The Whirlwind of April 21
When I gave birth to Ezekiel almost two years ago, I had an epidural. And I loved it. For the first time in nearly 20 hours, the pain of contractions was deadened. And I was even able to catch a quick nap before I began what seemed like (and maybe actually was) hours of pushing. But the after-affects were not so wonderful. It may have been caused by the fact that my little boy lay so low for so long up against my spinal cord, but after the epidural was removed I couldn't put any weight on my legs. For nearly a day and a half, I couldn't stand, couldn't walk; when I attempted such, my legs buckled underneath me.
I kept imagining what life would look like if I never regained strength in my legs. If I was never able to get out of bed on my own to nurse my little boy. If I couldn't take the walks I loved so much anymore. If I couldn't stand at the kitchen counter to make supper for my husband.
And so, throughout my pregnancy with Micaiah, my prayer had been that we would arrive at the hospital too late for an epidural to even be an option. I didn't want the temptation; I didn't want to risk losing strength in my legs again - not when I would now have two little ones to love on, to take to the park, to chase after, to snuggle, to teach.
Last Monday morning, I woke up with contractions. Throughout most of the morning, they came 8-10 minutes apart. We toyed with the idea of heading to the hospital, but something held us back. Probably my own uncertainty and fear of driving all the way to Bismarck only to be turned away. After lunch, the contractions subsided. I took a solid nap. Zeke and I spent the afternoon playing outside. But around supper time, the contractions returned. Once again, they came 7-10 minutes apart. After putting Ezekiel to bed that night, wrestling with the question of "Should we go?", Jordan decided that we should. If we were going to wake someone up that night to come over and babysit Zeke, we might as well do it at a decent time rather than the middle of the night.
So, around 8:45, we made a call to a dear family friend, Deb. 15 minutes later, she arrived with bags packed and we headed out the door, bound for the hospital nearly 79 miles away.
All day long, I had been waiting for the textbook "5 minutes apart for 1 hour" contractions to come. They never did. We completely skipped that stage. Somewhere along Highway 49, my contractions started coming at more frequent intervals, only 2-3 minutes apart. And then there was this dead deer in the middle of our lane. We may or may not have been tailgating a pickup and therefore weren't able to see said dead deer and ran him over. But, the only evidence we hit him were the patches of fur Jordan discovered a few days later underneath the car. Thankfully, our faithful Ford Focus kept chugging along towards the hospital.
Somewhere along Interstate 94, the contractions started coming in both fast and furious. Let's just say there has never been more screaming in either of our cars before -- and remember, we now have two kids. Near the outskirts of Mandan, Jordan made his first-ever 911 call, asking them to inform the hospital that we were on our way. Once we arrived in Bismarck itself, we called the hospital ourselves telling them we were coming. (The call was initially made to 911 because we didn't have the hospital's number. But that dear family friend texted the hospital number to us and then we made the direct call.) I think the screams were convincing enough that I was in true, active labor.
Of course, we hit almost every red light we could once we got into town. Other than screaming from pain a lot, I remember telling Jordan two things: a) "Please just go through it!", in regards to a red light; and b) "I am either going to pee my pants, poop my pants or push this baby out now!" Thankfully, none of the above in point B happened in the car.
When we pulled up to the hospital, Jordan jumped out, keys still in the ignition, car still running. He helped me inside where the receptionist looked more than a little concerned. After sitting for so long, I wanted to move, to walk, so I refused the offered wheelchair. Until a contraction came and the nurses, who had sprinted down the hallway, forced me into one. We sprinted to the waiting elevators, through the BirthCenter hallways, and into a hospital room.
They told us later that we were checked into the hospital computer system at 10:18 pm. After just 22 minutes, lots of panting through contractions waiting for the doctor, and three pushes, Micaiah Marie was born.
I have never been through more of a whirlwind in my life. Once I was holding my little baby girl in my arms and the nurses had all cleared out, it seemed like Jordan and I both could finally breathe. That we could both finally begin to wrap our minds around what happened in the last hour and forty minutes.
It was a crazy whirlwind. And that little girl is so precious to us.
It was terrifying.
I kept imagining what life would look like if I never regained strength in my legs. If I was never able to get out of bed on my own to nurse my little boy. If I couldn't take the walks I loved so much anymore. If I couldn't stand at the kitchen counter to make supper for my husband.
And so, throughout my pregnancy with Micaiah, my prayer had been that we would arrive at the hospital too late for an epidural to even be an option. I didn't want the temptation; I didn't want to risk losing strength in my legs again - not when I would now have two little ones to love on, to take to the park, to chase after, to snuggle, to teach.
One week ago tonight, that prayer was answered. And it was more than a little crazy.
Last Monday morning, I woke up with contractions. Throughout most of the morning, they came 8-10 minutes apart. We toyed with the idea of heading to the hospital, but something held us back. Probably my own uncertainty and fear of driving all the way to Bismarck only to be turned away. After lunch, the contractions subsided. I took a solid nap. Zeke and I spent the afternoon playing outside. But around supper time, the contractions returned. Once again, they came 7-10 minutes apart. After putting Ezekiel to bed that night, wrestling with the question of "Should we go?", Jordan decided that we should. If we were going to wake someone up that night to come over and babysit Zeke, we might as well do it at a decent time rather than the middle of the night.
So, around 8:45, we made a call to a dear family friend, Deb. 15 minutes later, she arrived with bags packed and we headed out the door, bound for the hospital nearly 79 miles away.
All day long, I had been waiting for the textbook "5 minutes apart for 1 hour" contractions to come. They never did. We completely skipped that stage. Somewhere along Highway 49, my contractions started coming at more frequent intervals, only 2-3 minutes apart. And then there was this dead deer in the middle of our lane. We may or may not have been tailgating a pickup and therefore weren't able to see said dead deer and ran him over. But, the only evidence we hit him were the patches of fur Jordan discovered a few days later underneath the car. Thankfully, our faithful Ford Focus kept chugging along towards the hospital.
Somewhere along Interstate 94, the contractions started coming in both fast and furious. Let's just say there has never been more screaming in either of our cars before -- and remember, we now have two kids. Near the outskirts of Mandan, Jordan made his first-ever 911 call, asking them to inform the hospital that we were on our way. Once we arrived in Bismarck itself, we called the hospital ourselves telling them we were coming. (The call was initially made to 911 because we didn't have the hospital's number. But that dear family friend texted the hospital number to us and then we made the direct call.) I think the screams were convincing enough that I was in true, active labor.
Of course, we hit almost every red light we could once we got into town. Other than screaming from pain a lot, I remember telling Jordan two things: a) "Please just go through it!", in regards to a red light; and b) "I am either going to pee my pants, poop my pants or push this baby out now!" Thankfully, none of the above in point B happened in the car.
When we pulled up to the hospital, Jordan jumped out, keys still in the ignition, car still running. He helped me inside where the receptionist looked more than a little concerned. After sitting for so long, I wanted to move, to walk, so I refused the offered wheelchair. Until a contraction came and the nurses, who had sprinted down the hallway, forced me into one. We sprinted to the waiting elevators, through the BirthCenter hallways, and into a hospital room.
They told us later that we were checked into the hospital computer system at 10:18 pm. After just 22 minutes, lots of panting through contractions waiting for the doctor, and three pushes, Micaiah Marie was born.
I have never been through more of a whirlwind in my life. Once I was holding my little baby girl in my arms and the nurses had all cleared out, it seemed like Jordan and I both could finally breathe. That we could both finally begin to wrap our minds around what happened in the last hour and forty minutes.
It was a crazy whirlwind. And that little girl is so precious to us.
"'Whenever a woman is in labor she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been brought into the world.'" - John 16:21
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