Alrighty. I think I have made the retelling of this story on my blog longer than the actual birth itself. Which is impressive. But I'll try to wrap it up, because we're getting close! (If you want to catch up, here is
Part One,
Part Two and
Part Three)
When we left our heroine in part three, she was immobilized from the waist down and loving it. It was finally time to rest and let the contractions get her dilated to a 10. Everyone thought that would happen quickly, but we all know that was a dumb thing to think. That night she spent time looking up at her IV tree, a collection of five bags dripping into her body: pitocin, the epidural, the penicillin and two kinds of blood pressure meds because her numbers were so low. It was a funny sight to stare at because of her hopes to do this birth thing au-naturale!
She tried to sleep, but kept waking up when the blood pressure monitor would inflate on her arm, leaving her to wonder if her arm would be amputated. The thing blew up so tightly and often had to try multiple times in a row because it couldn't get a good read. So then she lay there wondering if someone was working on a less constricting way to monitor a persons blood pressure. Surely she didn't deserve to be woken up ever 20 minutes.
Each hour a team of nurses came to turn her body. Often this resulted in a round of throwing up. And at one groggy point, she remembers her sweet husband looking at her with tears in his eyes saying he hated seeing her like this and felt so helpless. That's still a sweet memory for her.
After 11 hours of this they checked her and said she looked close enough. She violently dry heaved a few more times and the baby crowned. The nurses were so pleased! They said many babies are pushed out when the mama throws up. They acted quickly, disbanding the bed, getting her legs into position, calling in the doctors and another nurse. They asked how long she pushed for her last baby and her husband commented, "not long at all..two pushes, maybe." Everyone was ready for this baby to fly out!
**Um, I'm going to stop writing in 3rd person. I'm not even sure why I started out that way, but this is getting complicated...and since I'm here, writing this tale, I'm going to switch to 1st person. Sound good? Thanks.
But 45 minutes later, little progress had been made. The doctor was positioned at the base of the bed and kept yawning uncontrollably. I kept looking at the nurses and asking if I was pushing in the right place and they sort of half smiled. It was very discouraging. I was so exhausted and had nothing to give. And I felt so desperate. I was praying in my head and they were angry prayers, praying the scriptures. I remember saying, "You began this good work in me, now complete it! You said when I am weak, you are strong. Now be strong. You said I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I cannot do this alone. You have to strengthen me." The kids had just brought home a book about angels from their library and the artist drew them as little fairy-like hot pink, teal and periwinkle people with wings. I remember thinking about those little angels and telling God, "you have to send an angel to tell this baby how to come out. It doesn't know what to do. This baby needs help. Please tell it how to come out."
We passed an hour of pushing with hardly any progress. And then the nurses brought out the handle holds on the side of the bed, and a mirror so I could see where I was pushing. And something happened then. I focused on the mirror and pulled myself up with those handle holds and after a few rounds of contractions the baby finally came, in the proper position. Everyone was so surprised. Then they told me it was a girl. And I felt joy overflowing. My baby was here.
They put her on my chest for a few seconds only, suctioned her mouth a bit, and then took her to the other doctor who was called in to be sure the baby would be okay. They were concerned that she may have ingested meconium. Rory was with her and the doctor continued to work with me. I was so glad she was here. I was chatty with my doctor and pretty unaware of all that was happening on the other side of the room. I heard the nurse get on the phone and order a few things "stat." And I could see the seriousness grow on the faces of the nurses working with Hattie. I remember telling Rory, "Talk to her, daddy. Tell her who you are. Let her hear your voice." I was never fearful. Somehow I was protected from that. But Rory was. He was right there and heard the nurses and doctors talking. He could see her motionless body, completely still. I couldn't.
The x-ray team arrived and then the lab team to take blood samples. At one point I counted 11 people moving about in our room. It was about 7:15 and the whole staff changes at 7. So nurses were saying goodbye, while others were introducing themselves. My delivery doctor stayed around, but the new doctor was now on the clock and she came in fully caffeinated and took over. I remember thinking she was really loud for how exhausted we all were. She took everything in and then turned to me to tell me, "it is likely Harriet will need to go to another hospital to receive the best care." She explained the helicopter team that would come to transport her and I silently wept. I had finally had my baby. I had worked so hard. And I didn't want to be left behind at the hospital when my baby and my husband went to another city.
In the end, this doctor was amazing and exactly what we all needed in that moment. She came in with sound mind and heroically made some hard decisions early in the morning. She was sharp and later I was grateful. In the moment I didn't like her because I didn't like what she was telling me.
Everyone was talking of the fluid in Harriet's lungs, and the probable pneumonia that was visible on the x-ray. Rory went out into the hall to call our mom's and our pastor, telling them that we had a baby girl and to pray. And to get others to pray, too. And I asked him to call my friend Ali, asking her to come and stay with me while he drove to Minneapolis to be with Harriet.
The new doctor was getting Harriet ready for the helicopter ride when she said, "let's bring her to her mom." I'm still not totally sure, but I think she was just being kind letting me hold my daughter for a moment before we were separated.
But something miraculous happened when they put her in my arms. Harriet's breathing started growing stronger. And stronger. I talked to her and told her I was here mama. That I had carried her for ten months and I was ready to take good care of her. I told her I loved her and would always love her. The doctor said, "let's see if she'll nurse." And in moments we had a strong latch and Harriet was not only breathing on her own, but sucking. She nursed on both sides. In those ten minutes we think we had over 40 people praying for our little baby girl, and in those minutes, life came back into our daughter. You can see it in the picture below.
The NICU helicopter transfer team arrived, ready to whisk her away.
The NICU team was a wonder to me. They were so fast and direct and impressive. They ran a series of tests and in the end announced, "her lungs are clear. her breathing is strong. we think it's best for her to stay with her mom" And they packed up their things and flew away, leaving Harriet in my arms. No one could account for her miraculous recovery. Everyone was waiting for her to falter after she had been fed, but she never did. She didn't cough anything up. She never cried. And yet her lungs were clear of all fluid. It was inexplicable.
And I had my baby in my arms.
Finally things calmed down. The nurse took her foot prints. Ali took lots of pictures and then my sister and Rory's folks arrived, and we moved to the recovery room where my parents and our kids met us. It was a time of joyful introductions.
And then everyone left and Rory and I were alone with our little Harriet Joy for the very first time. It was quiet in the room, we had our baby in our arms and then we looked at each other and cried. A big, big cry. All the fear we felt when they told us she couldn't breath on her own, the exhaustion of a three day labor, the questioning if we were hearing God's voice at all, the disappointment of not having a home birth, the frustration that the baby would not get into position...it all made sense. We needed to be at the hospital. We needed God to write this story. We cried with gratitude, with relief, with thanksgiving and with love overflowing for the little life that had been trying her best the whole time.
We recounted all that happened after she was born, remembering the details, asking each other what the other heard and saw. We cried and held our daughter close. Knowing we were holding a miracle.
