The Birth of Poppy

After a month of persistent contractions that kept coming back even with medication, I went to my hospital's Women's Evaluation Unit on a Monday night to be monitored. I was checked by different doctors. The first found my cervix to be closed. The second, a couple of hours later, found me to be 3.5 cm dilated. The third confirmed the 3.5 reading. I was immediately hooked up to an IV with a low dose of magnesium sulfate, and also administered the first of two doses of the steroid for Poppy's lungs.


Monday night at the WE-U. Looking good.

I felt fine for most of Tuesday, but the contractions kept coming, so the doctors increased the magnesium dosage to the maximum level they could give. I was starting to get "maggy," meaning I had a hard time moving, walking, or seeing straight. Tuesday night I was given the second dose of lung steroids. By Wednesday, I was a mess. I called myself a "lump on a log" because it was so hard to lift even my arm out of the bed. I was definitely a fall hazard and needed help accessing the bedside commode.

Even with the magnesium, I was still contracting. They were getting more painful, too. Whenever a contraction hit, I would flap my feet up and down to deal with it. That was the only thing I could do. My husband thought it was adorable, but I wanted to be more in control of my labor. I asked the nurses to please stop the magnesium. I had already heard the doctors hinting at delivery, since baby's lungs were primed and there was nothing more they could do to stop it. The nurses checked with the doctors, and by the afternoon I was taken off the Magnesium. I immediately felt so much better. Within an hour I was bouncing through the contractions on an exercise ball, finally able to manage my pain the way that I wanted to, instead of just "lying there and taking it." The nurses had a copy of my birth plan in front of them, so they knew better than to offer me an epidural.


Bouncing through a contraction.

My Mom had flown up from Florida and was able to be there on Wednesday. She and Senpai would chat about the news or any random thing Senpai found while surfing the internet (as he does), until I would start bouncing, and then I made it very clear that I wanted them to be quiet. I had the Tibetan Singing Bowl music playing that I listened to when I had labored with Rosemary.


Mom giving me the pep talk.

I was allowed to have chicken broth and jello for dinner, yum! Diabetes comes in handy sometimes.  When the doctor stopped by my room that night, I asked if there was something he could give me that would help me sleep. Unlike my first birth experience, no one was in a rush to get this baby out of me anytime soon, and I foresaw a difficult delivery if I didn't conserve my strength and rest through the night. The doctor gave me Ambien. I slept well. Mom and Senpai stayed the night, too.

The next day, Thursday, was the big day. I started by bouncing on the ball until it offered no comfort, then I moved to the bed to thrash around, rock back and forth on my knees, and basically flail my way through the contractions. At 7 cms dilated, I took a hit of whatever opiate they're using in place of Stadol these days (I was told there's a national shortage on Stadol. Anyone know if that's true?). It wore off quick. By the time I was taken to the operating room, I was grabbing the hand rails on the bed and throwing my body from side to side.


Now it really hurts.

I had delivered Rosemary while under the influence of Stadol. It was very odd. I had no idea who all was in the operating room with us or who actually caught her. My memory is mostly of the darkness of the back of my eyelids in my drugged out haze, and then the feeling of her little 4 lb 13 oz body sliding out of me with minimal effort on my part. This delivery was much different. I was hoping to be more aware of the entire process, and I was since the opiate had long since worn off. It was too late in the game to add anymore pain meds into the mix, so it was just me and my body, about to do some hard work together. Everything-- my vision, my alertness, my pain-- was fresh and crisp. I started to push.

Nothing happened. Not at first, at least. The doctors needed more effort. More pushing, more pushing, oh my gosh, this hurts. This HUUUUUURTS. Rosemary was delivered free of pain, remember, and Poppy is a bigger baby. This was my first time experiencing the true pain of childbirth, the "ring of fire." The doctors offered to set up a mirror to show me the head crowning ("Maybe if you see it, it will give you something to push for,"), and that's when I realized that it was up to me. In spite of the room full of doctors, it was 100% up to me to push this baby out or else I would be rushed into an emergency c-section. I didn't want to get cut open, so push, girl, PUSH! The head came out. PUUUUSH! The shoulders came out. Poppy was born!


She was born into a sea of yellow.

I fell back against the bed with relief before I noticed something strange. The doctors didn't immediately take Poppy away like they did with Rosemary. No, they were just holding her between my legs and hanging out there. I wondered what they were doing until somebody commented, "I've never seen one pulse for so long!" That's when I realized that they were following my birth plan! With Poppy being premature, I had assumed that the birth plan would be thrown out the window for her safety. But I guess she was breathing well enough for several points to be implemented, like waiting for the umbilical cord to stop pulsing before cutting it. The doctors encouraged me to touch her while they still had her so close to me. I lightly ran my hands over her warm, sticky body and that moment meant so much to me. I touched Poppy seconds after she was born. It was three hours before I could touch Rosemary. Oh, it meant so much.

The cord eventually stopped pulsing, and the doctors took her to the other side of the room to get cleaned up. I was still on my high of being able to see and touch Poppy when an even more surprising thing happened: they gave her back to me! She was wrapped up in a blanket and wearing a hat-- not naked as I had asked in the birth plan-- but I got to hold her, I got to hold her! It was at least a day after Rosemary was born when I held her for the first time. This birth was so much better! I thanked myself over and over again in that moment for writing a birth plan. Rosemary and Poppy were both born at 33 weeks, both had the lung steroids, but Rosemary had been taken away from me so fast, while now I was having such precious moments with Poppy because the doctors knew I wanted them. Just to set something straight, I was going to write a birth plan for Rosemary's birth, only I hadn't known to expect her so early; she surprised us. When the early contractions started up with Poppy, I knew I had to be prepared.


One happy Mama.

It came time for the doctors to take her to the NICU. I was told I had slight tearing, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant stitches. I forget if this happened before or after I held Poppy, but the placenta was delivered and I saw it drop into a bucket (another fun memory I missed in my drug haze of Rosemary's birth). I was wheeled back to the room and saw Mom standing in the hallway (only one person was allowed in the operating room so I chose Senpai. Sorry, Mom). She told me she had seen Poppy on her way to the NICU. She also said she could hear me screaming through the delivery and Poppy crying when she came out. Haha, good to know the rest of the L&D ward could tell I was having a baby.

I went to see Poppy in the NICU as soon as I could.


7 lbs, 19 1/2" long. Born at 10:14 AM on 5/10/12.

The rest is another story.

Empty Arms

Poppy is 35 weeks old today. Look, isn't she beautiful?


I've lost the pep in my step. Tears spring up in my eyelids and I blink them away. When I'm smart, every meal includes coffee, not only to keep me awake, but also to inject some life back into this empty shell. Mostly, it just makes me feel jittery. But that could be the low blood sugar.

Walking by pamphlets displayed on the wall, "Heart Screening, Schedule Yours Today!" My heart is on a schedule. Hold and try to nurse Poppy at 9:00, noon, and 3:00. Turn off my heart while I pump, use the restroom, and eat something in the hours between. Go home. Light up at the sight of Rosemary lighting up for me. Figure out dinner, pump through the night, then start again the next day. This is getting old.


The variety in my day comes from choosing which restroom to use.

"It won't last forever," my Mom tells me over the phone. I know. That's the thought I pull my strength from. But it's 4:30 and Poppy is wide awake and actively rooting. This is a problem. It isn't one of her doctor decreed scheduled feeding times. As a mother who chooses to nurse on demand, it kills me. She was sleepy and did not eat at the previous three feedings that I struggled to give her (please just suck, baby, please), and here I see her, practically begging to have a nipple put in her wide mouth, and I'm not allowed to. I put my pinky finger in her mouth and gently stroke the tongue to help her learn how to coordinate her sucking while my heart shatters on the floor.

Senpai's boss gave him the day off today. I must admit I am jealous. I don't get days off from this. Looking forward to the day when I can bring my work home with me.

The Long Drive Home

Emotionally I'm (mostly) okay with Poppy being in the NICU, but physically I'm getting worn away at the seams. Today was tiring. From the four hours of sleep last night (gotta wake up to pump), to a sibling meeting with another baby in Poppy's section gone awry ("I don't like my brother!"), to a neurotic nurse who is seriously OCD, and feeding disagreements with the doctors, today has been a loooooong day.

When it came time to go home, I made it back to my car in the parking garage, sent Senpai a text asking him to take care of dinner, and then.... I dropped my chair back and took a nap. Senpai called an hour later, "Are you out of the city yet?" Umm, not exactly. I worked the kinks out of my neck, raised the seat up, turned on the engine, and started the long drive home.

Here We Go Again

The soft lullaby music plays in the background, and I cherish the moment I hold newborn baby Poppy in my arms, and stroke her soft cheek as she drinks hungrily from my breast. It's a beautiful moment, except that it hasn't happened yet. The soft piano music plays, yes, but it comes from the laptop computer on my legs, as I type a blog post with one hand and hold pumping apparatus to my chest with the other. This isn't the way I wanted it to be. I didn't want to be here again. But here I am.


Poppy was born at 33 weeks, just like her sister, Rosemary. There was no HELLP Syndrome this time, no pre-eclampsia, just a month's worth of contractions that had been slowly wearing away at my cervix. I created an excuse, any excuse, to go to the Women's Evaluation Unit (WE-U) at my hospital on Monday night and have them check me. Even though my doctor's office was happy with the results they got from my twice weekly non-stress tests (NSTs), I knew something was wrong. The contractions stopped with my Procardia medicine, yes, but they kept coming back when it was time for the next dose. They always came back. So I went to the WE-U with the concern of "unexpected weight gain." The nurses gave me incredulous looks.

"How far about were the measurements?"

"A week."

"So you're concerned that you jumped up 6 lbs in one week, using two different scales?"

"Yes."

They took me back to a room anyway and hooked me up to the NST equipment. A female doctor with dainty little hands checked my cervix and found it to be closed. She didn't know what to do except send me home. Thankfully, her shift ended, and a new doctor took over my case. This male doctor with long fingers wanted to check me again before sending us off, and he found me to be.... 3.5 cm. THREE POINT FIVE is a BIG difference from "closed." I don't blame the female doctor for her anatomical deficiency, but she was the same doctor who checked me when I went to the WE-U the month before, when the contractions had first started. What would someone else have found then instead of her? Would Poppy have stayed in my womb longer if we had known last month that my cervix was already starting to open? I don't know, but it rubs me the wrong way.

In the hospital

Poppy may not be so far away after all. It is taking every effort of my strength to type this as I am on a high dose of magnesium sulfate and currently resemble little more than a lump on a log. But this lump is still contracting fairly regularly and strongly. There is no sign of pre-eclampsia, no sign of HELLP Syndrome, but my body is still trying to push this girl out at 33 weeks, just like her sister. I'm dilated to 4 cm and 50 percent effaced. Please wish us luck.

What a day.

I was a bundle of nerves today. R woke up at 7 am this morning screaming. She would fill up her lungs, pause all blown up like a balloon, and then scream again to let the air out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Needless to say, I was freaked out. I've seen her upset-- oh yes, this colicky baby has been plenty upset in her 6 months of life-- but I'd never seen her unable to normally exhale like that.

Being a massage therapist, I've taken pathology classes, and my mind was reeling. She was absent of any nasal congestion. Emphysema? Doesn't make sense in a baby, but we had the air vents cleaned yesterday and that surely stirred up lots of dust. Anaphylactic shock? She's started eating solid foods and I've been giving her a small variety (I'm talking 3 here, nothing huge) instead of sticking with just one type of food. I also make her food. Did something bad happen in the production of said food? Oh God, I made her some apple-prune baby food and I used the orange-flavored prunes since I had a ton of them leftover from the pregnancy. Orange-flavored prunes!!!

Yeah, freaking out.

After she calmed down I continued to watch her like a hawk. Is she breathing right? Is she still having problems? Sure enough, she'd breathe normally for a bit and then stop for 3-5 seconds, only to pick back up again with a little gasp. I went back and forth in my mind about taking her to the hospital. I remembered in my childbirth classes that the nurse said to always take your baby straight to the emergency room when it came to respiratory issues. That statement completely agrees with my mindset that, above all else, babies must breathe. Breathing means heartbeat. Breathing means oxygen. Babies must breathe!!! I called Senpai at work and he agreed that the hospital was a good idea.

I flew, throwing together bags of diapers, toys, milk, bottles, and pumping supplies. Anytime I thought, "Oh, they have that at the hospital," I decided not to take the chance and bring whatever it was with me; just because the hospital has diapers/wipes/breast pump/bottles, does not mean that you will get them when you need it, if at all. It was a lot of crap to lug to the car, but I am so glad that I had just about everything I needed when I needed it. The only thing I did not bring was a thermos of hot water to heat up R's milk, and of course the nurse had to give me grief when I asked for a cup of hot water. I can't imagine getting through today if I had depended on the hospital for all of the other things I thought I could get there.

I took her to the emergency room, keeping a sharp ear out for her breaths the whole drive there. The triage nurse put a pulse ox on her toe (Side note-- The last time R had worn a pulse ox was in the NICU, when she weighed from 4 to 6 lbs. They wrapped the pulse ox around her entire foot back then, and today it went just on her big toe! Her big toe!!! My baby has gotten so big! :-D), took her temperature, and listened to her chest. She had no fever, no suspicious chest noises, and, surprisingly, thankfully, her blood oxygen was 100%. All that meant we could sit in the waiting room instead of being rushed back immediately to see the doctor.

Back in a room, the nurse couldn't find anything wrong. She had an attitude about her that rubbed me the wrong way, and I had to firmly impress upon her that no, it's not normal for my baby to stop breathing for any period of time, and yes, she is stopping breathing, if only you'd have the patience to stop talking at me and listen. This is the same nurse that didn't want to give me hot water. Not my favorite person of the day. Anyway, the doctor came in with more patience than the nurse, and she did notice the gaps in R's normal breathing pattern that I was talking about. She couldn't find a reason for the gaps so she sent R to get chest x-rays. The x-rays came out clear of any problems, and the only thing the doctor could think to do at that point was transfer R to Children's Hospital to see if they could find anything wrong.

Let me point out here that after the initial call to Senpai in the morning, my cell phone then decided to stop working. It could act as if it was making and receiving calls, but the call would never actually connect. Instant stressor on top of everything else going on. I'm in the hospital with my baby who isn't breathing properly and I can't call my husband to tell him what's going on, or my friends to ask someone to come help me, or my Mom to summon my inner b*tch (I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 6 years old: whether at doctors' offices, emergency rooms, or even restaurants, my Mom knows all about standing up for your child's health). Though I couldn't make any calls, I was so relieved to still have internet connection on my phone. I typed on the touchscreen keyboard with fury, sending out e-mails like a mad woman. When I mentioned in an e-mail to Senpai that the x-ray technician had equated my description of R's breathing problems to a person drowning, he immediately left work. I got the text from him saying he was on his way. And that was the moment I realized I could text, too. My brain had been too fried to consider it.

I drove R to Children's Hospital in St. Louis, while Senpai went home to gather more resources in case they were needed before meeting up with us there. After another lengthy intake process, the doctor at Children's was very nice in explaining to us that R was perfectly fine. Yes, her breathing was off, but it was nothing dangerous. The doctor said that since R has grown bigger, she doesn't need to breathe quite as frequently as she had before, and her body is in a sort of transition period of figuring out the new pace. Hmmm... I've never heard of such a thing. Have you? Regardless, I had to agree that her breathing had normalized from what it was doing this morning, her vitals were perfect, and all of my concerns over baby food and dusty air had been shot down. I'm still going to keep a close eye on her, and she has an appointment with her pediatrician on Tuesday. For future reference, the doctor clarified that babies need to come to the ER when they stop breathing for any longer than 20 seconds (that is WAY too long in my book), and turn blue.

Spare me any more days like today. What a day.