Zeke's Birth Day

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since my Zekie boy was born. His birth story is one of my favorite stories. (It wasn’t at the time - at the time it was a nightmare! - but in hindsight it’s hilarious.) I figure now would be as good of a time as any to share it.

*DISCLAIMER: If you are about to have a baby, do not read this post. Jenna, Erica, Jeremy - I'm looking at you. If you're a man, you'd probably prefer to move on. If you read this post and are scarred for life, it's not my fault. I warned you.

Also, this is long.

With Peyton, I kept meticulous notes and blogs. I didn’t with Zeke. (Clearly.) Couple of reasons: 
First: My pregnancy with Zeke flew by because I was busy and I had a dramatic toddler up underneath me. Between being sick, work, and Peyton – it was hard to find time.
Second reason: Ben was working at a job that kept him out of town during the week. This directly affected every aspect of our lives and my pregnancy. Telling the Internet that we were home alone didn’t sit right with me.

Because of his job, Ben missed almost all of Zeke’s appointments. We had a few concerns during his 21 week ultrasound. (Which he wasn’t able to make it to – this was no beuno. It’s not fun having the doc sit you down and say something looks weird on your baby when your man isn’t there. (They were sure everything was fine, of course.) Thank the good Lord that Mimi was there with me.) Because of the extra appointments that we had to go to the rest of the pregnancy, Ben was able to make most of those ultrasound appointments. [Edit: I should probably explain. Zeke had an arachnoid cyst. Pretty much, a fluid filled bubble between some of the layers that coat his brain. We watched this for the remainder of the pregnancy and took him to the Children's Hospital in Greenville once he was born for an MRI. He's fine.] I was really nervous towards the end, because his company really seemed to like to send him off to where he was a least 4 hours away and it was getting precariously close to July 16th. Ben managed to use his powers of communication to help them understand that until the baby was born, he was under a travel restriction. 

The week of Zeke’s due date came pretty fast. It was so hot. I was so huge. I managed to waddle into work (late), plop down for a few hours (I was just there for decoration purposes only those last couple weeks), and waddle back out in time for a short nap before getting Peyton every day. I figured I was in for the long haul since Peyton was late. No need to use up time before I really needed it.

I handled Zeke’s pregnancy like a champ. I was so much more chill with him. [I swore up and down that I could tell my kids personalities by how I acted when I was pregnant. Not bragging or anything, but so far, I was right. (Peyton likes chocolate and peanut butter, classic rock, and there is a lot of very strong emotion coming from her tiny little body. Kiddo never feels anything half-way. Zeke on the other hand, likes lots of carbs and meat, hates weird textures, likes smoother music, and nothing much bothers the kid.)] BUT by the time those last weeks hit – I was so SICK OF THE QUESTIONS. I wasn’t sick of them as soon as I was with Peyton – but they still wear you down, you know?

The morning Zeke was born was two days before my due date. It was an absolutely beautiful morning. I texted my parents to let them know that I did not have the baby in the middle of the night. I re-posted a quote from C.S. Lewis to which I captioned:

 

What was about to happen was ultimate irony. 

Peyton came in our room and crawled up in the bed with George. We took selfies. Looking back, I was so swollen it wasn’t funny. I would share, but... yeah, NO. There are some photos you just save for your kids. Sorry Internet. Around that time (Say about 7:45-ish), I noticed that my belly was tightening. It wasn’t painful, but I started counting anyway. While they weren’t painful, they were 2-3 minutes apart. I texted Ben. He was almost an hour away at that point. He asked if he should turn around. I said I didn’t think so, but I would let him know in about 30 minutes or so. After we talked, he made the executive decision to come home and called me back to tell me he was on his way. (Really glad he did that.) I got up and started getting ready. Hospital or Work, I didn’t need to look like a complete bum. Things stayed steady, so I got Peyton ready for the day and had her play at my feet in the bathroom. I called Sherry around 8:30-ish and asked her if she could keep Peyton. I wasn’t sure if I was in labor or not, but we were going to the doctor once Ben got home. By this time, every once in a while, I would have one that hurt a little more than they had been. One of these happened when Sherry came by to pick up Peyton. She asked if she needed to stay, but I told her no. Ben would be home soon.

Ben got home around 9:15ish. We left shortly thereafter. We decided we best go to my doctors office first. I called them and told them I thought I might be in labor and was headed their way. When we got there, absolutely no one seemed to be in hurry. We sat in the waiting area for a while. I was a little worried – my contractions were hurting more, but they were spacing back out. I told Ben that I was going to pee and I decided while I was in the bathroom that whether or not they were spacing back out, I wasn’t going to act like it. I was going to act like I was in some serious pain. The baby would come when he was supposed to, but I wasn’t  going to object to them going ahead and admitting me to the hospital. So, when they finally called me back, I put on my slow-I’m-in-pain-waddle. They told me they could tell I was in labor: I was doing the labor walk. I was secretly proud of myself and congratulated myself on my mad acting skills. They took me to the exam room and checked my cervix. I was a 3. CRAP. I had been at a 3 for the last couple of weeks. But, they were taking my word for it, and took me back to one of the recliners, hooked me up to a machine and set me up to watch my contractions for 20 minutes.
My contractions stayed steady and within 20 minutes they confirmed I was in labor. My contractions had picked up in intensity during those 20 minutes. When the nurse left, I told Ben that they wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the back pain and the fact that it felt like I was going to crap a brick. (Sorry for being so blunt - but it's what I said.) They ended up leaving me in there for another 20 minutes or so while they fixed up my paperwork. They took me to a room, checked me again, and I had progressed to a 4. By this time, my back was hurting enough that I would start to cry a little bit on some of them. They sent me out the door, said they would see me soon – but not to get too excited. It would be after 5 before baby showed up. We got in the car and headed to the hospital around 10:50ish. (Ben had texted our parents and everyone was making plans to be at the hospital around 5.) It took us less than 10 minutes to get to Regional. When we drove in to the Delivery parking lot, I went back and forth about needing a wheel chair (They will get you one if you need one.) A contraction hit me hard enough as we pulled in that I stood up in my seat a little and said “Yes, I need a wheelchair.” (How embarrassing.) They told us that we could walk in and get one. (What??) Ben dropped me off at the door and I waited for him to park. He quickly made it around but there were NO spaces available. I tell him to just go park and hurry and meet me at the front desk. I'm fine. I can go ahead and get to the front desk and get things started. (Boy, did I ever.)

As soon as he drove off, my contractions started hitting hard. Really hard. So hard that it took me over five minutes to get from 3 feet away from the door to 3 feet inside of the door. I could barely move my legs and I looked hunchbacked.  Once I got inside, a group of people walked by and said: “Oh look!! She’s in labor!” I tried to smile and wave a bit. There was an older man reading a paper that kept looking at me like I was nuts as I kept trying to make it around the wall. I’m sure it appeared to be some sort of weird game of peek-a-boo. (Where the heck was the front desk?! How was I ever going to make it all the way there?! WHERE WAS BEN?!) A younger man rushed over to me and said, “You’re in labor. My wife JUST had a baby. Do you need some help?”
“No! No! I’m fine! Really! I’m good! My husband is coming! I’ll be good! Thank you though!” He asked me if I was sure. I said I was, but thanked him. You could tell he didn’t believe me and he walked off. A few moments later, a couple of hospital administrators came around the corner. The lady asked me if she could help. I told her that I was trying to get to labor and delivery and that my husband was on his way. He was just parking the car. She asked me if I had taken a Lamaze class and if I could remember my breathing. I told her - in very broken, short sentences - that I hadn’t taken a class but not to worry! This was my second (Hold up 2 fingers for emphasis that I'm clearly an old pro) baby, I was only dilated to a 4 - but I was going to get them to hook me up with an epidural as soon as I could just get up that elevator. Drugs are great! (This was funniest conversation looking back on things. My confidence was in rare form. After all, I had a plan.)

I’m not sure if God laughed at that point, but I’m thinking He had to at least be smiling.

About this time, the admin guy and the man who had stopped me earlier (I told you he didn't believe me) came around the corner with an angel. I’m serious. That woman will always and forever be an angel in my mind. She had the sweetest personality and a wheelchair. LORD, BLESS THIS WOMAN FOREVER. She got me in the chair, up the elevator, and we headed to triage. We were *sort-of* talking when I got in the wheelchair. By the time we made it to triage (Less than 3 minutes) I was crying again. I could barely see. I couldn’t talk at all. (I know I scared some little girl who looked like she couldn’t have been older than 12. But she was in labor and delivery. Maybe her mom had prepared her ahead of time.) I handed the nurse my paperwork and she told me that I could go ahead to the desk and see about getting in a room. The nurse at the desk told the angel lady that they didn’t have a room for me. I would have to sit in the waiting room. Angel lady told them flat-out: “This child can’t go sit in the waiting room.” I asked them to please, please just put me where no one could see me crying. (I couldn’t see great, but I knew that people were staring at me.) They ended up parking me in the edge of some room in the hallway while they finished my room. I told them as the angel lady rolled me away, “Bearded man. Blue check shirt. Husband. Mine.” I watched another pregnant lady walk in with her family and go to her room. (They all stared at me too.) By this time, I was moaning. I hate moaning, so I try not to do it - but I couldn’t help it. I was trying to stifle it. Ben walked in and was immediately pointed to me. (My clipped description worked marvelously.) I had thought that Ben being there would make it easier. Maybe I was just hurting so bad because I was alone. Nope. Still hurt. Somewhere around that time, it hit me: Now is not the time to stifle it. They are not going to hurry and you will have this baby without an epidural if you don't do something right now. I got loud. This sped things up considerably. I was in a room within a couple of minutes. They told me to stand up and to take off my clothes and get into my hospital gown. This presented a problem. I couldn’t move. I’m glad we were a couple stories up. I ended up standing there in my birthday suit for a few minutes because I could not make my body move other than shaking uncontrollably. When I made it into the bed the nurse checked me to see if I was progressing. In the middle of checking, she stops and looks at the other nurse. 
“Isn’t this the one they just called in from Spartanburg and Pelham? The one they said was a four.”
“Yes. She’s a four.”
“No. No she’s not. She’s a really good eight.”

I started to panic. First thing I had asked for was an epidural. I knew they couldn’t give me one right away, so would they please give me some Tylenol or something so I could make it until then?? Sure they had said. Now, I knew – they were going to forget about my epidural. They might forget about my Tylenol.

Things started happening quickly. We went from two nurses to more people than I could count coming in and out. The doctor from our group was doing a circumcision. Someone ran out to find a different doctor. I kept begging for an epidural. They kept telling me to breathe and to calm down. Ben asks when I would be able to get an epidural. There was a pause. In which I take the opportunity to say: “DON’T SAY I’M NOT GETTING AN EPIDURAL!”
So, everybody kept on with what they were doing and nobody said it.

Things were not going as I had planned.

I started praying “Jesus, please let me get an epidural!” over and over. (Bless them, I know they were tired of hearing it.) Either one of the nurses told me or Ben told me – can’t remember which – at one point to calm down. I yelled back, “I NEED TO TALK TO JESUS!”

They kept touching my belly and moving my arms and legs. This made me hurt worse and made me yell. I roared at the doctor when he tried to check me. (It sounded very much like that scene in Beauty and the Beast where the Beast roars: “THAT HURTS!” Bless him. Even Ben thinks I hurt the poor mans feelings.)

In between my prayers for an epidural, I would yell and sob: “I’m so sorry!!! I’m really a nice person!”

They told me that I was a really strong woman. I cried and said I didn’t want to be a really strong woman.

I was going to die. I just knew it. Yep. This was how it was going to end for me. 

Then my water broke. If I wasn't panicking before, I certainly was panicking then.  One of the nurses calmly said that there was meconium in my water. She was so calm - said it as if she was saying that it was a sunny day - but I knew it wasn’t good. 
I managed to tell Ben through gritted teeth, "That's not good."
He asked why and I was able to only spit out, "He's pooped."

Not. Going. As. Planned.

NICU nurses, my nurses, doctors, and goodness knows who else in there. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I was in pain. I knew I wasn’t getting an epidural. And now my baby could be in trouble.

Things were really not going as I had planned. Why had my baby, my body, and all these people not gotten the memo?!

At some point, Ben was the one who told me I wasn’t going to get an epidural. I wasn’t happy with him. So, I tried to breathe, yell, focus on the A/C vent, and think about Subway Ham Sandwiches. The doctor came in just in time. They had already started breaking the bed down. She introduced herself quickly and told me to push.

Man, it burned. But I remembered what one of my friends had told me when she had her first - once it burns, it’s almost over. So I pushed harder. It was awful. Then, it was over. Just like that. They called his time of birth at 12:05 in the afternoon. In order for the NICU nurses to get him as quickly as possible, Ben didn't get to cut the cord. I couldn’t see what they were doing. I kept trying to see him, but I was so tired I could barely move.

Dropping to a 5 from a 10 on the pain scale feels like you have no pain at all. Or at least it really makes the stuff I normally would have struggled with seem like ant bites. In about 10 minutes or less, my room was practically empty. They handed me Zeke and I got to just lay there with him on my chest all snuggled up under a warming blanket. Bless him. He was so skinny and white. He had dark hair that stood straight up, and a really bad recessed chin – but I thought he was beautiful. Healthy as a horse, he was! 20 inches long. 7 lbs 2.5 oz. I have no idea who my nurses were for most of delivery, but I was able to meet a few of the ladies who helped me after the fact - and they were wonderful! The one who helped get Zeke set up was especially sweet. 

After Zeke and I had about an hour to snuggle and bond, I was able to get up and walk around with no problems. Ben watched Peyton and Sherry run across the entrance. Peyton got to come see Zeke in the room and hold him while I got up to go to the bathroom. Not long after that, we left (Like the unit we are) and headed off to the twinkle -twinkle little star button so that Peyton could push it to let the whole hospital know that Zeke was here. 

There you have it, folks. 

*Also, I did some checking and asking around. Apparently super-fast labors are a thing. They're hereditary. (My dad was born as they were wheeling my grandmother into the delivery room. Whoops.) Bonus: They get faster with each kid! So, for all of you who want to know when we'll be having another, well, that will be when I'm okay with possibly having a baby before I get to the hospital. (We all laughed when Ben said he could deliver his kids. He came close to having to with Zeke. And we've been warned that if we do this again, he probably will.)

... and yes, it was worth every bit of it. Happy Birthday sweet boy!