even going to see Jackson join the world. My first birth experience just turned into an emergency surgery in the blink of an eye.
As I was lying on the operating table, I was honestly unsure if I was going to make it. I have never experienced a headache like that before. I felt like I was going to have a stroke before they even got the baby out. To pour salt on the wound, the catheter had to be put in while I was awake with no advantage of numbing first. Thank God for Karen, the nurse who stroked my head and soothed me as I waited to be put to sleep. Finally, the nurse put pressure on my throat and the world went black.
I woke up in a lot of pain, but it was different than before. I could tell it was localized on the incision where they had to cut my baby out. My body was wracked with chills and all I could do was ask over and over if I was okay, if Jackson was okay, and when I could have some pain relief. I was apparently pretty funny as the pain medicine finally was put in my IV and I spent about half an hour on the table recovering in the emergency room with my nurses cracking jokes and passing the time. I guess I thought I was going to get to see my baby. That was not the case.
To get my liver enzymes back to normal and bring my dangerously high blood pressure back down to Earth, I had to sit with magnesium sulfate running through my veins for 24 hours. I was told that until I was off this horrible stuff, I was not able to see my baby. Everyone had seen Jackson except me. I was like a caged tiger who could not see her cub. I could not do anything for myself, and it was a helpless and miserable feeling. The next 24 hours were a haze, which was a good thing. Colin was having a hard time and so was I. I don't remember much, but I do remember an angel in the form of a nurse named Tiffany stormed in Wednesday morning and rolled me away in my bed to see my baby. It was like she was sent from heaven to be my advocate. Holding him was like magic and as terrible as I felt, the pain almost went away when he was in my arms. She was also the nurse who got to take me off the magnesium sulfate and approve eating and drinking again, so she pretty much wins the nurse competition by default.
So here we are. Colin and I holed up in a birthing suite and Jackson kickin' it in his own NICU suite. He is just down the hall, but sometimes it feels like he is worlds away from us. He is certainly a fighter; every nurse has commented on what a feisty one he is. Of course, I hosted him in my uterus for over seven months so I know. Those kicks and sudden movements I have seen in his incubator and/or felt on my chest come as no surprise to this mama. We are not sure what the road that lies ahead looks like, but what we do know is that we are going to make it to the end as a stronger family because of all this.
Lesson #1 taught by Jackson Morrison: having a baby is not always what it is like in the movies.
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