I said I would wait to post this story until I could attach it to this little baby's birth story, but who knows when that will happen? It's probably best that I write it all down while it's still fresh in my mind.
This crazy roller coaster started on the day I travelled to the city for my 38 week (and three days) appointment. My doctor had me lie down on the table so she could measure my belly and get the baby's heartbeat. After a quick feel and a brief look of consternation, she placed the Doppler wand on the top of my belly instead of the bottom, unlike usual. "I'm very suspicious that your baby is head up", she said, as she continued to trace little paths of jelly all over my tummy, trying to get a good fix on the heartbeat. After a few minutes of searching, she finally threw in the towel because my poor abdomen muscles were cramping up from lying flat on my back for so long. As I sat up she informed me that she was going to book me an ultrasound appointment to determine whether this baby was in breech position or not. In nearly the same breath, she told me that she thought I would be a good candidate for giving birth to a breech baby vaginally. My immediate thought was relief that I would have the chance to avoid a c-section.
The very next day I headed back into the city with my mom and the boys for the ultrasound. It took all of three seconds to determine that baby was, in fact, breech. She had her ankles crossed in front of her, pointing down, and her bum was right at the bottom of the womb. The important information being gathered, the ultrasound technician then gave me a wonderful little look at the beautiful baby girl inside of me. No matter the situation, it's always a treat to get an inside peek at what's taking place inside of a mother's womb!
As soon as I got home, I began researching vaginal breech delivery. What I found was more concerning than I expected it to be. Of course, babies have been born breech all over the world for as long as mothers have had them, but I learned that delivering breeches is somewhat of a lost art nowadays, especially since such-and-such medical society declared that all breech babies should be born via c-section roughly ten years ago. This has since been reassessed and found to be inaccurate, but that has not changed the risk factors of breech birth. As likely as my doctor thought it was that I would have little problem delivering this baby breech, there were certain risk factors I did not feel right about chancing. The request went out to the church body to be praying that the baby would turn (which my doctor did not think likely) & that we and our doctors would have wisdom in the situation.
On Friday, the day baby was "officially" 39 weeks gestation, I got a phone call in the afternoon from my doctor. It was apparent that she had just realized the situation and was now frantically trying to get the ball rolling on things. She told me that I needed to come in to the city that evening, be admitted into the hospital, and be assessed by a specialist. As soon as I hung up the phone, I went into frantic nesting mode, knowing that it was possible that we might be coming home with a baby outside of the uterus if the specialist deemed a c-section necessary. In three hours I cleaned my house like I've never cleaned before, organized childcare for my boys (the grandparents were away in the states for a conference at the time), double-checked our hospital bags, and made supper for the littles and their babysitter. Joey got home from work, I shooed him into the car, we grabbed a questionable gas station supper, and headed off into the setting sun.
It was very awkward explaining myself when I got to the hospital. This was not an appointment - it was a spur-of-the-moment agreement made between doctors, NOT communicated with the hospital staff. The nurses tried their best to treat me like I knew what I was talking about, but I still had to go through uncomfortable things like dropping my drawers and waiting under a thin sheet on a hospital bed in a dreary fetal assessment room. Thankfully, someone had the sense to actually go and speak to the doctor on call, who confirmed the circumstances of my appearing there that evening. I was able to regain my dignity and avoid the threat of a useless internal examination. A nurse and one of the resident doctors both felt my tummy and agreed that baby still seemed to be in breech position.
The OB/GYN turned out to be a wonderful woman. Both Joey and I liked her immediately and felt confident in the care we would be receiving from her. She told us that they do not offer the option for vaginal breech delivery to everyone; I was a good "candidate". As flattered as I was to be told that I had good birthing skills (ha), I was honest about my apprehensions. She then told me that if I was fearful to try it vaginally, then it would be best to go the c-section route.
After a few minutes to ourselves, during which Joey and I prayed and encouraged one another (c-sections are scary for dads, too), the doctor returned with the official elective c-section form. The operation was set for 9:00 AM, Sunday morning, with our new doctor friend as the OB/GYN to perform it.
We spent Saturday soaking in every moment with our boys. It felt so strange to know that we would be having a baby the next morning. Because I had done all of the preparations the day before, all that was left for us to do was to enjoy the day and wait for Joey's mom to arrive to look after our kids. It was so surreal.
In order to be ready for surgery at 9:00 AM, we had to be at the hospital for pre-op between 6:00 and 6:30. This meant that we had to be leaving home at 4:45 AM. I was required to be fasting since the evening meal the night before, so the morning seemed dreadfully early and dreadfully long. By 7:30 I had an IV in my hand (I am still bruised from it), I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown, I'd been asked a billion questions, and I had been fully informed about the entire operation. Joey and I were instructed to wait in our room until one of the nurses would take us to the OR in about 45 minutes.
Our appointment ended up being delayed for some reason or other (much more pressing than ours, I imagine), so Joey and I sat in the room for an extra hour, trying not to be nervous, trying to think of the beautiful baby girl that would greet us on the other end of the surgery. At about 9:15, the anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and make sure I wanted to be awake for the surgery. "I'll see you in the OR!" he said, and hurried off to give someone an epidural. Shortly after that, a nurse came in and gave me some vile liquid to drink, then led me off to a different wing of the hospital.
The operating room was cold and filled with instruments. There was a tiny "bed" in the middle, under a mass of really big lights. The nurses hid under hair nets and masks, trying to make small talk to set me at ease. It kind of, sort of worked. I was robbed of the robe that had been covering my back end and stuck with strange little pads that would monitor my heart rate. All that was left now was one final ultrasound to make absolutely sure that baby was still in breech presentation. I was pretty convinced her position had not changed.
Another doctor came in and asked the nurses why I had been brought into the OR already. "We do ultrasounds BEFORE bringing the patient into this room! We can avoid all of this if the baby has changed position!" She was obviously miffed, and the nurses didn't know where the communication had broken down - they thought they were doing what she had asked. "Well, the mom doesn't think the baby has turned, so we thought it pretty likely that we would be needing the room." The doctor, despite her apparent disgust, rolled over a small ultrasound machine, waited for it to warm up, then put the wand down at the bottom of the uterus. "THERE'S A HEAD DOWN THERE. The c-section is off!"
I gasped in astonishment. I knew at that moment that God had performed a miracle. I started to cry - not really out of joy, but at the releasing of all of the emotions I had been forced to deal with in preparation for major abdominal surgery. I cried because I was not going to get to hold my baby that day. It felt good to cry. It felt good to be hugged by the nurses and hear their exaltations. One of them ran out to tell Joey, who was waiting in the hallway, all dressed up in scrubs and a hair net. "No. Way." was all that he could get out.
The rest is a blur. I was brought juice and offered food (which I declined due to the extreme butterflies in my stomach), my IV was pulled out, I was given an internal examination to see if there was anything going on. Joey and I laughed and expressed our awe at the miracle God had done. Every nurse I saw seemed to be smiling at me. My doctor was overjoyed. I was discharged with instructions to keep taking my prenatal vitamins and come in when I was in labour. I was also told to request an ultrasound just to make sure this little turkey was still head down. We texted the good news to our family, gathered our things, and got out of there as fast as we could. My only request was to go and have a big, sit-down breakfast with my husband. Smitty's it was.
Tomorrow is baby's "due date", although it's more of a "guess date". I feel really uncomfortable and sore, and I just can't wait for this pregnancy to be over. I think I am finally mentally prepared to give birth again, to go through all of the labour pains and everything that comes with giving birth in a hospital. I have said before that I take great comfort in knowing that God has the exact minute of this baby's birth foreordained. It is apparent that He knows exactly what He is doing, and there is no earthly reason why I shouldn't trust Him.
