Jude's Birth Story

Disclaimer: This post has pictures of Jude's birth, so sorry if that grosses you out. Just think--it's my guts strewn about, not yours. :)

I squeezed my eyes closed as light was cast on the floor and my nurse crept into my room. Not ready to put on my smile for the day or make conversation, I kept my eyes closed and kept my breathing deliberate and rhythmic. The nurse carefully checked my temperature, made her notes in the computer, and left the room as silently as she had entered.

I stretched, opened my eyes, and peered at the white board on the wall to orient myself to the day. In the last two weeks, this board had kept me sane and organized as my days on bed rest seemed to be eternal and running together. It was February 18 and in two days, I would reach my goal of being 25 weeks pregnant.

I never thought 25 weeks would be such a milestone. I had hoped that I, like almost every other woman would fly by this week and start complaining about back pain and hemorrhoids.

As I removed my SCD's and rubbed my calves, I felt Jude do a somersault inside me, seeming to say good morning, Mom. I smiled and rubbed my belly appreciatively. Since my water had broken two weeks ago, his movements had become less frequent, and, consequently more cherished.

I stood and stretched my sore, bed ridden muscles, relishing in a change of position and the chance to get out of bed. I made my way to the bathroom and got myself ready for the day. By ready, I mean, I changed into new PJ's, ran a comb through my hair, and put my contacts in.

The morning went on as it had the last two weeks: breakfast, nurse's assessment, non-stress test for Jude, and me trying to put together some random puzzle whilst watching an HGTV re-run.

Things started to change as my lunch arrived. As I ate, I felt chills run over my skin followed by feeling a bit warm. Trying to brush it off as the thermostat being skewed, I tried to put it out of my mind. I felt a rush of chills again and had the clear thought to check my temperature.

While I had been on bed rest, the three things I was monitored most closely for were my temperature, (a fever could indicate an infection in the uterus--super common as there is no amniotic fluid to buffer bacteria from the vagina) fetal well being, (non-stress tests) and contractions or pre-term labor.

I dreaded taking my temperature, but did it anyway. 38.6 degrees celsius. A fever.

I checked the other ear. 38.8 degrees. Damn. Tears started to well up in my eyes as I called my nurse.

She verified that I did have a fever and gave my doctor a call. I wasn't having contractions, but the fact I had a fever meant there was probably an infection somewhere. Blood was drawn and my white count was only up slightly, not enough to be overly concerned over.

I was told we were going to watch and wait.

I checked my temperature every half hour until my nurse took the thermometer away, stating stressing out about it wasn't going to help anything. Heaven bless that woman.

A few hours later, the fever hadn't relented and I was questioned about possible illness like a sore throat, ear ache, etc. Wanting it to be anything but an infection in my uterus, I thought very hard and almost made myself believe I had a sniffle. But I didn't. I felt perfectly well.

Since there wasn't an obvious illness factor involved with my fever, I was sent to Maternal Fetal Medicine to have an ultrasound and possibly an amniocentesis if they could find a pocket of fluid big enough to get a sample. By testing the fluid, they would know for sure if the uterus was infected.

We saw little Jude on ultrasound and while he had been making amniotic fluid, there weren't any pockets big enough or safe enough to draw from. I braced myself as the doctor wiped the gel from my little belly and took a long breath in.

She looked at me and carefully phrased her words. "Given your symptoms and the fact that the baby's heart rate has been elevated the last few hours, I think it is best if you are induced and deliver as soon as possible."

I started to cry, thinking of how far we had come and how much longer I wanted to be pregnant and give Jude the best chance possible. I felt so unprepared and scared about having a baby, let alone a pre-term one. I had no idea how to push. I had no birth plan. I had no desire to put myself or my baby through this.

The doctor sympathetically handed me a box of tissues and delivered some good news. Jude was head down, ready to go and if my cervix was on board, a vaginal birth would be possible and the safest route for both of us. She recommended I get my cervix checked and try an induction if I was progressing. If my cervix was stone cold, we would do a cesarean section which also came with it's risks.

We were told that sometimes this early in pregnancy, the lower uterine segment can be underdeveloped, forcing a vertical cut to get the baby out rather than the traditional low transverse incision. Risk of internal hemorrhage is increased heavily in these situations, making it risky for the mother.

Our conversation concluded, and for the millionth time, a doctor told me she was sorry and wished me the best of luck.

I was wheeled back to my room and greeted by a few nurses ready to get the induction process underway. My identity was stripped as I traded my comfy PJ's for an oversized hospital gown. The nurse started an IV and hung my arch enemy, Mag Sulfate (used for neuro protection in preemies). Wanting to infuse as much of it as possible before Jude was born, she opened the clamp, letting it flow quickly into my body. Within seconds, I was vomiting violently and having the hot flashes of a menopausal woman.

Only the thoughts of the medicine helping my baby kept me from reaching over and clamping the line.

Luckily, the bolus ended in a few minutes and the maintenance dose was much easier to manage. In the meantime, my cervix was checked and found to be almost completely effaced and dilated to 1.5 cm. Since Jude was so small, I was told I wouldn't need to reach full dilation of 10 cm to deliver him. I was pretty excited about that and prayed to keep progressing.

The same specialists and doctors who had seen me weeks ago rallied to my bedside and explained and answered questions. The two weeks I had been on bed rest had made the difference for Jude to be viable--meaning his chances of survival were much greater. One of my friends who was the charge nurse in the NICU for the night came over and assured me they were ready and prepared for our baby.

I was grateful to know Jude would be cared for by my amazing, brilliant friends. I knew he would be well taken care of.

With my cervix seeming to cooperate, they added Pitocin to the mix of drugs hanging on my IV pole. At one time, I had counted six pumps delivering antibiotics and a whole slew of medications to help Jude and me.

A few hours later, I started having contractions that were sporadic and not too painful. My nurse checked me and said I was about 2.5 cm dilated. As her glove came into view I notices it looked extremely bloody. She said it was normal to have this happen and we would monitor it.

As labor progressed, I opted for an epidural for a couple of reasons. First, labor sucks and why anyone does it naturally when there are perfectly good drugs out there is beyond me. I was having pain like I never had known and it was simply exhausting. Second, I had the thought that if I needed to have a cesarean section, it could be emergent and I didn't want to have general sedation and not remember my son being born.

So, the anesethesiologist arrived a few minutes later and I could have kissed him. I tried to stop shaking and hold my body still as he prepped my back and gave me a shot to numb the area. I curled up in a c on my side  and closed my eyes as the needle was inserted, expecting it to hurt a lot more than it did. (It really wasn't bad, ladies. Don't let a fear of needles deter you from the goods). Ben held my hand and his presence alone made me feel better.

The relief from the medicine was almost immediate and so was the drop in my blood pressure. Low blood pressure is a common side effect of epidurals, so I didn't worry at first. The nurse opened my IV fluid, letting it run to combat the low blood pressure.

I suddenly felt very tired and my eyelids seemed to be made of cement. I asked the nurse if I could sleep and she encouraged me to do just that. A few minutes later, the alarms dinged loudly, signaling my blood pressure had dropped even more.

I heard my nurse talking, but didn't understand what she had said or if she was talking to me.  I was so tired. I felt so weak and tried unsuccessfully, to open my eyes. I hear Ben say something like "why is she so gray? Is this normal? She can't even talk."

The anesethiologist appeared seconds later with some medicine to reverse some of the effects from the epidural. As the medicine was infused, I began to perk up and feel a little more normal. Since the medicine reversed some of the epidural, I began to feel contractions again.

With each contraction, I felt gushes of blood trickle out. I was checked and had only progressed to 3 cm. Minutes later, my epidural was turned on again at a lower dose, but and I found myself one again, fighting to stay conscious.

I tried to concentrate on Jude's steady heartbeat in the background to stay awake. I began to notice it would dip pretty low during contractions (decelerate) and I would break the trance I was in, reposition myself and try to help his rate go back up, moving the monitors around and rubbing my belly. I would then unwillingly let the medicine take over and slip away when his heart would pick back up.

I felt so tired, I wasn't sure I would be able to make it through labor awake, let alone have the stamina to push to get Jude out.

The trial of finding the right dose on the epidural continued to be a challenge and I remember the nurse sitting close to my bed, eyes on the monitor with one hand holding mine to check my pulse and the other on the lever to put the bed down for CPR. I battled so hard to stay awake and begged for more fluid though my IV or a smaller dose on the epidural, but with all the medications I was getting, the changes that could be safely made were minimal.

They turned down the epidural even more, calling me a "light weight" and I could finally open my eyes, feeling the energy I had longed for all night.

Jude continued to decel with contractions despite my repositioning and taking breaks from the Pitocin. Because the Pitocin had been on and off, I wasn't progressing as quickly and seemed stuck at only 3 cm. My bleeding had increased and I wondered if the placenta had abrupted (fallen off the uterine wall).

My doctor came in and we discussed our options. Jude wasn't handling labor well (who could blame him being 15 weeks early) and I wasn't progressing quickly enough. Due to the infection, the quicker he could come, the better. We didn't want him to expend all his energy during labor and be worn out when he was born and would really need to start fighting.

The best option to keep Jude alive and healthy was a c-section delivery. I immediately knew this was the best option and felt peace about this decision.

Did I want to have a c-section? No. But nothing about this was how I envisioned or wanted it. Early in my pregnancy, I thought I had prepared for the "worst"--passing my due date, having to be induced etc. Nothing could have prepared me for this emotional and physical roller coaster.

Minutes after we decided to do the c-section, Jude started to show off, handling contractions well and having a steady heart rate. My cervix started to show off too, dilating to almost 4 cm. It seemed that things were going better, and we were given the option to wait and try to have him vaginally.

A clear, resounding "no" escaped both Ben mine's mouths almost in unison. We didn't want to risk anything. It was time to meet our son and be parents. We decided to go ahead with the c-section.

This had all happened so fast and while I understood it was time, I couldn't help but feel like I had been robbed. I hadn't had a normal, full term pregnancy. I didn't have stretch marks. Hell, in that gown, I didn't even look pregnant. I never got a baby shower or the chance to wear maternity clothes. I hadn't finished reading Jude all the books I had wanted to before he was born.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind for the moment and focused on what was about to happen.

The room started to spin with nurses and doctors preparing me for surgery. Ben donned a bunny suit and cap to wear during the delivery and my epidural was dosed to the max on the way to the operating room.

I heard heavy doors being opened and the wheels on my bed squeak around corners. I felt the chilly temperature of the OR and heard packages of sterile tools being opened and plopped on trays.

My bed was wheeled next to the table and my attempts to move my legs was futile. I was so numb I felt like each of my legs weighed 600 pounds. I felt pins and needles in my legs and feet as I was transferred to the table by the nurses.

I was strapped to the table and my gown peeled up almost to my neck. I laid alone and almost completely naked on that lonely, cold table. I seemed to be forgotten as the doctors and techs gowned and prepared for the procedure.

As my little abdomen was cleaned and draped, one of the doctors pointed out Jude's movement that was obvious through my skin as he kicked and moved about. I looked down at the little moving mound on my abdomen and was suddenly very excited to see the little boy who was in there.

I looked to the resuscitation room and wished I could be on the other side of the glass where I'm most comfortable. I immediately felt calm as I saw the room filled with nurses, respiratory therapists, and the doctor. All there for my boy. To save his life.

A sheet was hung in front of me and the thin blue material felt more like a brick wall than paper. I closed my eyes and Ben stroked my hair, whispered calming, sweet words as the doctors started opening my skin.

I was told pressure was normal, but any pain was not. I felt a slight tugging and smelled burning flesh as the cauterizer opened my abdomen. Ben continued to hold my hand, but stood up and peered above the curtain, explaining what was happening.

The pressure increased and made me lose my breath as my skin was stretched to its limit. One of the doctor's told me my lower uterine segment looked good and they were able to do the traditional transverse cut on my uterus.

Ben squeezed my hand hard as hands plunged deep into my abdomen and brought out the sac that held our son. The doctor asked for scissors and the sac was cut to free Jude from inside. As soon as the cut was made, Jude's head appeared and Ben exclaimed, "He's almost here, Whit!"

Jude was eased out of the sac and laid on my legs as the cord was cut. One of the doctor's said, "Where were you putting him, Whitney? He's a good size!"

I cried with relief. The uncomfortable ripping, tugging, stretching and waiting was over and my son was born. Ben looked at me teary eyed and said, "He's here. And so, so small. But he's here, Whitney."

I heard a voice to the left of me and was shocked to catch a glimpse of Jude. Usually, babies are taken directly to the resuscitation room, but by looking at him, I knew he was well enough to say hello for a few seconds.

He looked beautiful and looked so strong. He was kicking and his face was scrunched up as he tried to cry. He was taken all too quickly to the resuscitation room to be evaluated, but I was so grateful I was able to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben looked torn as he glanced back and forth between me and the baby. He squeezed my arm and tearfully muttered, "good job, babe" before following Jude into the other room.

Jude broke the scale at one pound twelve ounces and was 13.5 inches long. He received Apgars of 5, 6 and 9 meaning he was taking some of his own breaths, grimacing, had a steady heart rate, and good color and tone.  He was intubated to assist in him in breathing easier. I felt like he was a million miles away as I waited apprehensively from the OR table.

The doctors started the process of stitching me back together and confirmed the fact the my placenta had partially abrupted. The timing of Jude's birth was miraculous--if he had stayed in any longer, his course would have been much more complicated.

The repair seemed to take forever and it didn't help that I got nauseated and retched all over myself and the OR floor. The anesethesiologist gave me some medicine through my IV and I closed my eyes, willing myself to not be sick.

As the doctor's finished, I was heaved back to a bed and taken to recover in labor and delivery. My body was piled with warm blankets as I started to shake uncontrollably; not knowing if I was cold or in shock, I welcomed the cozy hut that was built around me, only leaving my face exposed.

My sister and aunt gathered around my bedside and were vigilant angels in keeping me comfortable and the ice chips coming.

I really liked the nurse who had taken care of me, that is, until she mashed on the uterus and checked my bleeding. She told me she was sorry as tears stung my eyes and a grimaced covered my face. I quickly forgave her as she brought me more nausea medicine and pain pills.

After I was cleaned up and comfortable, I was wheeled to the NICU to see Jude. This would technically be the second time I would see him, but I was nervous for some reason.  As they wheeled my bed next to his isolette, I went into nurse mode, not ready to face this as a mom just yet. I sanitized my hands, donned gloves and slid my hands through the port holes to touch the baby.

His vital signs were good, lines had been placed in his umbilicus, the oscillator was helping him breath, and he seemed calm and stable. I tried to force the nurse in me out and look at Jude like his mom, but it was too hard. If I looked at him like a mom, I would see a tiny, helpless one pound baby hooked to too many machines and wires and tubes coming and leaving every part of his body. If I looked at him like a nurse, I would see a 24 weeker who was a great size, had amazing blood pressure, and looked extremely stable.

Yes, it was much easier to see him as a nurse for the time being. The idea of being a mother to a baby this premature was daunting, the road ahead too full of twists and turns and highs and lows to comprehend. I finally understood the scared, almost horrified look I had seen on the faces of mother's in my situation--almost scared to love the baby whose life was was a terrifying miracle.

So, I put my hands on Jude as a nurse and comforted him like I would a patient. I whispered words of encouragement and praise for a job well done so far. I told him how much I cared for him and how proud I was of him.

I took my hands out of the isolette, closed the port holes, and pressed a hand to the outside of the isolette, telling Jude I would come back soon.

I was taken to mother-baby and greeted by a kind nurse. I tried to sleep, but I was so exhausted it was impossible. I also came to the conclusion sleep was also eluding me because I was missing Jude and his little kicks and turns. He had been so close to me for a few months and was now gone. My hand went subconsciously to my abdomen where he used to be and instead found cold, hard staples reminding me he had be taken out. I felt lonely and sad as I thought about Jude upstairs. So far away. I wondered if he was feeling the same way.

I wept until my incision ached as the last 12 hours replayed in my mind and I was forced to live through them again. I was so grateful to have Jude safe and doing so well, but I couldn't help but think about what the future would hold and how long our journey to get him home would be.

Thoughts of the common problems associated with premature birth plagued my mind and I prayed for strength to get through Jude's hospital experience relatively unscathed and for him to be strong. As awful as it sounds, I prayed he would be the exception. The preemie who didn't have any eye problems, developmental delay, feeding issues, or cerebral palsy.

Sleep finally came as the sun started to peak over the mountains. A cheery nurse greeted me and asked me if I was ready to get up and walk. I looked at her skeptically through swollen slits around my eyes, thinking, "I haven't walked farther than six feet for two weeks and my abdomen was sliced open seven hours ago, but yeah. Let's go for a walk."

It actually went ok and I was told the more I could move around, the better I would heal and recover. I ate breakfast quickly, wanting to get up to the NICU to see Jude. I slowly inched my legs out of bed, holding my breath as I stood and gathered my IV pole and foley bag (let me tell you, carrying around a bag of your own pee is quite embarrassing).

I used a wheelchair as a makeshift walker and slowly trudged to the NICU. The staff on for the day gathered around me, voicing congratulations and telling me how awesome Jude was doing. I found my way to Jude's isolette and took a look around at the bili light, pumps, and machines helping him stay alive.

Jude's nurse let me take over and do his cares (diaper change, temp check, etc). I studied his little features and marveled at his slender, long fingers and toes. I memorized his face and was elated to see him wiggle his eyebrows.  

As he started to fuss, I laid my hands on him and softly hummed the song "You are My Sunshine" which had been a favorite during his non-stress tests. What happened next was, in my mind, a small miracle. Jude stopped fidgeting, his heart rate lowered, and his sats began to stabilize. He recognized me and my voice comforted him.

I had seen the effect a mother can have on her baby, but was somehow surprised that it happened to me. I finally felt like a mom and seemed to find the courage to see Jude as such. It was an amazing transformation as the lines and medical material seemed to fade and I was able to see the sweet baby boy who laid in the isolette. My baby.

Yes, he was tiny and oh, so early, but he was mine. And I loved him fiercely. My eyes stung with tears as I thought about all the challenges he would face, possibly for the rest of his life. But, I also knew I would do whatever I could to help and be there for him every step of this long journey.

I looked at Jude's sweet face again and smiled. Grateful for his life, strength, and the chance to be his mom.