May 9, 2014

Every child is unique. So is every pregnancy. I think, if my second-time pregnant self met my first-time pregnant self she’d want to punch her in the face. Seriously. I had an easy, pleasant first pregnancy and birth. I LOVED being pregnant. I wasn't uncomfortable. I was so excited. First-time pregnant me had a pretty swift, all-natural spontaneous labor and birth, too.

Now meet second-time pregnant me. I knew I was pregnant before any test confirmed it. Something crazy started going on with my skin and I developed an all-over itch. By the time I saw a midwife my itchiness had subsided, so I didn’t give it another thought. I spent my days chasing my toddler and being a nanny. I got sick all the time. I caught every cold and flu that went around from October through February. I was ALWAYS tired. I would stare in the mirror many days and think, “Something is not right.” This wasn't the same. Every doctor visit and ultrasound pointed toward a healthy baby, but this pregnancy was just different.

I don’t easily take medication during pregnancy… not even a Tylenol. I just suck it up. But one morning, early in my third trimester, I found my husband in the kitchen and announced, “I need to call the midwives. I’m itching all over.” My palms and soles itched. My arms and legs itched. I’m not sure how many days had gone by before I noticed how bad it was getting, but when I called it only took a few minutes of questioning before the on-call nurse asked me to come in THAT DAY to have blood drawn to check for a condition called cholestasis. I’ll spare the details. You can Google the term if you’re interested. Let’s just say it came down to reading (and re-reading) that this liver condition can quickly lead to stillbirth near the end of pregnancy. Fetal demise, they called it. Death is death no matter how you fancy up the language.

Blood drawn. Waiting. Positive results. I have cholestasis. Only 1% of pregnant women suffer from this and somehow I’m part of that little group now.

The results of the diagnosis meant weekly visits to a specialist as well as my regular weekly midwife appointments, and a regular regimen of pills (Ursodiol and Evening Primrose Oil), teas, and lotions. Everyone wants to hear the baby’s heartbeat and count his movements. Somebody recommends early induction. I read about that online. It didn't register until someone said it out loud. Really? I have to kick my baby out early? The place I thought was the safest for my little one to grow and develop was becoming more toxic with every passing day. This sucks. Can I buy him any more time? Can I buy more time? Is “more time” worth the risk? Induction. Amniocentesis. Ursodiol. Intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy. Fetal demise. I’m alone while I’m learning all this. Wait, I’m never alone.

Why God?

Of course I asked Him. He allowed me a beautiful, near perfect, first pregnancy and birth. I’d made plans and He had humored me. I got everything I wanted. Now I have to learn to let go. Control. It’s always been an issue with me. He was exposing the idol. Dang it. I hate being wrong. I’m not going to get what I want. Confession. Tears. Repentance. Acceptance.

Induction – sure. Amniocentesis – why not? Sigh.

So, we went out to a really nice dinner before we checked into the hospital. Surreal. “We’re going to have a baby tomorrow,” we calmly told the waitress as I sipped on a glass of wine. At the hospital we checked in. I could actually sign all of the paperwork this time. Last time I was in transition when we arrived and I could barely scribble out my name. Our nurse was nice. I got an IV. I hate IVs. I’d rather go through natural childbirth than have an IV. Not kidding. I can’t relax with a needle in my hand. I look calm. My blood pressure betrays me. Stupid blood pressure. Of course I’m anxious about doing this. I don’t really want to be here. I want him to come on his own. I don’t want to kick him out.

I’m not going to get my way this time.

Resignation. Pitocin. Contractions. Monitoring. No sleep. Netflix. Thank you, God, for Netflix.

I did fall asleep. Everything slowed down. The contractions nearly stopped. My sweet nurse bumped up the Pitocin before her shift ended. I can’t be upset with her. She’s following the protocol we talked about. I’m just disappointed that my body didn’t get the hint and pick things up on its own. No matter.

Walking, walking, walking. I get jealous of the other ladies on the L&D wing that go into labor before me. People hustling in and out of their rooms. When will it be my turn? Guess I’m not good at waiting patiently, either.

Walking, walking, walking (and a little more Pitocin) get things going.

Then suddenly things are really going. I can’t fake the happy smile through the contractions any more. I want to lie down, but I don’t want to risk things slowing down, so I stand up, lean over, roll around on the big green ball… keep moving. I’m not a loud laborer. I breathe. I focus. I don’t scream. Screaming wastes energy.

I get excited when everybody started coming into my room… midwives, nurses, people preparing… I'm next! It's finally my turn! There's a baby coming! MY baby!

I had so much support. It was just as hard as the first time except I recognized all the pains and knew what to do.

My water broke at the last minute. I was thankful for the extra cushion while it lasted.

“Bring that baby down,” Carrie said. Thank you, God, for Carrie.

Slow pushing is better to deliver a head. That sounds funny, but I did it right this time… no tearing.

The best feeling ever is when the kid finally flies out. What. A. Rush.

I am so privileged to have experienced the miracle twice. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to safely do it again, so that makes me all the more grateful for my daughter and… my son.

Introducing Ralph S. Dunlap V

6 lbs 14oz, 19.75 inches of pure awesome

Worth every itch.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
    the fruit of the womb a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
    are the children of one's youth.
Blessed is the man
    who fills his quiver with them!

Psalm 127:3-5