Eden’s Birth Story

Recently I took the time to write up Eden’s birth story. As I was reflecting on what happened, I realized anew just how lucky we are. Thanks to an incredible Labor and Delivery staff, we both survived an extremely close call. If descriptions of blood, medical procedures, or physical danger are triggers for you, than this may not be the best blog post for you. But I feel the need to share this story, because many Army hospitals get a bad rap and women are scared to deliver their babies at them. Eden’s birth story would not have had nearly as happy an ending if it weren’t for the incredible team at Blanchfield Army Community Hospital (BACH). If you want to read more about my thoughts on BACH, you can read them here. For now, let’s get to Eden’s story.

My contractions began around 3 in the morning, but weren’t consistent or extremely painful. I was able to fall back into a fitful sleep, and finally got up for the day around 8 AM. Immediately I noticed that I was bleeding, which had never happened to me during labor before. So I dressed, finished packing our hospital bags, and after getting our older two children settled with Michael’s mom, we headed to Blanchfield.

I was dilated to about 4 centimeters when they took me back to triage (around 10 AM), so the midwife said I should go walk around the parking lot for an hour and then come back. I got up to get dressed, and the nurse noticed that I had completely bled through the pad on the bed. So they checked me again, saw that I was dilated to 5 centimeters, and decided that since I was bleeding so heavily they should admit me. We got settled into a room and they applied a special monitor to my abdomen which would allow me to walk around while still having the baby’s heartrate monitored. As a word of caution to anyone who thinks this sounds like a good gig—they have to take actual sandpaper to your stomach and rub off the dead skin and hair before applying the monitor’s adhesive pads. Suffice it to say this is not a particularly pleasant feeling, and the combination of the abrasions to my skin and then wearing the monitor for nearly six hours meant that I had large, angry-looking red welts on my stomach that were extremely painful for days after delivery. 1 out of 10, do not recommend. Unless you have significantly less sensitive skin than mine.

By this time it was around 11 AM. Michael and I paced the halls, waiting for my water to break. Since my water broke early on in labor with both previous babies, I was certain it would. Noon rolled around and we were both hungry. Our nurse, who was both attentive and funny, offered us a “Jesus Sandwich” (Chick-fil-A chicken sandwich) which they happened to have an excess of at the time. Her explanation was that Nurse Appreciation Week had been cancelled due to Covid-19 and as compensation they’d brought in Chick-fil-A for lunch that day. Whatever the reason I will say that having free Chick-fil-A during labor: 10 out of 10, would definitely recommend.

At this point I was still having contractions, but they were far apart, inconsistent in length, and extremely varied in intensity. So I laid down and managed to get in a short nap. When I woke up, I rolled onto my side and had an excruciating contraction that lasted nearly three minutes. I thought that might mean things were about to pick up, but then nothing happened for another 20 minutes. So I rolled onto the other side to see if anything would happen, and sure enough I had another extremely painful contraction. I kept this up for about another hour as I rolled over every 20 minutes or so until finally the midwife suggested we try breaking my water. I was dilated to 6 centimeters.

After my water broke, the contractions became more painful and started coming at regular, though still distant, intervals. Another hour passed this way, and I was sure I had to have made some progress. Some, but not much. I was dilated to 7 centimeters. The midwife suggested trying either Pitocin or an epidural. I didn’t really want to do either, but if I was going to be on Pitocin, I wanted an epidural. Of course, as soon as I asked for the anesthesiologist, my contractions started coming harder and faster. Within 20 minutes of getting the epidural, I could tell my body was nearly ready to push. As usually happens, that sent the staff into preparation mode: wheeling in carts with supplies, pulling out the baby’s bassinet, turning on high powered lights, and—thanks to the Coronavirus—dressing in full surgical garb. Up to that point the nurses and midwife had all worn gloves and a cloth mask. But now they wore surgical gowns, two layers of gloves, hair nets, an N-95 mask, and a cloth mask over the N-95. Finally, after only four or five pushes and maybe 15 minutes, Eden was born at 4:44 PM.

I could tell right away that something was wrong. When Eden came out, so did an inordinate amount of blood. Enough of it that it splashed all over the midwife and all the way up onto my hand. But worst of all, Eden wasn’t crying. She made a small, choking sound when she came out, but that was all. Within seconds she was handed off to the pediatrician, who rushed Eden off and began working feverishly.

“She’s so quiet,” I said to Michael, straining to see my baby. I was too exhausted and out of breath to really panic yet, but I knew something was very wrong.

For a few minutes, both the midwife and pediatrician worked silently and frantically. Occasionally, Eden would let out a weak, faltering cry. Each noise she made brought me a little more hope. Michael tried to keep my attention on him, whispering encouragement and locking eyes with me. I knew he was trying to distract me from Eden, but it wasn’t until days later that he told me just how panicked he was during those terrifying moments. Finally, our baby let out a genuine cry and the nurses started to laugh and talk about how beautiful Eden was. The rising dread in my chest began to fade. I relaxed just enough to pay attention to what was happening to me. The midwife had been working intensely through all of this as well, and was elbow deep in my uterus, scooping out the remnants of my placenta.

She explained that I’d had a placental abruption. The umbilical cord had ripped free of the placental while I was pushing. Eden had swallowed a lot of blood and her nose and mouth were clogged with it, making it impossible to breathe.  Luckily for both Eden and I, it hadn’t happened sooner. Both the midwife and the pediatrician would assure me that the cord didn’t break away until the last push. Somehow, I knew that wasn’t exactly right. While many women bleed when they’re in labor, I never do, and I felt certain that the bleeding that had been happening all day was a result of a tear in the umbilical cord. The final abruption had happened when I was pushing, but Eden couldn’t have swallowed so much blood or been so choked by it if there had been no bleeding before that. Had the full abruption happened any sooner, or labor taken any longer, Eden would’ve been deprived of essential oxygen, putting both of our lives at risk. It was a miracle we were both so unharmed.

Once the pediatrician was certain Eden was breathing, she was taken to the nursery to be put on oxygen. They brought her to me for a moment and held her next to my face just long enough for me to press my check against her blood-clotted hair and whisper, “Hello, baby.” Then she was whisked away to the nursery. After squeezing my hand tightly and giving me a smile much braver than he felt, Michael followed.

For the first time, I registered just how bad things were. Everything was covered in a layer of drying blood. The midwife, the basinet, the floor, me. Everything. My legs began to shake, which I attributed to exhaustion. But soon my whole body was trembling uncontrollably. I was freezing. The nurse noticed and draped a blanket over me. Michael returned with good news, assuring me that Eden was doing well. He even had a picture to show me, complete with wires and tubes. The pediatrician also came to explain again what had happened during the delivery and to let us know that Eden would likely have to stay in the nursery overnight to be on oxygen.

At that point, I was shivering so badly that my teeth were chattering together. I was actually afraid of biting through my tongue. I clamped the blanket between my teeth to try and muffle the clattering. I asked for a second blanket. Michael leaned over the bed, hugging me tightly to try and minimize my trembling. His warmth and presence were comforting, but the shaking still did not stop. Eventually the nurse switched my refrigerated IV fluids for heated ones, and a warm meal was brought for me. The food helped warm me and slow the shaking, but it also made me nauseous and I was afraid I was going to throw up. Eventually, the warmth from the IV fluids kicked in and my violent trembling subsided, more than an hour after it had begun. My muscles ached from the extreme tension, and I was so exhausted I could barely move. I didn’t realize until later that I had been in shock.

The pediatrician returned. She assured us that Eden was making good progress. She’d been on oxygen for an hour and was already back to normal blood oxygen levels. They were going to take her off the oxygen and observe her for another hour before deciding if she could return to us. At around 7 o’clock, the nurse finally came in declaring, “She’s on her way!”

Eden was fast asleep when they handed her to me. Feeling the gentle, soft weight of my baby against my chest allowed me to relax fully for the first time since she was born. This is the moment every mama is thinking of when they are in labor, the moment that motivates them to keep fighting through the pain and the exhaustion. I had had to wait nearly three hours after delivery to have that moment, and it was all the more precious because of it.

During the shift change, I overheard the nurses reading Eden’s APGAR scores. APGAR stands for “Appearance, Pulse, Grimace, Activity, and Respiration.” Each of these five areas is evaluated one minute after birth and then again five minutes after birth, and given a rating of 0-2 each time. A score between 8 and 10 is what most babies receive. In Eden’s case, she was evaluated three times. Her scores were 2-8-8. As someone who studied child development in college, I knew what an APGAR score was, and my heart dropped like a freefalling elevator when I heard that first number. A 2?! That meant she had been essentially unresponsive at birth. I’m certain the nurses had no idea I’d overheard them, and likely thought I wouldn’t know what an APGAR score was. But it made me realized how close we had come to disaster.

The remainder of our hospital stay continued to be one miracle after another. Not only did Eden recover completely, but despite hemorrhaging during labor my hemoglobin levels stayed within normal ranges and I didn’t need a blood transfusion. Even though I’d had to have an extremely invasive procedure done after delivery I didn’t get any infections or have any additional issues. In fact, as far as recovery goes, this was actually my quickest physical recovery from labor. They did prescribe me a pill in the hospital to make my uterus cramp and flush out all the extra blood, and that was absolutely miserable. I essentially continued to have contractions for the remainder of the time I was in the hospital, and even narcotics couldn’t eliminate the pain. 0 out of 10, would not recommend that either. 

Today, Eden is a thriving three month old. If you didn’t know that her birth was physically and emotionally traumatic to both her and I, you would never be able to guess. Sometimes I think back on her birth and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude. Things could have gone so differently and ended in tragedy, but instead we both left that hospital completely healthy and unharmed. Every time Eden is nestled into the crook of my elbow, or she shares her muppet-like smile with me, or I kiss her perfectly round cheeks, I know the few hours of fear and uncertainty were worth it. She is precious and beautiful and–most importantly–mine. As a mom, you’re willing to go through anything for your children. And it’s a good thing moms are programmed that way, because motherhood is hard. Labor is hard; nursing, carrying, and soothing a baby for two years is hard; handling tantrums and resentment from your children when you’re doing the best you can is hard; and I know it will continue to be hard as long as I love these tiny people and am responsible for raising them to be functional, decent human beings in a challenging world. So even though I’d never want to repeat Eden’s birth experience, I’m grateful to have the reminder that both she and I are tougher than the hard things that have and are going to come our way.