Our Family

Last week Dr. Rupe asked if she could do a post about my delivery. She wasn’t sure if I would have time in these first few, crazy weeks to blog about Joshua’s birth. I was excited to read her point of view on the day’s events and I believe she captured it perfectly (with one exception, according to his birth certificate, he was actually born at 4:56pm, not 4:57 but close enough). I’m sitting here in the stillness of my living room. . .filled with diapers and wipes, baby gear and antibacterial gel, and one, little, precious, sleeping baby boy (Hope is at mother’s day out today) so I thought I would take this quiet time to also reflect on my son’s birth. Thank you for allowing me to be self-indulgent on this blog. As I’ve mentioned before, I abandoned my personal blog (which had become a sort of journal for me) to focus on The Pregnancy Companion so I appreciate you letting me share my heart here on personal experiences. At least they are pregnancy related.

As Dr. Rupe said, on Saturday morning, July 2 I texted her because I thought my water had broken. It’s important to note that I was already 4cm dilated and 70% effaced at my last appointment so I had reason to suspect I might go into labor at any moment. Since I was induced last time, I had no idea what going into labor would actually feel like. I was apprehensive about my water breaking spontaneously. So many friends had different stories to tell but many said it was more like a leak than a gush of fluid. They also said it merely felt like they pee’d in their pants a little bit. Having done that before during my pregnancy (you can read that story and how it led to the creation of this book here) I just wasn’t sure I’d know the difference. I woke up Saturday morning and decided to take a shower and get ready, just in case. I felt like it might be the day because I was having mild but pretty regular contractions the night before. As I stood in the shower drying off, I felt some leaking. Could this be my water leaking or did I just pee on myself again? I got out and got dressed and as I was doing my hair, it happened again. But this time it was greater. I felt like I had total control of my bladder so I decided this was it. I texted Dr. Rupe to let her know. She told me to come on in.

We arrived at the hospital and they hooked me up. My amazing nurse, Rachel eventually checked me and said my water had in fact not broken as there was no presence of amniotic fluid that they could detect. I was, however, having pretty regular contractions so she would call Dr. Rupe to see what she wanted to do. I knew the U2 concert was just hours away and I told myself if I was going to have this baby and not ruin her evening with Bono, that I had to be in labor by 10am. We were a bit past my personal deadline and as much as I was ready to have this baby, I was sure Dr. Rupe would send me home to wait for more active labor to begin. To my surprise she decided to go ahead and put me on Pitocin as I was in the early stages of labor. She must have known it was a risk. . .that I might not deliver quite fast enough for her to make it to see U2, but my sweet friend and physician also knew that if she sent me home, I might just end up back there that night. We were definitely rolling the dice!

I’ll spare you the details because she explained them very well. Pitocin started. Contractions kicked in. Water broken for real this time with a giant knitting needle (and when done this way it’s a HUGE gush, I don’t mind telling you). Epidural ordered. Contractions picking up. Epidural in but not working. Epidural dosed up. Finally some relief (for about an hour, enough time to watch one episode of Friday Night Lights, my new addiction). Finally dilated to 7. Nurse assures me it will go quickly now. I’m hoping to deliver by 6 or 6:30 but I know that’s pushing it.

As I entered transition (roughly 7-10cm dilation), the epidural wore off on my right side. They had me laying on my side so gravity could do it’s work but still no relief. My left side was dead to the world (due to all of the extra doses) but the right felt everything. For that hour between 7-10cm (the nurse was right, it did go fast thank you Jesus), I felt the pain and pressure of every intense contraction. I was not prepared to labor like that but my nurse and my husband were amazing coaches. They kept trying to get the epidural to fully kick in but no luck. Finally, Rachel announced it was time to get ready to start pushing. Dr. Rupe wasn’t yet in the room and I hoped after all this she didn’t miss it. I felt like he could come quickly. I was incredibly nervous about pushing a baby out without a working epidural. This is not what I had signed up for! As they got ready to position me Dr. Rupe walked in the room and I was so relieved to see her. The nurses got me on my back and almost immediately I felt a rush of peace come over my body. I felt so relaxed and the pain on my right side disappeared. I truly believe that Christ’s power rested on me in that delivery room (2 Cor 12:9, from chp 8 in the book). After 10 minutes and 3 rounds of pushing (through three contractions), I finally saw my baby boy. Miraculous.

I’ll add to Dr. Rupe’s list, the last five years have also included:

about 75 ultrasounds

7 HCG shots

amazing provision for the countless checks written to a fertility clinic

thousands of tears of loss and pain

a million petitions for life and a family

a deep, deep friendship born out of longing and hope

and now, a complete family with one spirited, beautiful little girl and a sweet, new baby boy. Oh how we are blessed beyond comprehension. And if I could go back and rewrite my story to remove the waiting, the loss, the emotional and financial burden and still have the same outcome – I would not. I truly believe the processes God allows us to walk through in our lives shape us and mold us into the people he intends for us to be. I know he wept with us along the way and now rejoices in our dreams fulfilled. I am so thankful he entrusted us with this story and I hope I can encourage others as they continue to allow him to write their own.

Thank you all for sharing this journey with me.

Love,

Jessica

May 13, 2011 started out like most of my Fridays, with a 5 am jaunt to the YMCA for masters swim class. As I was nearing the end of my workout, the day quickly took an unexpected turn as the receptionist ran into the pool area.

“The hospital needs you to call immediately,” she said. I was instantly in the locker room, digging through my giant bag for my phone. I wasn’t on call, so for the nurses to track me down at the gym, something seriously bad had to be occurring. I assumed that one of my partners must need help with a hemorrhage or some other emergency. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to get the news I received.

“JB just suffered a cardiac arrest. She was transferred to the ICU. We are not sure if she is going to make it…” My partner’s voice was shaking on the other end of the line.

At this point, I just went numb and everything began to happen in slow motion. This could NOT be happening. JB was my friend. I had delivered her baby just a few days before. She was most likely going to die. I had failed her. She was my patient, my responsibility. I had obviously missed something.

The four mile drive to the hospital seemed to take two hours. My mind raced through all the possibilities: stroke, seizure, heart attack, pulmonary embolus. None of the options were acceptable. I tried to think of what I might have missed. I analyzed every detail of our last conversation. She had called me from home the night before with symtoms of a headache and high blood pressure. I had told her to go to the ER. Being the clever nurse practioner that she was, she tried to talk me out of it, but I had insisted. Later my partner had admitted her, in order to watch her overnight. I had delivered her third baby 10 days earlier, boy number three for her. At the end of her pregnancy she had developed preeclampsia, a fairly common complication that usually resolves with delivery. I kept thinking of what I could have done differently, but as I went back through the case in my head, everything seemed to have been done appropriately.

This can’t be happening. I’ve never lost a mom. Healthy 35 year old women’s hearts don’t just stop. My prayers were brief and desperate. Lord, let her live.

With my hair still wet from the pool and my eyes still puffy from my swim goggles and crying, I arrived in the ICU a few minutes later. She was stable, but still in a coma. I began to have hope that she might make it, but could dare to hope that she would really be OK, to not have a brain injury?

I reviewed the history with my partner and the other physicians. Her husband had stayed with her in the hospital overnight, and heard her gasp and stop breathing. He quickly called for a nurse. She found no pulse. A code was called. After 12 minutes of resuscitation the team brought her back. She was essentially dead for 12 minutes. All the while her husband stood by, holding their newborn son.

I tried desperately to focus on the medical facts and numbers, while pushing the emotions to the side. This became impossible as I walked into her room. My beautiful, intelligent friend lay intubated in the ICU. Her normally tan skin was grey and dusky. Her blonde hair disheveled, while tubes and monitors encapsulated her small frame. The girl who never stopped moving or talking now lay before me unresponsive, with restraints on her hands.

When I saw her husband’s swollen, tear stained face; mt own tears once again began to roll. We hugged. “Doc, Is she going to be OK?” He asked fearfully.

“Yes, I hope so.” I said, more as a statement of faith, than medical fact.

The morning was a blur of activity. A stream of specialists were consulted to help us search for a cause. More tests were ordered, but no answers were found. We ruled out some dreaded possibilities: brain hemorrhage, heart attack and tumor.  I tried to remember if I’ve ever had a patient fully recover from a cardiac arrest. The only patients who had coded in my care were elderly. The ones who made it, had severe brain damage. The thought of her surviving but in a severely disabled state was almost as frightening as the thought of her funeral. I upped my prayers from,” Lord please let her live,” to “Lord please let her live and be whole.”

As all the tests began to come back negative, I began to let go of the guilt over what had happened. None of the things I knew to check for had occurred, so maybe it wasn’t my fault after all. Still the questions lingered.

Being a typical Friday, my office schedule was fully booked. All patients who could be were rescheduled. The rest I saw in short bursts, as I ran back and forth between the office and the ICU. In the office, I attempted to feign interest in the mundane yeast infections and round ligament pain. I tried my best not to be distracted, but it was nearly impossible.

As the morning stretched forward, we got our first bit of amazing news: the neurologist finished the EEG and it showed normal brain activity. He was hopeful for a full recovery. When I told the good news to our office staff they literally cheered. I assumed the recovery would be long and painful, but there was hope.

The afternoon led to even more good news as her oxygen requirements began to decrease. Yes, she was still on a breathing machine, but needing less and less help to breathe. She was beginning to wake up and fight the restraints. The specialist in charge of ICU decided to keep her sedated and let her heal, and then take her off the breathing machine in the morning.
I left that evening guardedly hopeful, praying for a full miracle.

When I finally made it home, I embraced my husband and kids like I hadn’t seen them for weeks. My heart was so thankful. Never would I take my life or family for granted. The usual dinner routine seemed surreal. Then as I was finishing my hamburger helper, my cell phone rang.

“Call from JB” it said on the display.

My hand was shaking as I picked it up and hit the accept button.

“Hey it’s JB Husband, just letting you know that they took the tube out and she’s awake… and talking!”

“I’ll be right there”

Within minutes, I was walking back on to the unit. The neurologist had warned us that she would have short term memory loss, likely for a week or two. He felt that she would most likely not remember the cardiac arrest. Still, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

As I walked into her room, she was sitting up in bed, looking absolutely fine.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” JB asked.

“How are you?” I said.

“A little sore…. Why are you crying?” JB responded.

“I was worried I would never hear your voice again.” I replied. Weeping. Again. For what felt like the millionth time, during this roller coaster of a day.

“Really? I don’t understand, I just had a c-section?” JB replied

The room, which now included several members of her family, laughed with relief. She remembered nothing that had occurred since she had her son 10 days before. She just woke up, assuming she was waking up from her c-section.

During the first few days, talking with her was akin to having a conversation with your elderly aunt who is suffering from dementia. It was definitely ‘her’ in there. All distant memories were intact, but during a conversation she would begin to repeat herself every few minutes. This also created the challenge of having to tell her, over and over, what had happened. Each time she would react emotionally as she ‘heard’ the dramatic news for the first time. After about 4 days her memory began to improve and she could remember things that had occurred the day before. Currently, she reports occasional forgetfulness, but has had a full recovery. She required no rehab and has had only minimal discomfort.

With all tests essentially coming back normal, the heart specialist determined that she had an underlying arrthymia. This abnormal heart rhythm was then exacerbated by the stress of preeclampsia on her body, causing her heart to go into cardiac arrest. This extremely rare event just happened to occur at the right time and the right place. He felt she could be at risk for cardiac arrest in the future, so a permanent device was implanted in her heart before she left the hospital. The device will automatically shock her heart back into a normal rhythm should she ever go into arrest in the future.

Since that day, I have thought many times of the ‘what ifs.’ What if she hadn’t called me? What if I hadn’t sent her to the hospital? What if her husband hadn’t stayed with her? What if the code team hadn’t responded so quickly? If any one of these elements had not occurred, she would not be with us today. I am so thankful for the prayer chains that were activated, the attentive nursing staff and the many specialists who were involved in her care. I am most thankful to God for allowing her to have a second chance on life.

At the beginning of May, Jessica posted on our FB site that she was believing for a “Miracle May.” I believe we had one and I believe that most everyone who was involved in this case would agree.

-The previous story is true and told with the patient’s permission.

{UPDATE} CONGRATULATIONS TO TIFFANY FROM amomentcherished.blogspot.com for winning a copy of The Pregnancy Companion book. Email me your address and we’ll get it out. Enjoy!

I’ve decided I’m deeming this “Miracle May.” It’s Pregnancy Awareness Month (and all pregnancies and births are truly a miracle), it’s Mother’s Day (and for many of us, the fact we get to celebrate one is a great miracle), and it’s the month my very first miracle baby (Hope) was born. There’s so much to celebrate! And so. . .I can’t think of a better birth story to share than this one. What an amazing reminder that miracles happen when we least expect them! If you are currently believing for a miracle of your own, I pray this story encourages your heart.

Enjoy Lori’s story and don’t miss another book giveaway at the end of this post! We’ve got several blogs joining us this week to give away copies of The Pregnancy Companion in honor of Mother’s Day! If you are not currently pregnant or trying to conceive, enter to win one for a friend. It makes a great Mother’s Day gift!

Andrew’s Birth Story – Lori Lawrence

OK, I know what you are thinking… “Every pregnancy and baby is a miracle!” Well, yes, you are right. But when I think of my experience it is absolutely nothing short of a miracle. When my husband Ryan and I got married, like many young couples, we thought we would enjoy being newlyweds for a few years, then when the time was right we would banish the birth control, get pregnant, have a baby or two and live happily ever after. Oh, if it were only that simple!!

After five years of marriage and three years of trying we had two miscarriages and no children. The doctors wanted to run all sorts of invasive tests just to find out what was wrong. Then, if anything was possible, we would go through even more procedures to fix the problem. In other words: a lot of tests and no guarantees. We didn’t know what we wanted to do, but we knew we didn’t want to become guinea pigs. Just a few days later Ryan told me of some friends who wanted us as references for their adoption. As soon as the word “adoption” came out of his mouth, we both knew, that is what we were supposed to do. Two years later we adopted our beautiful son Ian and lived happily ever after, until….

Six years later, we were tucking Ian into bed and out of the blue he asked, “When can I have a brother or sister?” We were surprised and not exactly sure what to tell him. We had talked of adopting again, but never really felt it was the right time. So, we told our son maybe he should pray about it. He said, “ok” and we didn’t think much about it until…wouldn’t you know it…three months later, at the age of 36, I was late!!!

But this time was different. Everything seemed like a miracle. My two previous pregnancies never made it long enough to hear a heartbeat. Not only did we get to see and hear the heartbeat but EVERYTHING was NORMAL!! Every time we heard the words “normal” and “perfect” I cried. Every time we got to hear his heartbeat, I cried. Every time we had an ultrasound and we could see our little guy move and jump, I cried. Hormones and happiness are a dangerous combination.

The only small issue I had was developing gestational diabetes. Due to this, my doctor wanted to induce me two weeks before my due date. Everything inside me said, “NO, I want the baby to come on his own time.” The doctor would just smile and say “It’s what we need to do”. Every appointment was the same. She would tell me we were going to induce and I would tell her as sweetly as I could how I really didn’t like the idea.

Three weeks before I was due, I went in for my weekly check up. She asked if I had been having any contractions or labor pains. I said I hadn’t so she informed me again I would need to be induced the next week. When she was doing her exam, she looked up in shock and said, “Well, I guess you get your wish! You are already dilated to four and 80% effaced!!” This was Tuesday and on the following Saturday night, we went to church, out to dinner with the family and then home to go to bed. Ryan was asleep and I was sitting with him in bed watching TV just about to call it a night. At 12:30 on Sunday morning I thought I felt some slight cramping. I went to the bathroom, came back and sat on the bed to see if it would happen again. It did, so I looked at the time and waited. Exactly five minutes later it happened again! I woke up Ryan and told him I thought I was having contractions. He jumped out of bed as if I had jolted him with a cattle prod. He raced to the hospital all while I’m trying to tell him to slow down! After all, these things take time. Of course, he felt this was the one time he got to run red lights drive as fast as he wanted.

We arrived at the hospital in one piece and actually got lost looking for the nurses’ station on the maternity floor. When we finally found it, I told them I thought I was in labor. I found out later when my parents showed up, they told my mom and dad that I was not in labor because I was walking and talking.

The nurse who was checking me in was very calm and asking me all sorts of questions. She finally decided to see how far along I could possibly be. She had the same shocked look on her face as my doctor did the Tuesday before. She sat up and said I was dilated to an eight and 100% effaced. She immediately sent me to the delivery room.

When I got there, I was still feeling pretty good. Several weeks before, my husband mentioned he was looking forward to seeing me go through transition just because he wanted to hear me curse!! As we were waiting for the doctor to arrive, my mom told me I was technically in transition and if I wanted to curse, now would be the time. With Ryan smiling in anticipation, I looked at him and said some choice words. To which he replied, “YES!!!” My mom got a good laugh out of it too.

The nurse came back in to ask if I wanted an epidural. I told her I hoped to see how far I could go without drugs. She then gave me a look like “OK, but you’ll be sorry.” She checked me again and said I was now a nine. Before she got to the door, I told Ryan I felt like I needed to push. She turned right back around and checked me again and I had immediately gone to a 10. Well, it was too late for and epidural now! Five painful pushes later our baby boy Andrew was born at 3:30 in the morning weighing an even 6 pounds.

I am not saying any of this to brag because it wasn’t anything I did to make it happen. It was all truly a miracle!! Of course they say, “God won’t give you more than you can handle,” so maybe God knew I couldn’t handle a long labor and delivery. Doctors believed it would probably never happen and said it definitely couldn’t happen without medical intervention. If we had not adopted our son Ian, we may have never had Andrew. It was because of Ian’s faith we had a miracle happen in our lives. After 15 years of marriage, 13 years without birth control, 7 years after adopting our first baby boy, and at the ripe age of 37, I gave birth for the first time to our second baby boy….and we are all living happily ever after!

…and Ian is now believing for a sister!!!

Truly amazing! To celebrate Lori’s miracle, we’re giving away a copy of the book. Leave a comment here telling us the name of your miracle(s) (and remember all babies are miracles) or let us know if you are currently believing for yours (so we can hope and pray with you). Share this post on Facebook or Twitter and leave a comment saying you did for extra entries.

Looking forward to a really fun month of honoring moms and miracles.

Love,

Jessica