Traumatic Birth

Having a baby is supposed to be the best day of your life, right? What if I were to share that the day I had my son was one of the worst? That I thought we were both going to die? This is my miracle IVF boy, the one I begged God for and his entry into this world was one of my was worst days. Does that make me a bad mom? Does that make me unworthy to have such a blessing? These questions took me extensive therapy and medications before I found an answer.

It all started on January 5th around 9am. I was assisting moving a patient over from an EMS stretcher to the ER bed. I was 39 weeks and 5 days pregnant going on month 92 of what felt like the longest pregnancy ever. We were moving quickly and not speaking as we knew this was not good. I suddenly felt a warm trickle down the leg of my scrub pant. My water broke! I got new pants and worked until 11 am when more staff came in.

Like any other vain new momma to be, I drove my leaking self to European Wax Center to get a Brazilian. My esthetician was kind enough to pull the strips of wax stuck to my course Italian hair while I was having contractions. Least painful wax ever! I then drove my hair free nether region home to shower, clean my home, walk the dogs and grab my bags.

5 hours later Rob and I arrived at the hospital. Contractions were every 8-10 minutes and oh the back labor was unlike anything I ever felt. They checked my cervix, 3 cm, and did the amino test. Negative. I was told that I probably just peed myself and to go home. Peed myself? I had not peed myself the entire pregnancy. This didn't make sense but concerns were dismissed and we were sent home. It turns out if it's been a bit and you get yourself cleaned up, a slide should be made and sent to the lab for review.

6 hours later I'm writhing. The back labor was beyond intense but I was ashamed that they felt I peed myself. I was going to ride this out. I was scheduled for an induction on 1/6 anyway. I got the call at 4 am on the 6th that a bed was ready. Rob helped me into the car as I could barely move and was already exhausted.

Epidural? No. I did IVF. 76 injections for my miracle. This was going to be natural. Up, down, up, down, hot shower, more up and down. I was miserable. 6 cm. I was 6 cm for hours!!! The midwife was struggling to work the bedside ultrasound machine. I knew the machine well. We used it for traumas at work. I set her up to only hear "yup. There's a baby. He's head down".

It's now 7pm in 1/6. I'm exhausted. The eagles are playing in the playoffs. They won! Ok epidural please.

It's 1 am on 1/7 and my hair free perineum is on fire! It's time! I push 3 times and the top of his little bald head is visible. I push with everything in my being. His head slides in and out of sight. 2 hours of this go back. My heart rate is elevated and I have now turned inside myself for strength. Something is wrong. No one is saying anything but my gut says something is wrong. Anxiety surfaces while I continue to push. Hour 3 and no progress. The midwife is now rushing the student who was helping me. "We have other patients. Hurry her up". I don't have the strength to comment back. I gather all my strength and push. I'm getting hot, my head is pounding, my vision is blurred and voices are incoherent. I'm screaming. Nothing makes sense anymore and I can't breath. "I am going to die. Save my baby" is all I can get out. Rob is beside me. I could hear him and feel his hand but nothing was processing. My mother, who is a respiratory therapist was there. She is struggling to keep the non rebreathing on me.

Hour 4, my mother has now threatened the midwife student with bodily harm if she did not find a physician. I was now febrile at 104, heart rate 180's, blood pressure 70's/40's, and low oxygen levels. I developed sepsis. Erin was the doctor's name. I remembered her being calm but firm. "Prep the OR". We are going now. I was now fighting. My arms were tied down to the OR table. I fight harder. The CRNA was laughing. I was filled with so much hatred towards him. I never felt so vulnerable in my life. I am going to die, I thought and slipped out of consciousness.

I woke up when Dr. Erin was closing me. I begged for my son and to be untied. My precious 8lb6oz 22 inch long boy was held up for me to see and promptly taken to the NICU. I never got to touch him. He had his Eagles hat on. I lost consciousness again.

Several hours later, I stabilized and was transferred to mother baby. They bought my boy to me. As I was looking at the tiny human in my arms, all I could think was "how do I even know if he is mine". I shared this with my nurse and she laughed, stating "because this is the only baby in Pittsburgh wearing an Eagles hat". That answer was sufficient and I began to bond and process what happened.

Later I learned Troy was sunny side up and that his shoulder was stuck. I looked at the abrasions on the back of his head and his right cheek from being stuck and wept. My body failed me again. It hurt my son. I struggled with this for years and this was the start of my postpartum anxiety and depression.

This traumatic experience greatly impacted my pregnancy with Gianna, but that is a story for another day. It took almost 3 years to be able to say out loud "the day my Troy boy was born was one of my worst" and be ok with it. I'm not a bad mom and feeling that way does not mean I don't live my son. It makes me a real person because it is ok to not be ok.