I'm not ok... and that's ok.

Birth trauma is a very real thing, so we are we so afraid to talk about it?

It's taken me awhile to be ok with talking about this publicly, but thanks to a friend who so beautifully shared her birth story (and who was so honest about the trauma she endured during the birth of her first child), I have felt encouraged to share my story. It is my hope that I, and others, may be able to find some healing.

I had just publicly announced my pregnancy with my first child when I remember being asked a question that caught me off guard. 

"Do you have a birth plan?"

A birth plan? Was that a thing? Was I supposed to have one? So, at barely 12 weeks pregnant, I laughed nervously and responded with the first thing that came to my mind.

"Um, well, I suppose he's going to come out."

And that became my standard response for the rather personal question I found myself encountering over and over again. But as the weeks and months sped by, I came no closer to having a birth plan. I decided I'd like an epidural, and I knew I wanted immediate skin to skin and access to my baby for nursing, but other than those details, I had little in mind as to what would happen when go time arrived. Looking back, I think my lack of expectation actually aided in what was an incredible experience. I had a rather unremarkable labor, and after 3.5 hours, I delivered a beautiful baby boy. The experience was nothing short of surreal, and I look back on it as one of the best days of my life. I am forever grateful for that.

So when I found myself staring down at a second pair of small pink lines 9 months later, I anticipated things would go much the same. I was overjoyed at the thought of another tiny human being to bless our lives, and I waited in anticipation of that day. Once again, the weeks and months sped by, and once again, I found myself with no birth plan. 

But everything was different with baby #2. Everything. While I enjoyed a fairly easy pregnancy with Wesley, Molly came with all day sickness for months, migraines, insomnia, heart burn, sciatica, and never ending food aversions. I found myself expanding at a rapid rate, growing more and more uncomfortable with each week. By Christmas I was anxiously awaiting my February 6 due date and secretly hoping she might decide to make her entrance a bit sooner. But when I woke up around 2 am on January 16 with what I thought was food poisoning, I was not expecting the roller coaster ride to come. 

I spent hours slumped over on the bathroom floor that morning, my 8 month pregnant belly wedged between me and the toilet. I cried as I wretched, my whole body aching. I crawled into bed and prayed to feel better as my husband tended to the toddler. As my body had rejected all attempts at liquids and, subsequently, pain relievers, I decided a luke warm bath was my best bet to ease my aches and lower my fever. I ran a bath and eased myself into it, listening to the sounds of Jesse putting Wesley down for a nap. I started to relax. I closed my eyes and sunk low into the water, letting my sore muscles release and my chills subside. For the first time that day, I started to feel better. It had been maybe fifteen minutes when I felt a strange sensation that I could only imagine was my water breaking. I was actually sort of excited as I prepared to tell my husband we needed to call my parents and head to the hospital. I reached for a towel and attempted to stand up to call for Jesse. 

I couldn't stand. I was weak and dizzy and beginning to see spots. I lowered myself back into the water and looked down. It was then that I realized my water had not, in fact, broken, but that I was bleeding. I watched as the water quickly turned red around me. I attempted again to exit the tub. I came to my knees, at which point I became aware of how much blood I was losing. I yelled for Jesse to come to the bathroom, and I tried to remain as calm as possible as I asked him to call 911. I was terrified. 

When the paramedics arrived, I was still in the tub, half naked and barely conscious. I lay there shaking as they fought to find a vein to insert an IV. I remember them telling me that it was ok to lay back and close my eyes if I thought I might pass out. Things got dark a time or two, and I rested my head on the side of the tub. They rattled off questions - was I having contractions? How many weeks was I? Was the baby still moving? I couldn't tell. I was scared. I wasn't sure if I was making sense. 6 or 7 men crowded into my bathroom while my husband and 18 month old son watched in terror. They rattled off some numbers and asked more questions - BP 76/40, how much blood has she lost? Then they lifted me from the tub to a stretcher and wrapped me with sheets. They carried me out of my bathroom and down the stairs, as Wesley screamed "Mama! Mama!" from Jesse's arms. I tried to reassure him. I'm not sure I was making any sense.

I rambled on and on in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I ramble when I'm scared. I learned about the paramedic's kids, ages 14, 12, and 10. I'm sure I made some stupid jokes. I remember very little. They rushed me into triage in the L&D unit and hooked me up to monitors. I began to cry as I heard Molly's heart beating, strong. I began feeling faint again, and I rested my head on the pillow. The nurse came to check my cervix. I glanced up at her just in time to notice an unsettling look come across her face. She pulled another nurse aside. They couldn't see my cervix. I was still losing too much blood. My heart raced. I waited for them to tell me what would happen next. I closed my eyes again and tried to breathe deep. I opened them to a touch on the shoulder. The nurse had forms she would need me to sign. They were preparing me for transfusions, as they felt that was the likely next step. I was still bleeding. I asked if Molly was ok. They assured me she was. I asked them to find my phone. I needed to call Jesse. I was alone and scared.

Jesse came up from the ER waiting, at which point we were told that it was time. We were going to have a baby. They wheeled me to a room in L&D and began asking questions again. The monitor wouldn't work. They hooked up a saline bag and continued to pump fluids through my system. A blood pressure cuff squeezed my arm at alarmingly frequent intervals. As soon as the saline ran out, they quickly hung another. And another. 3 full liters of saline later, they approved me for my epidural. The anesthesiologist came. I felt the warm rush of the epidural, but nothing went numb. I waited. I pushed the button. Once. Twice. Three times. They broke my water, and I felt contractions tightening around my belly. I still felt everything. Quickly, the contractions grew stronger. They moved lower. Epidural or no, this baby was ready to come. 

I watched the Warriors game on the TV behind my husband's head intently and breathed as I was coached. My doctor wasn't there yet, and the nurse wasn't about to deliver Molly, so they reminded me again and again to breathe. Shortly thereafter, my OB arrived and allowed me to push. 37 minutes from start to finish, a failed epidural, and only two pushes later, I cried as they placed my perfect baby girl into my arms. She was healthy; apgars of 9 and 9. She was 6 pounds, 11oz. 20 inches long. 10 little fingers and toes. Awesome strawberry blonde hair. Perfection. My epidural kicked in.

As I held my baby girl, encouraging her to latch to my breast, gently wiping her clean, the nurses buzzed about the room. There remained an unsettled feeling. I was still not ok. The nurse pushed on my now soft belly over and over. She made concerned faces and reached for additional towels. I wouldn't stop bleeding. She pushed again, explaining to me that I shouldn't be losing this much blood. I studied the look on her face, trying to read her as she attempted to calmly tell me that I had passed a clot the size of a softball. They started a Pitocin drip. They administered several drugs. They needed me to clot. I wasn't clotting. 

They encouraged me to eat as we waited for the drugs to work. They continuously monitored my nether regions as they looked for proof of clotting. They pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more on my belly. I tried to rest as they took Molly to bathe her and run tests. I had a grilled cheese and an apple juice. I finally started to feel better. 

24 hours later, convinced all was well with mommy and baby, we were released and sent home to begin our new normal. We came home and spent our first night snuggling, dozing, nursing, wash, rinse, repeat. But, while things had looked good at 24 hours, life was not so good at 48. Molly stopped eating. She became lethargic. She latched to my breast and immediately fell asleep. Soon, she could not be roused. Her body was limp, her skin dry. We rushed her back to the hospital. She had lost nearly a full pound. Her body temperature was 95.7. Her billirubin was elevated. She was dehydrated. I was terrified. She had heel pricks, IVs placed, spinal taps, and xrays. I sat helpless as she cried out. They wrapped her warm in a billi-light. We attempted to feed her. They transferred us to a PICU. 

The story has a happy ending. Molly tested negative for anything scary. With some IV fluids, a warming light, and a couple days to hydrate and eat normally, she was discharged and sent home. She is healthy and thriving. She's blasting through developmental milestones and amazes me everyday. And yet...

I am not ok. I am scared. I am anxious. I hate to be away from her. Every baby sound, terrifying. Every cough, hiccup, gag, cry... my heart races just a bit. I don't sleep well. When she sleeps, I wake often to check on her. I have nightmares. I can't take a bath - the sheer thought ties my stomach in knots. The slightest hint of gastric distress and I'm back there, scared. But I have a beautiful baby girl, I should be grateful. And I am. I should be overjoyed. And I am. I should be enjoying every smile, every snuggle, every sweet smell. And I am. But I am scared. And that's ok, too. I'm learning to be ok. I'm hoping that sharing here will help me find some healing. 

And if you've experienced birth trauma, maybe I can help you find some healing too.