Where it was dark, now there's light. Where there was pain, now there's joy. Where there was weakness, I found my strength, all in the eyes of a boy. -- Celine Dion
I can hardly believe it has been two weeks since Collin came into our lives – especially when you consider that he wasn’t actually supposed to arrive until June 10. Not that I particularly aspire for my son to end up 26 and unemployed, but his ability to not only make deadline, but be early, shows he just may have journalism in his blood.
And speaking of blood, it continues to be surreal to me that I now have a blood relative. Technically, there are probably people out there who have some sort of genetic ties to me, but there is definitely a part of me that feels like Superman –the sole member of my planet, sent to Earth (or Tacoma) in a spaceship. Most people can look at their relatives and see shared features, like a sibling with the same color eyes, or a parent with a similar birthmark. And then there’s me – and this child, who has my lips and my nose. I can’t stop staring at him, and I don’t know that I ever will. He’ll probably be in kindergarten and still asking why I’m looking at him.
I don’t want to forget a thing about these moments, and for that reason, I wanted to chronicle Collin’s birth story. (Viewer discretion advised for those who don’t want to think about my cervix.)
At my 30-week ultrasound, Collin was already measuring two weeks ahead, so when he was born at 38 weeks, he was a full-term baby (regardless of what my mother-in-law thinks). I had wondered if I would end up induced because of his size (i.e. Chancellor-sized head), but that actually wasn’t what did me in.
My blood pressure had been elevated toward the end of the first trimester (due to my job situation), but it decreased to normal levels once I was able to start relaxing and resting. (Who knew unemployment had an upside?) But lo and behold, it started creeping up again in the third trimester, and while I would like to blame the rugs not being steam cleaned at the time, it is apparently fairly common – to a point.
I had spent the last month being monitored for possible preeclampsia, and was told by my OBGYN that if my levels spiked, I would have to be induced. But three weeks in a row of perfect no-stress tests and bloodwork had me thinking I was in the clear.
And then my dear (jealous, bitter) sister kicked me out of her wedding.
At my weekly appointment on May 28, I wasn’t surprised whatsoever that my blood pressure had gone up. On top of my family drama, I was starting to panic about giving birth.
Most people know I have a lifelong phobia of hospitals. My mom says it goes back to my open-heart surgery when I was 11 months old – for years afterward, I’d freak out if I saw anyone in a white coat, thinking it was a doctor – and got worse over time as my beloved Grammy’s health declined and we spent most of my sixth-grade year at her bedside. I will clarify, however, that I have dealt with hospitals on more than one occasion since then (i.e. my mom’s double bypass six weeks before my wedding), but I still panic if I have to set foot inside one. So even though I knew I would be there for a happy occasion, I knew I was going to panic once I was put into a hospital gown and hooked up to an IV.
On the evening of May 28, Dr. Martin called and said that my bloodwork from that afternoon had come back abnormal, so I was going to be admitted the next day to have my cervix softened and then induced with pitocin. In short, Collin was coming 11 days early, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Panic time.
Not only was I terrified about being induced (ironic, considering I was so uncomfortable that I had been moaning that I wanted to be induced not 24 hours earlier), but I wasn’t ready. The realization that the wooden stars my mom and I were decorating for his wall border weren’t going to be done sent me into a total meltdown. (My rockstar mom actually finished them IN my hospital room.)
We spent most of the night scrambling around (Chris, the greatest husband ever, cleaned the living-room rug out of the goodness of his heart) and packing enough stuff that you’d think we were going on vacation for a week (my justification was that you never know what will happen or how long you will be there, and no, I did not bring a rolling pin). I was woken up the next morning by Dr. Martin’s nurse calling to say that I needed to be at Swedish as soon as possible so they could start softening my cervix, so we quickly got ready, picked up Starbucks (everyone deserves a last latte) and my mom and headed for Seattle.
And yes, I did wear my sparkly purple shoes. (See photo.)
Because I wasn’t in labor yet (and not even scheduled for pitocin until Saturday morning), I was admitted to an antipartum room around 12:30 p.m. Being allowed to wear my own pajamas and use my own pillows made me feel a lot more comfortable. I wasn’t thrilled about having an IV started in my right arm, but since it wasn’t hooked to anything – and didn’t impede my ability to type or text – I generally ignored it while I watched “Friends,” played on my laptop and talked to my mom and Chris.
I was hooked to a monitor that measured both of our heart rates and my contractions, but it wasn’t until after 4 p.m. that I actually started having any – to the surprise of pretty much everyone. I am no stranger to Misoprostal – it was used during my miscarriage – but this was a much lower dose, and the nurse told me that it often takes more than one tablet (inserted orally) to get the cervix soft enough to start dilating. Part of the problem was that while Collin was at zero station, it was hard to tell if I actually was dilated because his (Chancellor-sized) head was in the way. My last two internal exams had been extremely painful because Dr. Martin had to go up and around to even reach the opening of my cervix.
But by dinnertime (side note: a la carte dining very well could be the greatest thing ever) I was starting to get uncomfortable, and the numbers were climbing. Forties … fifties … sixties … talk about a distraction when you’re trying to focus on your macaroni and cheese. About an hour later, I thought my water was starting to break, but it was coming out as an extremely slow leak, so I wasn’t sure.
Around 9 p.m., I got a glimpse of hell. In order to see if the Misoprostal had worked, the nurse gave me an internal exam that had me screaming and sobbing to the point that Chris was in tears, too. I have never felt such pain in my life. I remember begging her to stop, but she couldn’t.
The conclusion was startling: My water had broken and I was dilated four centimeters. I was headed off to Labor and Delivery – as soon as I put on one of those godforsaken hospital gowns.
I was a little out of it at that point, but I remember two blonde nurses, Tiffany and Marlow, showing up with a wheelchair, and heading off to a very nice, spacious birthing suite with my mom, Chris and my godmother, Lill, who had stopped by to visit, trailing behind with my bags.
Once I was in the birthing suite, I took my contacts out, was hooked up to various IVs and monitors, and asked the most daunting question of all: Should they call for an epidural?
Given that I have been known to cry over flu shots, I had always proclaimed that I would be having an epidural (or ten), but knowing that someone would be inserting a needle into my spine scared me to death. And what if it didn’t work?
Then again, the contractions were now in the nineties, so I swallowed my nerves and agreed.
The numbing shot was the only thing that really hurt, but I couldn’t stop crying and shaking as the anesthesiologist inserted the catheter into my spine and then my very kind nurses rolled me onto my side and promised that the pain would soon subside.
And it did.
By 11 p.m., I was pain-free, calm (well, as calm as someone can be when they’re in labor) and chatting with the nurses. I didn’t even kill Chris, my mom and Lill for drinking milkshakes in front of me while I was limited to a little cup of ice chips. I was dead tired, but there was no way I was going to sleep, even when the three of them decided to nap around 1 a.m.
(Side note: I am so, so glad that I asked my mom to be in the room. She was a very calming influence and stayed up most of the night in a very hard rocking chair, trying to keep me relaxed. I also am glad that we asked Lill to stay because she not only took photos of Collin, but she has been there for all the big moments in my life, so it just seemed appropriate. Chris felt the same way.)
Throughout the night, the nurses checked my progress, tried to get me to sleep (with the warning that pushing is a tiring experience) and eventually inserted an internal monitor to see how strong my contractions were. Fortunately, I didn’t feel anything except pressure, and I can honestly say that I think I would have preferred death to natural childbirth after getting a taste of it. I was surprised, though, that I could still feel my legs despite being numb. I had thought the epidural was like a spinal block (and was afraid I would end up paralyzed), so this was a lot better for my (somewhat tenuous) state of mind.
I actually fell asleep for about an hour and a half, and would have stayed in my nice state of Zen had the doctor on duty from my OBGYN group, Dr. McKeever, not come in around 5 a.m. and pronounced me as dilated six centimeters. I figured, woo, six of ten … go me! Well, it was a little slower than they would have liked (ironic, considering I wasn’t even supposed to be in labor yet) so she gave me pitocin to speed things up.
That was the end of sleep.
And it was truly surreal to see the sun coming up outside and knowing that I was about to meet my son.
Now I should explain something here. One of my big hang-ups about being induced was that I knew Dr. Martin wouldn’t be delivering me. She only works Mondays and Thursdays, and for weeks I had been saying silent prayers that I would give birth when she was on call. After all, when you’ve been going to the same doctor for two years – and dealt with infertility AND a miscarriage – you get somewhat attached. I had seen Dr. McKeever for my first no-stress test and liked her, but she was going to be off duty at 8:30 a.m.
And Dr. Daniel was taking her place.
This is the same doctor who scared the hell out of me when I experienced some bleeding when I was first pregnant with Collin and called after hours on a Friday. She basically said I probably was having an ectopic pregnancy and needed to be seen Monday morning, otherwise, I could, you know, die.
Comforting, huh?
I was determined to evict Collin before Dr. McKeever left, but that didn’t work out so well. I started pushing at 7:30 a.m., and at first, it wasn’t that bad. Chris held one leg and my wonderful morning nurse, Siggy, held the other. The worst part was having my bad hip (I have tendonitis) held at an awkward angle. But as time went by, it got harder and more painful. I eventually had to have my mom come stand in front of me so I could have something to focus on as I bore down. Never before had ten seconds been so long, or so arduous, but even so, I stayed pretty silent as I pushed. In retrospect, I think I was in shock – especially when Dr. Daniel walked in.
By 9 a.m., I was begging Chris to make the pain stop.
By 9:30, I was sobbing and telling Dr. Daniel that I’d do anything if she just got him out.
I can hardly believe it has been two weeks since Collin came into our lives – especially when you consider that he wasn’t actually supposed to arrive until June 10. Not that I particularly aspire for my son to end up 26 and unemployed, but his ability to not only make deadline, but be early, shows he just may have journalism in his blood.And speaking of blood, it continues to be surreal to me that I now have a blood relative. Technically, there are probably people out there who have some sort of genetic ties to me, but there is definitely a part of me that feels like Superman –the sole member of my planet, sent to Earth (or Tacoma) in a spaceship. Most people can look at their relatives and see shared features, like a sibling with the same color eyes, or a parent with a similar birthmark. And then there’s me – and this child, who has my lips and my nose. I can’t stop staring at him, and I don’t know that I ever will. He’ll probably be in kindergarten and still asking why I’m looking at him.
I don’t want to forget a thing about these moments, and for that reason, I wanted to chronicle Collin’s birth story. (Viewer discretion advised for those who don’t want to think about my cervix.)
At my 30-week ultrasound, Collin was already measuring two weeks ahead, so when he was born at 38 weeks, he was a full-term baby (regardless of what my mother-in-law thinks). I had wondered if I would end up induced because of his size (i.e. Chancellor-sized head), but that actually wasn’t what did me in.
My blood pressure had been elevated toward the end of the first trimester (due to my job situation), but it decreased to normal levels once I was able to start relaxing and resting. (Who knew unemployment had an upside?) But lo and behold, it started creeping up again in the third trimester, and while I would like to blame the rugs not being steam cleaned at the time, it is apparently fairly common – to a point.
I had spent the last month being monitored for possible preeclampsia, and was told by my OBGYN that if my levels spiked, I would have to be induced. But three weeks in a row of perfect no-stress tests and bloodwork had me thinking I was in the clear.
And then my dear (jealous, bitter) sister kicked me out of her wedding.
At my weekly appointment on May 28, I wasn’t surprised whatsoever that my blood pressure had gone up. On top of my family drama, I was starting to panic about giving birth.
Most people know I have a lifelong phobia of hospitals. My mom says it goes back to my open-heart surgery when I was 11 months old – for years afterward, I’d freak out if I saw anyone in a white coat, thinking it was a doctor – and got worse over time as my beloved Grammy’s health declined and we spent most of my sixth-grade year at her bedside. I will clarify, however, that I have dealt with hospitals on more than one occasion since then (i.e. my mom’s double bypass six weeks before my wedding), but I still panic if I have to set foot inside one. So even though I knew I would be there for a happy occasion, I knew I was going to panic once I was put into a hospital gown and hooked up to an IV.
On the evening of May 28, Dr. Martin called and said that my bloodwork from that afternoon had come back abnormal, so I was going to be admitted the next day to have my cervix softened and then induced with pitocin. In short, Collin was coming 11 days early, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Panic time.
Not only was I terrified about being induced (ironic, considering I was so uncomfortable that I had been moaning that I wanted to be induced not 24 hours earlier), but I wasn’t ready. The realization that the wooden stars my mom and I were decorating for his wall border weren’t going to be done sent me into a total meltdown. (My rockstar mom actually finished them IN my hospital room.)
We spent most of the night scrambling around (Chris, the greatest husband ever, cleaned the living-room rug out of the goodness of his heart) and packing enough stuff that you’d think we were going on vacation for a week (my justification was that you never know what will happen or how long you will be there, and no, I did not bring a rolling pin). I was woken up the next morning by Dr. Martin’s nurse calling to say that I needed to be at Swedish as soon as possible so they could start softening my cervix, so we quickly got ready, picked up Starbucks (everyone deserves a last latte) and my mom and headed for Seattle.
And yes, I did wear my sparkly purple shoes. (See photo.)
Because I wasn’t in labor yet (and not even scheduled for pitocin until Saturday morning), I was admitted to an antipartum room around 12:30 p.m. Being allowed to wear my own pajamas and use my own pillows made me feel a lot more comfortable. I wasn’t thrilled about having an IV started in my right arm, but since it wasn’t hooked to anything – and didn’t impede my ability to type or text – I generally ignored it while I watched “Friends,” played on my laptop and talked to my mom and Chris.
I was hooked to a monitor that measured both of our heart rates and my contractions, but it wasn’t until after 4 p.m. that I actually started having any – to the surprise of pretty much everyone. I am no stranger to Misoprostal – it was used during my miscarriage – but this was a much lower dose, and the nurse told me that it often takes more than one tablet (inserted orally) to get the cervix soft enough to start dilating. Part of the problem was that while Collin was at zero station, it was hard to tell if I actually was dilated because his (Chancellor-sized) head was in the way. My last two internal exams had been extremely painful because Dr. Martin had to go up and around to even reach the opening of my cervix.
But by dinnertime (side note: a la carte dining very well could be the greatest thing ever) I was starting to get uncomfortable, and the numbers were climbing. Forties … fifties … sixties … talk about a distraction when you’re trying to focus on your macaroni and cheese. About an hour later, I thought my water was starting to break, but it was coming out as an extremely slow leak, so I wasn’t sure.
Around 9 p.m., I got a glimpse of hell. In order to see if the Misoprostal had worked, the nurse gave me an internal exam that had me screaming and sobbing to the point that Chris was in tears, too. I have never felt such pain in my life. I remember begging her to stop, but she couldn’t.
The conclusion was startling: My water had broken and I was dilated four centimeters. I was headed off to Labor and Delivery – as soon as I put on one of those godforsaken hospital gowns.
I was a little out of it at that point, but I remember two blonde nurses, Tiffany and Marlow, showing up with a wheelchair, and heading off to a very nice, spacious birthing suite with my mom, Chris and my godmother, Lill, who had stopped by to visit, trailing behind with my bags.
Once I was in the birthing suite, I took my contacts out, was hooked up to various IVs and monitors, and asked the most daunting question of all: Should they call for an epidural?
Given that I have been known to cry over flu shots, I had always proclaimed that I would be having an epidural (or ten), but knowing that someone would be inserting a needle into my spine scared me to death. And what if it didn’t work?
Then again, the contractions were now in the nineties, so I swallowed my nerves and agreed.
The numbing shot was the only thing that really hurt, but I couldn’t stop crying and shaking as the anesthesiologist inserted the catheter into my spine and then my very kind nurses rolled me onto my side and promised that the pain would soon subside.
And it did.
By 11 p.m., I was pain-free, calm (well, as calm as someone can be when they’re in labor) and chatting with the nurses. I didn’t even kill Chris, my mom and Lill for drinking milkshakes in front of me while I was limited to a little cup of ice chips. I was dead tired, but there was no way I was going to sleep, even when the three of them decided to nap around 1 a.m.
(Side note: I am so, so glad that I asked my mom to be in the room. She was a very calming influence and stayed up most of the night in a very hard rocking chair, trying to keep me relaxed. I also am glad that we asked Lill to stay because she not only took photos of Collin, but she has been there for all the big moments in my life, so it just seemed appropriate. Chris felt the same way.)
Throughout the night, the nurses checked my progress, tried to get me to sleep (with the warning that pushing is a tiring experience) and eventually inserted an internal monitor to see how strong my contractions were. Fortunately, I didn’t feel anything except pressure, and I can honestly say that I think I would have preferred death to natural childbirth after getting a taste of it. I was surprised, though, that I could still feel my legs despite being numb. I had thought the epidural was like a spinal block (and was afraid I would end up paralyzed), so this was a lot better for my (somewhat tenuous) state of mind.
I actually fell asleep for about an hour and a half, and would have stayed in my nice state of Zen had the doctor on duty from my OBGYN group, Dr. McKeever, not come in around 5 a.m. and pronounced me as dilated six centimeters. I figured, woo, six of ten … go me! Well, it was a little slower than they would have liked (ironic, considering I wasn’t even supposed to be in labor yet) so she gave me pitocin to speed things up.
That was the end of sleep.
And it was truly surreal to see the sun coming up outside and knowing that I was about to meet my son.
Now I should explain something here. One of my big hang-ups about being induced was that I knew Dr. Martin wouldn’t be delivering me. She only works Mondays and Thursdays, and for weeks I had been saying silent prayers that I would give birth when she was on call. After all, when you’ve been going to the same doctor for two years – and dealt with infertility AND a miscarriage – you get somewhat attached. I had seen Dr. McKeever for my first no-stress test and liked her, but she was going to be off duty at 8:30 a.m.
And Dr. Daniel was taking her place.
This is the same doctor who scared the hell out of me when I experienced some bleeding when I was first pregnant with Collin and called after hours on a Friday. She basically said I probably was having an ectopic pregnancy and needed to be seen Monday morning, otherwise, I could, you know, die.
Comforting, huh?
I was determined to evict Collin before Dr. McKeever left, but that didn’t work out so well. I started pushing at 7:30 a.m., and at first, it wasn’t that bad. Chris held one leg and my wonderful morning nurse, Siggy, held the other. The worst part was having my bad hip (I have tendonitis) held at an awkward angle. But as time went by, it got harder and more painful. I eventually had to have my mom come stand in front of me so I could have something to focus on as I bore down. Never before had ten seconds been so long, or so arduous, but even so, I stayed pretty silent as I pushed. In retrospect, I think I was in shock – especially when Dr. Daniel walked in.
By 9 a.m., I was begging Chris to make the pain stop.
By 9:30, I was sobbing and telling Dr. Daniel that I’d do anything if she just got him out.
Seriously, I would have built her a monument if she'd asked. I still may.
It turned out that Collin, the child who never would face the right way during ultrasounds, that punched my internal organs for sport, that kept me up every night with the hiccups, was stubborn to the end, and refused to budge from beneath my pubic bone.
Her solution? A vacuum.
I had signed a consent for extraordinary measures to be taken several weeks earlier, but I never thought I’d actually anything except determination and someone to scream at. But there was Dr. Daniel, instructing me to draw my legs all the way up to my shoulders and push as hard as I possibly could.
The first try didn’t work – and I was in worse pain, if that was even possible.
Well, clearly Dr. Daniel didn’t go to Harvard for nothing, because she’s one determined woman. She told me that she was going to try one more time, but if it didn’t work, I would be on the way to the operating room for a C-section.
Now THAT is motivation.
I didn’t care if I died at that moment as long as I got my child out.
I pushed as hard as I could, and after a moment, there was the most intense pressure (as his head came free, resulting in a second-degree tear for which the stitches are just now dissolving), followed by this feeling of a weight being pulled out of me, and then there was the most beautiful cry I’ve ever heard.
And at 9:51 a.m. on May 30, 2009, Collin Jackson Chancellor entered the world.
His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, so Dr. Daniel cut that portion, and then they took him to the examining table, where Chris was able to cut the cord. I am so glad he was the first person to hold our son – after all, I carried him for (almost) nine months, and he deserved to experience something truly unique and special, too. He was an amazing labor coach, and the look of pure joy on his face when Collin was born is something I will never forget.
And I never truly realized how fast you can fall in love until I looked into my son’s eyes.
The stress, the fatigue, the pain … none of it mattered.
He was here.
Tears.
ReplyDeleteTears of pain.
Tears of joy.
Those are what I shed as I read this post.
Where once there was rain, now the sun truly shines, the moon too, since you're probably seeing a fair bit of the night as well ;).
Your journey to motherhood is emotional and unique and something that will stay with you the rest of your life. You were a mom the minute you conceived, but the realisation of becoming a mom came into focus the minute you saw your son.
This is an amazing and beautiful story. It stirs my own memories, but also makes me feel so privileged to be able to glimpse some of the experiences and emotions you had to go through to bring Collin into the light.
I share your fears - I fear hospitals, doctors, needles, blood.. but you too overcame that and look at what you have for it!!! The things a mom has to go through - right from the get go!
I hope this will be the first of many amazing (hopefully mostly good) memories you will experience through your journey with Chris as parents.
Well done! Again, Congrats!
You did GOOD!!
*sniffles and wipes the tears away before starting to type* I'm with Lisa here crying those same tears of joy and pain. Jenn, you and Collin have brought me to tears more times than seems right for someone I've only met twice and another someone I've never met! ;) I was right in the room when my nephew and one of my nieces were born, and I never shed a single tear! (Of course, my sister was so calm you'd think she was simply waiting for a package to come in the mail.)
ReplyDeleteYour story scares the crap out of me, you know. Ashley always made childbirth look so easy, but yours makes me want to adopt all the more. :P However, I know that every moment of that pain was worth it to see and hold that little guy who looks so much like you...that little guy who you waited so long and with through so much for.
I was tearing up as I read your story. You always have such a wonderful way with words and you didn't prove me wrong as I read your labor story. I can't wait to meet little Collin and I can't believe you actually wore your party shoes to the hospital!!
ReplyDeleteOh my gosh, I have been waiting for this and I LOVED reading it! I was RIGHT THERE WITH YOU on the internal exams being SO painful. I too, screamed and sobbed when the nurse had to check me once we'd gotten to the hospital. No one else has ever said that that part hurt them so although I wish you didn't have to go through that, I'm glad I'm not alone.
ReplyDeleteTotally teared up at the part where you wrote the time of Collin's arrival ... such a pivotal moment! You will be so glad you wrote all this ... and will probably read it over and over and over again. In fact, I think I'm going to go read the posts I wrote while I was in labor ... AGAIN. :)
Congratulations -- you are a trooper. Can't wait to see more pictures of Collin! Take care and get some good rest whenever you can!
Very touching Jenn, Save these words for him. I wrote all my adventures prior to and in and back from Russia for Stephen too. Each child is so special and each relationship with their Mom's is special too. Enjoy him!
ReplyDeleteTwin! /sniff. That was... beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I think I'm weepy because you do have a way with words AND what the crap, that's gonna happen to me in a few weeks!!! Eep! The ending is nice... it was all worth it. I have some questions though.. Question 1: Why did it still hurt with an epidural? Question 2: Was the healing of the (gulp>) tear incredibly painful? Question 3: Why'd your sis kick you out of her wedding? I'm sure there's tons more but we never seem to catch each other online so I'll have to text you the rest during labor. Hee. I'm so incredibly happy for you twin and hope I get to meet Collin in the near future. Oh yeah, I don't think I ever told you this before but I have a cousin named Jennifer and she has a son named Collin too. :-) So it's kinda like we really are related. Love you!
ReplyDelete