She's Here!

In case you haven't heard the news (which I think everyone has, cause I'm quite late getting this posted), but our little girl arrived!

7 lbs 13 oz - 20 in

Meet Imogene Sasha, born Sunday, March 13th at 7:30 pm. She came fast and furious, and we are so thankful she did!

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The whole week before was a bit of a mess of emotions. On one hand, I was beyond excited that this was it! She's going to be here any time now! But also a lot of confusion and frustration that my body was slowly dilating, but not actually going into labor. I have dreamed of getting to experience the process of going into labor on my own, especially so after going through with an induction with Dellie, but knew each day that I was running out of time. Especially scary was the thought that I may never get the chance again if my attempt at a VBAC failed and I needed another c-section. I felt a little bit like a ticking bomb which may or may not actually go off.

Looking back now, it's amazing how God wanted to walk me all the way to end of my own rope and then let me fall for a bit before catching me. It's like He knew I needed to let go (once again) of all my hopes and expectations and dreams for this child and when and how she would be born before He would step in and do His thing.

And once I got to that place, boy did He.

The funny thing is, I have friends who were walking through almost the same situation as us at the same time - waiting for God to pull through and let them have a VBAC. And God did, literally 2 hours before they were scheduled for their c-section. It was incredible! Amazing! God is so wonderful in His timing!

And there was no way He would do the exact same thing for me. My heart thought I knew Him well enough to know He wouldn't perform the same miracle for me, for this baby, for my family.

So I tried and tried for days to make things happen on my own - and the funny thing was, each attempt at starting labor almost had the opposite effect of slowing down or stopping contractions.

Until I came to the end of my rope. And gave up, and let go, waiting to hit bottom. I believed that I was a bomb that would never go off, not without help. I would always need the medical community in order to get my babies out of my body, I was going to have to start labor Sunday night by having my water broken, and hopefully heaven would be kind and it would work. But even then, I believed ultimately that I was eventually going to be staring another c-section in the face.

But God, oh that son of a gun! - He performed the exact same miracle for me. 5 hours before I was scheduled to come in to the hospital for that last ditch induction, the contractions finally stuck (although they weren't painful). 3 hours before I was scheduled to come in, I found myself crying from both the pain of each contraction and the overwhelming fear this wasn't actually labor (which it was). and 30 minutes before I was scheduled to come in, our little girl was born. An incredibly fast, mostly uneventful, very successful VBAC. Everything I had dreamed of experiencing happened. Not a detail was missing.

In so many ways, I'm still in shock.

God used the birth of my first to break down so many lies and ugly areas of my life and to begin a journey of getting to know who He is in the midst of broken dreams and suffering; He used the birth of my second to remind me that He still is the Miracle Maker, the one who binds up my broken heart, who cares about my dreams and wants to give me, His child good things.

I feel like in so many ways this journey is complete. I know there are a lot of loose ends to tie up, but after four long years of battling through how God fits in a broken world, He has finally taken me to end. I am done struggling with my c-section. My scar seems to have faded even more over these last two weeks. I am done facing down secondary infertility (although I may see it come again). Who know's what will come next, but this day, I build my altar.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail." 

Lamentations 3:22

My C-Section Story - Part 2

Before I get started again, I want to say that yes! there is a part one, right here.  If you haven't read it yet, you might want to.  It will probably explain a few things.

And also, a disclaimer: this is still part of a written birth story account, so once again, some of it is probably not suitable for all audiences. You still have the option to watch this hilarious video.

I have no intention of scaring anyone with my story. I simply want to share my story for three reasons: one, to get it out of my head and down permanently. Two, I want to have the memories recorded before I forget any more.  Third, I hope that somehow I can encourage some one else through my story so that they may not feel so alone.

While going through the physical and emotional healing process of my c-section was very hard for me, I am thankful that they do exist.  And while it is easy for me to wonder if I could have done things differently and avoided having one, reality is that I made the best choices at the time with the information I was given. Ultimately, I know that no one was at fault - my c-section was simply a part of living in a broken world. 

When I met my daughter for the first time, she was still swollen, although not as badly as at first.  Josh made sure to show me pictures of how bad it initially was.  I was afraid that I had cursed my child with an ugly face.  Thankfully within a day the swelling was down and she actually turned into a very adorable newborn.

The first nursing session went well [in large part due to the fact that she had to wait two hours for food], and she was in perfect health.  I was so happy to be done and amazed that I had survived "it" - a c-section.

I still couldn't move from the waist down, and in no time at all the post-surgery shakes hit me [if you haven't experienced this, it is something else.  I was so cold, even with 3 heated blankets over me, and I shook uncontrollably and visibly for I don't know how long].

I think a little after 5 p.m. we finally got the green flag and moved up to the mother-baby unit.  I remember the nurse coming in, introducing herself, and telling me a bunch about the IV pain meds that I couldn't really track with.  She put pressure cuffs around my calves and told me to get some rest. The cuffs would go off randomly, one leg and then the next, working to prevent blood clots from forming. Each time they would go off, I would get jolted out of my half-stunned state. Getting any rest with those on was a joke.

I remember my parents finally coming in to their new granddaughter.  Details evade me.  I don't know if I actually ate any dinner or not.

I remember a talk at one point from the nurse about the breast pump.  I didn't realize that using it was optional - so I used it regularly to pump nothing out.

I remember realizing at one point that I had soaked through the pads I was wearing in my mesh "underwear" and being embarrassed to have the nurse roll my still-paralyzed body around on the bed while she cleaned up after me.

I remember the night nurse coming in and deciding for some reason that my baby wasn't nursing well.  She had me pump, then fed the little bit of colostrum to my baby through a syringe. Looking back now, I wish I could remember her reasons for doing that.

I remember the first time I got up to walk, once I finally felt my feet again.  The ache in my abdomen was awful.  I don't care what they say about making sure you stand up straight after a c-section - there was no way I was going to be able to stand upright for while.

I remember hobbling around the room in the wee hours of the morning with a crying baby I couldn't soothe, crying myself, with my exhausted husband sleeping through all of it on the chair-bed in the corner. I felt too guilty to wake him up [it had been a very long two days for him as well], but at the same time furious that he could sleep through her cries while I couldn't.

I remember the surgeon coming in at 6 a.m. to check my incision.  He had trouble looking me in the face, and barely took a peek at his handy work.

I remember that I started struggling with breastfeeding because the pain of latching was intense.  I remember my nipples were raw and bleeding, having the lactation consultant come in twice, and again, the night nurse deciding to syringe feed my baby at 3 a.m.

I remember that eating food was surprisingly easy to do after surgery. I remember showering was surprisingly mortifying. Measuring my pee output was particularly mortifying as well.

I remember pulling off the stickies over my incision and expecting my incision site to burst open.  It didn't.  I remember how messy post-delivery was.  I felt like I was getting blood everywhere.

I remember confusion the second night over the class I needed to attend before being allowed discharge.  The first nurse told me I could stay in the room and sleep - my husband could go in my place because I was a c-section patient.  Five minutes later, the head nurse and teacher of the course came storming in my room, telling me I was late for class and "what on earth was I thinking?"  I remember spending the entire hour of the class falling asleep in my chair, over and over.  I have no memory of anything she told us that night.

I remember the excitement of hearing "discharge" the next morning.  I was lucky to be getting out so early with a c-section, but apparently I was doing "exceptionally well." I remember the nurse that day was my favorite, and she actually knew what she was talking about and was actually really helpful with explaining meds and breastfeeding.

I remember the surgeon coming back in again during discharge, this time to give me a prescription of birth control, telling me that taking it sooner than the 8 week recommended wait was a good idea - I didn't want to accidentally get pregnant again too soon.  I remember a part of me was pretty miffed that he assumed I was that dumb.

I remember carefully dressing my baby up, afraid of breaking her fingers through the sleeves, and of getting her strapped into her carseat 30 minutes too soon.  I remember seeing my swollen belly, swollen feet, and realizing that it was going to be some time before I felt normal again.  This realization made me incredibly sad.

I remember getting the option to walk out of the hospital instead of going in a wheelchair because I was doing so well post-operation.  I decided to slowly hobble my way out, so I could proudly show each person I passed that I was a big, brave, new mama. I survived the worst, and I was walking out on my own.

I remember waiting for Josh to bring the car around to the front of the hospital and thinking how momentous today was for only me, and no one else outside would ever understand this moment like I would.

There are a book's worth of memories about the first couple months of Kiddo's life [breastfeeding! sleeping! not sleeping! doctor's visits! and a hospital stay!], and to add to it, I had this scar.  It would never go away, no matter how much it may fade.  Forever until death it would affect my life - a detail I would have to note in every medical form, a line I would always be able to feel on my skin, a distinct part of my life's story. It's been a long process coming to terms with what my c-section means now.

I learned that at the end of the pregnancy road comes not the experience of birth, but a baby. When I was pregnant, I was so wrapped up in the details of the experience of birthing my first child that when it didn't happen the way I wanted, I was crushed. This isn't to say that I didn't want the baby at the end [I very much wanted her], but I think I didn't have my priorities straight.

I've also begun to understand a tiny bit better what earthly suffering is about, and where God fits into all of it. I don't know if God made me have a c-section for some specific reason - in fact, I wonder if there really is no reason at all for it. It may be that I simply live in a fallen world, and therefore experienced the natural consequences of the original sin.  But I've decided I'm not going to look for answers from God.  I'm going to look for a chance to give my hurting heart, tight throat, and tears to Him each time they surface. And so far, He has blessed my efforts to do so.  For that, I am grateful.

My C-Section Story - Part 1

First things first - there is stuff written in here that is probably not suitable for all audiences, being that it is a written birth story account.  If you would rather not know that kind of information about me, then its probably best to head over here and watch this hilarious video.

I have no intention of scaring anyone with my story. I simply want to share my story for three reasons: one, to get it out of my head and down permanently.  I hope through this I will be able to sleep better at night.  Two, I want to have the memories recorded before I forget any more.  Third, I hope that somehow I can encourage some one else through my story so that they may not feel so alone.

While going through the physical and emotional healing process of my c-section was very hard for me, I am thankful that they do exist.  And while it is easy for me to wonder if I could have done things differently and avoided having one, reality is that I made the best choices at the time with the information I was given.  Ultimately, I know that no one was at fault - my c-section was simply a part of living in a broken world. 

Science says that women forget the pain of labor after the fact [so that they will be willing to go through with giving birth again], but I'm pretty sure I remember it well enough.  Well enough that I don't ever, ever, ever want to go through induced labor again. Good news, I won't ever have that pleasure again, because any doctor with any sense will never let me attempt a VBAC through induction. So that simplifies things. But there are things I remember pretty well.

I remember that I started dilating at 36 weeks.  About 1 cm each week, each week hearing the same thing from the midwife: "it's no guarantee, but I wouldn't be surprised if you had your baby this week."  By 41 weeks, I was 4 cm dilated [and 75% effaced, if you care to know]. My "latent labor," or early labor, lasted for over a month.

So what was the deal? The contractions never stuck. They would come and go, getting worse if I walked or did any of the other "labor inducers," but within an hour or two, they would always quit.

I remember the most discouraging time happened three or four days after my due date, when I really thought it was time.  We went for a walk and timed contractions the whole time - every minute, hard and fast.  We had dinner plans and decided to go ahead with dinner and see if the contractions would keep up, honestly hoping we would be going straight from the restaurant to the hopsital.  I remember as soon as I sat down in the car, the contractions stopped.  I was crushed all through dinner and for the rest of the night.

I remember scheduling an induction "just in case" during my 39 week appointment.  I really never thought I would be needing it.  But at my 41 week appointment, I remember just being so ready to be done and have my little girl out that induction actually sounded like a great idea.  I felt that suffering through an induced labor was going to be so noble.

I remember the day of induction, I called right at 7 a.m. to see if labor and delivery were ready for me.  They were not.  We went to the hospital for a routine stress test a couple hours later, and while we were there we stopped by labor and delivery to see if they were ready yet.  They said maybe, but to come back in an hour.  I remember eating Subway in the cafeteria, thinking this might be my last meal. We went back up, and asked again. Again, their answer was no.

I don't remember what my last meal before motherhood was, but I remember spending it that night with my parents, husband, and friends [who were moving the next morning].  I remember getting the phone call at 7 p.m. from labor and delivery. They were finally ready for me, but I needed to be there soon.  My friend, a mother herself, told me to go take a shower - now.  I would be glad I had done it by the time my daughter was born.  I remember hugging her tightly, realizing I would probably never see her again.  I would have to have my child before 10 a.m. the next day in order for them to see us again.  I prayed that I would have my baby before then.  I thought I could - I was 4 cm dilated, after all.

I remember going to the hospital and getting admitted.  I remember the nurse talking with us about how induction would work, and her writing down Adelle's name on the board.  I think at that moment, the reality of what I was about to do really hit me.  That name was going to be my child soon.

I remember telling the nurse that I had intended on having a natural birth when I gave then my birthing plan, and she asked me if I really wanted to do an induction - I didn't have to go through with it tonight. I was so shocked that I froze for a second.  I remember almost saying, "actually, I want to go back home."  But I didn't.  I had geared myself up for two days for this induction, and I just needed to get this over with and get my baby girl in my arms.

I remember getting set up for induction [IV meds, continuous fetal monitoring, blood pressure cuff] and then being told that they were going to start the pitocin slowly.  "Get some sleep."  It was 10 p.m. at this point. I was so excited I couldn't sleep for another hour.  Within two hours, I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.  The contractions would wake me up every 5 minutes, on the dot.

I remember being good about going pee every couple of hours [thank you, IV meds], and having to unstrap the blood pressure cuff, unplug the fetal monitors from the machine, and drag the IV bag all the way to the bathroom and back.  I remember fumbling with all the tubes and trying to keep my IV site dry while I washed my hands.  I remember thinking how ridiculous this whole thing was, and how badly I wished I didn't need all of it.

I remember waking Josh up around 3 in the morning because i couldn't sleep anymore. We watched the only good thing on tv for a little while in the rocking chair - I Love Lucy.

I remember being told that there were birthing balls and other helpful apparatuses in the locked closet in our room.  I remember wishing they didn't lock the closet.  I didn't want to call a nurse just to unlock the closet for me.  Because of that, I never used a birthing ball, or anything else, really.  I wish now that I had.

I remember that morning came, and contractions were intense, but manageable.  The midwife on call came in and told me that I was ready to have my water broken.  I went ahead with it.  As soon as my water broke, the pain became unbearable.  I remember thinking that standing up and walking would help the pain.  I remember the nurse's face when I told her I wanted to walk around the room.  She gave me a dirty look and told me to wait until she could put and absorbant pad down on the floor.  She gave me a 2x3 foot space to walk in.

I lasted one more contraction standing up, then begged for IV pain meds. I felt like such a failure, but I felt so out of control each time the pain hit.  I would panic, wanting to make it go away, and having no idea what to do.

I remember realizing that all the pain meds would do would make me black out between contractions.  I remember coming back into consciousness with each contraction, counting the seconds until the pain would go away.

I remember, during one contraction, physically trying to move myself away from the source of the pain, and realizing it was in me; I was stuck with it. At that point, I knew I had to figure out how to make it through these contractions.  The only way I could was by yelling.

The nurse at one point told me I was probably having back labor - my baby was facing sunny-side up.  She said they could inject my lower spine with saline to try and get her to turn around.  They didn't know why it worked, but it usually did the trick.

It didn't work for me.

I remember the nurse or midwife [who specifically, I don't know] telling me that I was close, and to let them know when I starting feeling the urge to push.  As soon as she was done talking, I felt it.

Time stopped when I started pushing. And the harder I pushed, the less pain I felt.  It was amazing.

I remember being told that she was crowning.  Then being told that her hand was covering her face, like she was shielding her eyes from the light.  They pushed her hand back down repeatedly, but she would get it back up there each time.

I remember trying my hardest, trying to get her to come out, rotating side to side, pushing from evey position I could manage.  Nothing worked. At one of the most discouraging moments, I remember looking at my thighs, while pushing, and thinking how fat and ugly they were.

I remember being told that it had been over two hours.  I could keep going as long as I wanted, but in the interest of my safety and the safety of my baby, would I consider a c-section at this point?  I was exhausted. Pushing was getting so futile.  I said yes.

The midwife said I could keep pushing until I left the room for surgery.

It took another hour of last ditch efforts and signing papers before they started wheeling me out.  I remember the OB who did my surgery was horrified whenever he watched me push inbetween signing papers. I remember that all the nurses watched me as I was wheeled down the hall.  I realized that, to them, I was that poor girl who had been screaming all morning.  I remember giving them one last yell down the hall because I had forgotten how much the contractions hurt now that I couldn't push anymore.

I remember getting into surgery and being told by the anesthesiologist that the spinal injection was going to hurt, but not to move if I could help it.  I didn't feel it go in.  The anesthesiologist later told me he'd never seen anyone take that injection so well.  I didn't tell him it was because the contraction I was in the middle of masked the pain.  I remember that I didn't feel another contraction again. I was so thankful. I remember my feet burning up from the anesthesia, and seeing them jab my legs and not feeling a thing.

I remember them strapping my arms down, and realizing that I wasn't going to get to hold my baby after she would be born.  I think that hurt more than anything else I experienced that day.  I remember Josh finally coming in after what felt like forever, looking concerned and worried.

I remember feeling the surgeon open me up and pull out my baby - I think he even lifted my rear off the table at one point. It felt like someone was aggressively rifling through a fanny pack I was wearing tightly around my waist.  I remember waiting the infinite seconds for her to cry - "it's a girl!" - and then, over the intercom, Twinkle Twinkle played.  The hospital played that song to announce that a baby - my baby - had been born, via c-section, her life saved from otherwise probable death.  I bawled every time I heard that song for months.

I remember waiting another infinity while they checked her vitals.  I couldn't see any of it, because it was all done behind the blue curtain.  I don't know if I could have seen it anyway through the tears.

I remember the first time I saw her.  The poor child had spent three hours pushed against my pelvis, and her face was swollen.

I remember her leaving with Josh, then staring at the ceiling for the last infinity I would experience that day.  I remember the anesthesiologist talking to me, wiping my tears, telling me nice and heroic things. I remember losing consiousness repeatedly, whether from the drugs or sheer exhaustion I don't know.

And then, after 11 hours of labor, 3 hours of pushing, 1 hour of surgery, and almost 2 hours of being sewn up, I met my daughter. And she was worth each moment of the last 48 hours of my life.

Head over here for part two of my story.

The Blogger Connection

So...

I mentioned that I had a c-section a couple times in this blog.  [No, I'm not going to post my story. Yet. I am going to at some point soon, though.]  It's been a really hard struggle for me.

I got lucky - no, God was kind - and I ran across the blog, Walking With Dancers, while I was in the midst of a really down point.  Lydia [said blogger] has a c-section story that I feel like is so close to mine, and has blogged openly about her journey through dealing with her c-section and through a successful VBAC.  Much of what she has written has been things I have really been able to relate with, and have been instrumental in my beginning process of healing emotionally from my own c-section.  [Part of that is going to be writing out my story, as honest as possible. Which I keep saying is going to happen, because I'm scared enough of chickening out that I'm promising multiple times to make sure it actually happens!]

So I was super excited when she posted that she is going to do a c-section recovery project on her blog!  She is asking for ladies who have had a c-section, or who knows someone closely whose had a c-section, to help her out with a project by answering a bunch of questions.

Here's why it's so exciting for me - Lydia's blog is the only blog/website I have run across is my search for help that has approached her journey spiritually.  While this survey isn't only for c-section mamas of the Christian persuasion, it does have elements to it that I truly believe are going to be awesome.

So, if you an relate, and have some time to answer some survey questions, head over to her blog!

Resolution Update: Two And A Half Months In

You may remember that for my new year's resolution I told the world I was going to pray more.  Well, I think I can safely say this is the first resolution I have ever stuck to for this long.

I am praying a lot, about a lot.

It's turning out to be a good thing.

I'm not necessarily seeing a whole lot of obvious improvement in my personal life, but I am seeing that there are areas in my heart that have been successfully primed, so to speak, for change.  I'm really happy to be noticing it, because I am ready for some heart change.

I'm ready because things for me have been rough over the last few months.  Something about moving to Arizona has really hit a lot of core issues that I've been struggling through.  I hit a breaking point at the end of last year where I was done being discouraged.  I realized that all the stuff I was trying to do by myself just wasn't working.  So when I decided to start praying more consistently, it was because praying was the only thing I figured had a chance at getting me to a better place.  I was sucking at it, and so it was apparently God's turn to give it a whirl.  [If I had actually been doing this right, I think I wouldn't have waited so long before finally letting God do his magic].

Enough with the vague-ness, though.  I've been praying a lot for my heart to change, specifically in these areas:

Our finances: I hate our financial situation right now.  I hate being on a student budget; I hate being poor.  I am so scared of running out of our savings too quickly, so I start to panic and go into "don't spend money on anything except for groceries."  All that happens is that I overspend on groceries.

I finally started really crying out to God about my feelings towards money over the last couple weeks.  While not much has changed in one sense, in another sense I have gotten a pretty clear answer: to be patient.  Panicking about money is not going to change a thing. Desperately seeking out pitiful ways to either spend less or start making more is not going to change a thing.  At this point, I am trying to firmly hold fast to the truth that God cares about our finances, desires for our family to be provided for, and has the means to do it, if He so chooses.

The second area is in Babies: This may seem like a precursor to the "little pink plus sign" post.  It's not.  Rather, this is a potential precursor to me maybe, possibly, finally, sharing publicly my struggle with having had a c-section.  Long story short, it's been really, really hard.  I am scared of having to have another c-section.  I am frustrated because, after doing hours and hours of research and talking with my doctor about it, I have found that there is nothing I can do to increase my chances of having a successful VBAC if/when I get pregnant again.

This is an area of my life I have no choice to but trust that God is going to do more than just allow things to happen - I have to believe that he desires to intimately orchestrate my future in child-bearing. I have to believe that He desires to give me good things, and I have to trust that whatever outcome may happen is what God knows is a good thing for me.

Whew, that was hard to write out.

The hubs and I have also decided to pray, together, regularly, for God to let us know when would be a good time to start having more kiddos. There is never a perfect time for a child, but our circumstances right now are less than ideal for expanding our family.  But we also have little desire to wait for another 5 years.  So instead of researching and panicking and talking and talking and arguing and talking some more, we have decided to just give this decision up to God. At this point, the answer, again, is to be patient.

So that's where things stand in this whole praying about everything.  God wants me to be patient.  And you know what?  I'm actually quite peaceful with his answer.  It takes the pressure off of me to decide and hope I'm doing the right thing, and puts me in a place of trust in his perfect love for me and desires to give me good things.

If you've made all the way through this post, thanks for sticking with me.  I appreciate you taking the time to read through some more personal things about me.  I hope that in some way, this encourages you in any struggles you're facing - you're not alone, even if you aren't struggling with the same things I'm struggling with.

How's your new year's resolution going so far?