We have been blessed with another beautiful baby boy!
Maxwell Blair Shrader was born to us on December 3rd. It
all started the previous Monday, November 26th. I had been having mild contractions all
weekend long. Zach went to work Monday
morning and my mom came over to help me during the day (since I was still on
bed rest). When she saw me and heard
that I was still having contractions, she convinced me to go to Labor and
Delivery Triage. At this point I was
still only 33 weeks so my doctor had told me to go to Triage even if I wasn’t
sure that I should because if it was early enough labor, chances were they
could still give me medicine to stop it.
So we went to Triage. They
checked my labor progress and said I was o.k. to go home, but to stay on strict
bed rest. We were in and out in under an hour… plenty of time to stop and get
Chick-Fil-A on the way home…
I continued to feel lousy all week. Everybody kept encouraging me to hold out as
long as I could. I was trying so hard,
but in my mind I knew I was going to have this baby soon. My body couldn’t handle it anymore. I was trying to stay positive, but not doing
a very good job. I put Zach and my mom
to work putting everything in order just
in case the baby came early. We
washed all the newborn clothes, got the diapers, set up the Pack n’ Play, and
packed my hospital bag. I snuggled
Preston as much as I could because I knew his time as an only child was coming
to an end.
Thursday I had my weekly appointment with my OB. She said
that she was 100% confident I would deliver in the next two weeks. She told Zach not to go anywhere for work,
and definitely not to make out-of-town Christmas plans.
After we got home from that doctor’s appointment, I never
stopped contracting. The contractions
weren’t painful or consistent enough to go to the hospital yet—just enough to put
me on alert. By Friday they were closer
together and pretty uncomfortable, so we called my mom to come watch Preston in
the middle of the night, and went to Triage again. They hooked me up to all the monitors and saw
that my contractions were every 8 or 9 minutes apart. The nurse checked my progress and told me she
was certain I wasn’t in labor. She gave
me a muscle relaxer and sent me home to “sleep off” the contractions.
The contractions came back as soon as the muscle relaxer wore
off. By this time, I was tired! Even
though I wasn’t in full-blown labor, I knew that this was the beginning of the
end and I just wanted somebody to take me seriously. Days of non-stop contractions just drain your
energy! I was constantly looking at the clock and timing contractions—not to
mention how physically exhausted the contractions were making me.
Saturday night we went to my parent’s house to celebrate
Zach’s birthday early. We ate my daddy’s
seafood gumbo and had a great time.
While we were there I started having harder contractions. They were only 6 or 7 minutes apart, but they
were very uncomfortable. I would have to
close my eyes and take a deep breath with each one. I could no longer keep a straight face
through them. So I spent most of the
night lying on my mom’s bed playing with her iPad, timing contractions. They never got closer than 6 minutes apart,
so I figured I was still safe.
Sunday rolled around and I was still contracting. I told
Zach I wasn’t going to Triage again until it was undoubtedly the real
thing. If that meant waiting until the
contractions were 3 minutes apart, so be it.
I was so sick of showing up there and being sent home! Not that I wanted
my baby to come early. I wanted to stay
pregnant as long as possible. But I knew
that I couldn’t keep going to Triage every other day. I either wanted them to hospitalize me, or
let me deliver. Neither option was very
appealing, but I hadn’t slept in days because of the contractions and I knew
they weren’t going to stop until I had the baby.
The contractions continued all Sunday afternoon. Since I was on bed rest, I was not up and
moving around—but it didn’t matter. I
was having contractions whether I was on my feet or off. On the couch or in bed. Sitting or lying down. The contractions started hurting in my back
too. I broke out the ole exercise ball,
hoping that sitting on the ball would help my back feel better. Nothing worked. I was too far past the point of a heating pad
or Tylenol so I continued to tough it out.
My parents had invited us over for dinner that night, so we went. I figured I could contract at my house or my
mom’s house, and at least there was good food at Mom’s J
I contracted all through dinner and made everyone pretty
nervous. The contractions were really
starting to hurt to the point of not being able to talk or think during
one. Every 5 minutes or so during dinner
I would have a good contraction and disrupt dinner conversation. Finally my mom forced me to go to
Triage. I didn’t want to go! I was
really scared. I’m not sure which
scenario I was most scared of: being sent home AGAIN, or having the baby
early. Neither option was appealing in
the slightest, but the contractions were definitely getting worse so I could no
longer ignore them.
So off to Triage we went! By the time we got there, the
contractions were 5 minutes apart and making me moan in pain. I knew for sure that I was in labor. It was exactly what labor felt like the first
time. I won’t go into all the details
because they still frustrate me beyond belief.
Long story short, since I was having back labor, the monitors weren’t
picking up each contraction. They got a
few here and there, but not all of them.
Apparently having a woman breathing deeply, moaning in pain every 5
minutes doesn’t count as a contraction—unless it shows up on the monitor? The
doctor who was on-call didn’t even come to talk to me. Apparently he saw me get up from my bed and
walk to the restroom. He looked at my
monitor and saw that I “wasn’t having contractions” (EVEN THOUGH I OBVIOUSLY
WAS IF HE HAD TAKEN TWO SECONDS TO LISTEN TO ME) and said that I was fine, gave
me a shot of medicine to stop the contractions and sent me on my way (EVEN
THOUGH I HAD TO STOP AND REST AGAINST THE WALL AS I WAS LEAVING BECAUSE OF A
BAD CONTRACTION) . I cried on the way
home and knew that I would be back.
We got home around 11pm.
I had a few hard contractions before I fell asleep (even though I had
the shot to stop them because I “wasn’t in labor”) and only slept a couple of
hours. I kept waking up for
contractions, so finally I just got up.
I got on the exercise ball but that didn’t help. I lied on the couch and tried to watch a
movie and that didn’t work. The
contractions were stronger than they had ever been. Around 5 I started timing them again and
realized that they were 4-5 minutes apart.
Zach came down to check on around 5:15 and I told him we probably needed
to go back to the hospital. He took his
time upstairs getting dressed (could you blame the poor guy for being tired?
Not at all J)
and finally I realized the contractions were QUICKLY getting closer
together. I yelled up the stairs, “When
I said we needed to go, I meant NOW!” At that point he started running around
getting his shoes and keys because he could tell it was happening fast. Bless
his heart.
By the time we got to the hospital the contractions were 2-3
minutes apart and extremely painful.
More painful than my labor with Preston, by far (for other serious
reasons I found out later). I was mad
that the nurses who helped me earlier that night weren’t still there, but the
on-call doctor was. I wanted to say a big fat “I TOLD YOU SO”, but by this
point I was crying with each contraction and Zach was having to answer all the
nurses questions for me, so being spiteful to the doctor wasn’t my first
priority.
They called my doctor who was on her way into the hospital
anyway and she came right away. At least
she believed me! She told me after the whole ordeal that we was upset they sent
me home Sunday night instead of keeping me because repeat C-Sections are most
vulnerable in the early stages of labor.
She was totally in my corner and made me feel validated.
By the time I was wheeled back to the O.R, the contractions
were on top of each other. With Preston,
they were able to give me a shot of pain meds to help keep the contraction pain
under control so I could sit still for the spinal injection (which is a whole
other story altogether—but it ended up not working and I had to be put under
General Anesthesia). I was really trying to avoid that whole ordeal this time
around, but no such luck. By the time the Anesthesiologist was ready with the
spinal, I was in so much pain that I couldn’t hold still. Back labor is quite possibly the worst thing
on the planet! I begged for the shot that would help with the pain, but since I
was delivering at 34 weeks, they couldn’t give me anything for fear of
endangering the baby.
I could go on and on about the Anesthesiologist and if you
ask me, I probably will. I'll just say that the spinal didn’t work and I had to be put under General Anesthesia
again. I was totally fine with that
decision and wished they had come to it sooner.
Side note: Did I mention how great Zach was through the whole thing? He didn't leave my side and helped me stay as calm as I possibly could have been in that situation. He was wonderful and I certainly wouldn't have made it through that weekend without him.
I woke up in the recovery room and was told that Max had to
go to the NICU. I was expecting that
since he was so early. We didn’t hear
any word on him at all, but I was too drugged up to know that. I kept asking how Max was doing and didn’t
get any answers. Had I had all my wits
about me I would have been worried. I also told my nurse that I felt like we had
been through so much together, we might as well be sisters…and also promised to
take all the nursing staff to lunch to make up for how mean I had been to them
during my labor.
Eventually somebody from the NICU came down to talk to
us. Max had low blood sugar and had to
be given formula immediately. His core
body temperature was also low, but other than that he was perfectly
healthy. He did not require oxygen or
any help breathing. Nothing else was
wrong at all! We were so elated! They had to keep him in the NICU long enough
to get his temperature and blood sugar under control, but that was the extent
of his stay. Since it is not unusual to
have babies born 6 weeks early spend weeks and months in the NICU, I consider
us very lucky.
I got to hold him on the way to my room upstairs. He was absolutely beautiful. I hated being apart from him, but he got
released from the NICU at the end of the day and we were reunited. Once he was in my room, in my arms, it was
all more real. Once they took the
morphine pump away it was even more real J
It was love at first sight and even more love since!
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