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Matthew's Story
- Jul 23, 2009 at 10:41 AM
- By
- Comments (20) Total Views (901) Everyone can see this journal post.
This is too wonderful not to share. A friend of mine just had her second baby. A beautiful boy. She wrote a story on facebook about it. With her permission, I am sharing her story with you all.
To say that this pregnancy was a surprise would be an understatement. I had in fact resigned myself to the fact that I was not going to have any more children. I considered myself lucky to have been blessed with such an amazing, funny, bright and healthy little boy that I already feel I don’t deserve. But apparently, God had a little more in store from me.
I remember finding out I was pregnant. I remember the day, the time, the weather outside (cloudy) and the complete and utter fear that settled into my gut the two weeks following. I remember the expression (or lack thereof) on Franks face. The disbelief quickly ensued by Frank’s insistence that we begin litigation against the company that manufactured the birth control because it was “their fault!” (As though we had nothing to do with it). I remember being terrified to tell my family and even more scared that his would forever resent me for ruining Frankie’s life. But most of all, I remember coming to the realization that I was going to have a baby and the resolve to once again, put all expectations and plans aside for what was now going to be known as my “surprise”. I refuse to refer to it as an accident because an “accident” was something that happened unexpectedly and you were not happy about but a “surprise” was when something happened that you weren’t expecting, but were thrilled once you found out.
I don’t handle pregnancy well. Or maybe I should say, my GI system does not handle pregnancy well. Things began to hit home as I spent more and more time getting acquainted with the underside to the lid on my commode. Slowly but surely Frank came out of his “holy crap I’m going to be a Dad fog”. Only to be followed by my “holy crap I’m going to have baby fog”. Funny how those things work out, often throughout this pregnancy Frank and I traded “freak out mode” places. It seemed as though when I was in the bad scary baby place, Frank was in the not so scary baby place. Trust me, you don’t want two expecting parents in the scary baby place at the same time.
All things considered (the puking, swelling, gas, headaches, backaches and sudden outbreak of moles), one of the most amazing parts of this “surprise” was watching Frank turn into a Dad. I don’t believe you become a Dad when the baby is born. At least, Frank didn’t. He turned into a father while I was pregnant. Despite how miserable I was, I was able to enjoy bits and pieces as Frank did everything he could to make me comfortable. I’ve never been taken care of. At least, not the way I was while I was growing what would lovingly be referred to as the “alien” for the duration. Frank cooked, cleaned, worked, MOVED our entire household, cleaned the old household, handled my throwing fits about things like how he parked the car in stride and made me feel beautiful despite my rapidly expanding rear and bulbous nose. I truly believe that Frank became something during this unexpected turn of events that even he didn’t know he could be. He didn’t change who he was, he just became something he wasn’t, a father.
I knew all along Matthew was not going to make this easy. From the beginning, I knew he would be late. I even made my mother reschedule her trip to Colorado based on the fact that this child would not come on his due date. I was right.
Unlike my pregnancy with Austin, I was not in a hurry for Matthew to come. I knew what was at the end of this road. A baby. And not much about babies is easy. In fact, this pregnancy went markedly faster than my first one. It seemed as though I went from the scary baby place to the REALLY uncomfortable pregnancy place to the you have a 9 lb baby baby place rather quickly. Correction, it went quickly up until the last week. Every day past my due date was misery. It was hot outside, I was fat and the only place Matthew seemed to be happy was on my nerve (literally) causing the entire right lower half of my body to be numb. And sleep? Forget it. I didn’t sleep more than two hours at a time. And poor Frank, this was the point that I went into total bitch mode. When I even looked at him sleeping I would hit him in the chest. Only because I didn’t think it was “fair” that he got to sleep and I didn’t. (Stupid I know). Poor guy couldn’t do anything right.
For whatever reason, this kid didn’t want to come. I even “un”dialated. As in, I went from 2 cm to 1 cm. Who does that? I went to the doctor on 07.10.09 because my back was hurting, I was contracting every 5 minutes, I lost my plug (google mucus plug if you don’t know what that is. It’s awesome), and I was running to the bathroom every ten minutes. I was SO SO SO excited when my doctor told me I was 1.5 cm AND 50% effaced. That meant all the pain and suffering had done something. I had progressed. Praise Jesus, maybe I wouldn’t be pregnant forever after all! I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. By Tuesday the 14th I was back in my OB’s office begging for relief. And hating them when they denied it to me (as though they had something to do with the predicament in the first place. I learned that you project anger a lot during pregnancy). I was back in my OB’s office again on Wednesday the 15th crying. By that point I had been contracting every three to five minutes for 24 hours and was still 1.5 cm and 50% effaced. I kind of wanted to be dragged out into a field like a swollen cow and put out of my misery. I think the OB got that impression and told me to be at MCR the next morning at 0730. I especially loved it when he said “Be there tomorrow morning unless of course, he is here already. Hardy har har har”. I knew damn well and good that they were going to have pull this baby out hand over hand. So I spent the night at home getting in and out of the bathtub, rolling around in the bed writhing in pain and periodically punching Frank in the face. (Kidding!). Frank drew me hot bath after hot bath and turned off all the lights, lit some candles, turned on Mozart and sat on the bathroom floor talking me through the pain. It takes a real man to rub your back and inquire on the state of your cervix.
We got to the hospital at 0730 after a breakfast at Panera. (Me: cinnamon crunch bagel Him: coffee because he was to nervous to eat anything else). The hospital was like a really fancy hotel. The bed had super soft sheets on it, the nurse spent more time running and getting Frank coffee and blankets and making him comfortable than she did putting me on the monitor. In fact, I forgot I was in a hospital until they tried to get an IV. Six sticks, three blown veins, one labor and delivery nurse, two IV team nurses and one u/s guided AC later I had access. And access meant pitocin. Pictocin meant contractions and contraction meant epidural. I was well on my way to being happy. Keep in mind; I had been laboring for 36 hours at this point. I hadn’t slept in four days. And I constantly had the urge to pee. The epidural went in smoothly. But I’m pretty sure the meds they gave me made me slightly loopy because as soon as the epidural was in I sent out a mass text saying, “Jesus loves me this I know. My epidural tells me so”. Then I slept. And slept. And slept some more. I hadn’t been that comfortable in months. Ten to be exact. At 1302 the doctor checked me and lo and behold, still 1.5 cm and 50% effaced. So he broke my water trying to move things along. 1700 – I was 3cm!!! Really, we were that excited about it. I even felt good enough to give Franks family the OK to come by and say Hi and bring Frank food (the man would not leave my room for more than five minuets. Well that and he was working under threat of death and/or loss of limb if he ate anything in front of me since I couldn’t eat anything and was starving. But I digress…). I finally had my first visitor at 1900. Poor Cesar…..he had one foot out the door the entire time. I’m sure he thought I would have a baby to show him. Not that he would walk in to a woman in active labor. But I applaud him for coming. Then Frank’s family came. Within five minutes of them being there I knew something was happening. I didn’t feel right. Lots of pressure. But dammit, I wanted Frank to eat! I knew he was going to need his energy. After awhile, I pulled the nurse aside and kind of whispered that I felt like I needed to be checked. She promptly cleared the room and sure enough I was 8 cm and my cervix was non-existent. Within ten minutes I felt pressure. LOTS of pressure. Then I saw the fetal heart rate. Matthews’s heart rate was coming down to the low 100’s every time I had a contraction. The nurse told me that it looked like he was on his cord. I had this overwhelming feeling of dread. And I wanted him out. I told them to check again; it was time. The nurse stuck her hand up into what I was sure was my thorax and told me we were going to do a couple practice pushes. Two pushes later she told me to “stop!” and like magic, the doctor appeared. Next thing I knew my bed was flying apart and put into several different pieces, my knees were at my forehead and they were telling me to push. I looked up at the fetal heart rate monitor, saw his heart rate dipping again with the contraction and felt this calm come over me. My only job in the world at that point was to get Matthew out. I became focused in a way that I believe only Buddhist monks and laboring woman are capable of achieving. The only thing that ever broke my focus was the doctor saying what I thought was “We have a stool”. And for the record, like every pregnant woman, I was terrified of pooping on the table. I asked about it (because I’m morbid like that) and he says, “No, I think your husband needs a stool”. I look over and Frank has his head buried between his two arms and is looking a little pale. I just told him that he was not allowed to pass out. I needed him. One push later, I heard a scream and there he was. Screaming bloody murder, just the way I wanted. I knew he was pissed, but I didn’t care. He was out, he was OK and he was gorgeous. I could barely breathe and was in shock because of how fast it happened. (Five pushes total….I think). I vaguely remember Frank’s family coming in. All I remember is watching him on the warmer getting some oxygen and retracting and a sense of calm panic. But he was OK once they put him on my chest. 8lbs 13 oz and 21 ¾ inches long at 2139 on 07.16.09. I wouldn’t trade the look on Franks face for anything. I think everyone should be privileged enough to give the person they love a child. There is nothing like it. The best thing about having a baby hands down though? Not being pregnant anymore!
I don’t handle pregnancy well. Or maybe I should say, my GI system does not handle pregnancy well. Things began to hit home as I spent more and more time getting acquainted with the underside to the lid on my commode. Slowly but surely Frank came out of his “holy crap I’m going to be a Dad fog”. Only to be followed by my “holy crap I’m going to have baby fog”. Funny how those things work out, often throughout this pregnancy Frank and I traded “freak out mode” places. It seemed as though when I was in the bad scary baby place, Frank was in the not so scary baby place. Trust me, you don’t want two expecting parents in the scary baby place at the same time.
All things considered (the puking, swelling, gas, headaches, backaches and sudden outbreak of moles), one of the most amazing parts of this “surprise” was watching Frank turn into a Dad. I don’t believe you become a Dad when the baby is born. At least, Frank didn’t. He turned into a father while I was pregnant. Despite how miserable I was, I was able to enjoy bits and pieces as Frank did everything he could to make me comfortable. I’ve never been taken care of. At least, not the way I was while I was growing what would lovingly be referred to as the “alien” for the duration. Frank cooked, cleaned, worked, MOVED our entire household, cleaned the old household, handled my throwing fits about things like how he parked the car in stride and made me feel beautiful despite my rapidly expanding rear and bulbous nose. I truly believe that Frank became something during this unexpected turn of events that even he didn’t know he could be. He didn’t change who he was, he just became something he wasn’t, a father.
I knew all along Matthew was not going to make this easy. From the beginning, I knew he would be late. I even made my mother reschedule her trip to Colorado based on the fact that this child would not come on his due date. I was right.
Unlike my pregnancy with Austin, I was not in a hurry for Matthew to come. I knew what was at the end of this road. A baby. And not much about babies is easy. In fact, this pregnancy went markedly faster than my first one. It seemed as though I went from the scary baby place to the REALLY uncomfortable pregnancy place to the you have a 9 lb baby baby place rather quickly. Correction, it went quickly up until the last week. Every day past my due date was misery. It was hot outside, I was fat and the only place Matthew seemed to be happy was on my nerve (literally) causing the entire right lower half of my body to be numb. And sleep? Forget it. I didn’t sleep more than two hours at a time. And poor Frank, this was the point that I went into total bitch mode. When I even looked at him sleeping I would hit him in the chest. Only because I didn’t think it was “fair” that he got to sleep and I didn’t. (Stupid I know). Poor guy couldn’t do anything right.
For whatever reason, this kid didn’t want to come. I even “un”dialated. As in, I went from 2 cm to 1 cm. Who does that? I went to the doctor on 07.10.09 because my back was hurting, I was contracting every 5 minutes, I lost my plug (google mucus plug if you don’t know what that is. It’s awesome), and I was running to the bathroom every ten minutes. I was SO SO SO excited when my doctor told me I was 1.5 cm AND 50% effaced. That meant all the pain and suffering had done something. I had progressed. Praise Jesus, maybe I wouldn’t be pregnant forever after all! I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. By Tuesday the 14th I was back in my OB’s office begging for relief. And hating them when they denied it to me (as though they had something to do with the predicament in the first place. I learned that you project anger a lot during pregnancy). I was back in my OB’s office again on Wednesday the 15th crying. By that point I had been contracting every three to five minutes for 24 hours and was still 1.5 cm and 50% effaced. I kind of wanted to be dragged out into a field like a swollen cow and put out of my misery. I think the OB got that impression and told me to be at MCR the next morning at 0730. I especially loved it when he said “Be there tomorrow morning unless of course, he is here already. Hardy har har har”. I knew damn well and good that they were going to have pull this baby out hand over hand. So I spent the night at home getting in and out of the bathtub, rolling around in the bed writhing in pain and periodically punching Frank in the face. (Kidding!). Frank drew me hot bath after hot bath and turned off all the lights, lit some candles, turned on Mozart and sat on the bathroom floor talking me through the pain. It takes a real man to rub your back and inquire on the state of your cervix.
We got to the hospital at 0730 after a breakfast at Panera. (Me: cinnamon crunch bagel Him: coffee because he was to nervous to eat anything else). The hospital was like a really fancy hotel. The bed had super soft sheets on it, the nurse spent more time running and getting Frank coffee and blankets and making him comfortable than she did putting me on the monitor. In fact, I forgot I was in a hospital until they tried to get an IV. Six sticks, three blown veins, one labor and delivery nurse, two IV team nurses and one u/s guided AC later I had access. And access meant pitocin. Pictocin meant contractions and contraction meant epidural. I was well on my way to being happy. Keep in mind; I had been laboring for 36 hours at this point. I hadn’t slept in four days. And I constantly had the urge to pee. The epidural went in smoothly. But I’m pretty sure the meds they gave me made me slightly loopy because as soon as the epidural was in I sent out a mass text saying, “Jesus loves me this I know. My epidural tells me so”. Then I slept. And slept. And slept some more. I hadn’t been that comfortable in months. Ten to be exact. At 1302 the doctor checked me and lo and behold, still 1.5 cm and 50% effaced. So he broke my water trying to move things along. 1700 – I was 3cm!!! Really, we were that excited about it. I even felt good enough to give Franks family the OK to come by and say Hi and bring Frank food (the man would not leave my room for more than five minuets. Well that and he was working under threat of death and/or loss of limb if he ate anything in front of me since I couldn’t eat anything and was starving. But I digress…). I finally had my first visitor at 1900. Poor Cesar…..he had one foot out the door the entire time. I’m sure he thought I would have a baby to show him. Not that he would walk in to a woman in active labor. But I applaud him for coming. Then Frank’s family came. Within five minutes of them being there I knew something was happening. I didn’t feel right. Lots of pressure. But dammit, I wanted Frank to eat! I knew he was going to need his energy. After awhile, I pulled the nurse aside and kind of whispered that I felt like I needed to be checked. She promptly cleared the room and sure enough I was 8 cm and my cervix was non-existent. Within ten minutes I felt pressure. LOTS of pressure. Then I saw the fetal heart rate. Matthews’s heart rate was coming down to the low 100’s every time I had a contraction. The nurse told me that it looked like he was on his cord. I had this overwhelming feeling of dread. And I wanted him out. I told them to check again; it was time. The nurse stuck her hand up into what I was sure was my thorax and told me we were going to do a couple practice pushes. Two pushes later she told me to “stop!” and like magic, the doctor appeared. Next thing I knew my bed was flying apart and put into several different pieces, my knees were at my forehead and they were telling me to push. I looked up at the fetal heart rate monitor, saw his heart rate dipping again with the contraction and felt this calm come over me. My only job in the world at that point was to get Matthew out. I became focused in a way that I believe only Buddhist monks and laboring woman are capable of achieving. The only thing that ever broke my focus was the doctor saying what I thought was “We have a stool”. And for the record, like every pregnant woman, I was terrified of pooping on the table. I asked about it (because I’m morbid like that) and he says, “No, I think your husband needs a stool”. I look over and Frank has his head buried between his two arms and is looking a little pale. I just told him that he was not allowed to pass out. I needed him. One push later, I heard a scream and there he was. Screaming bloody murder, just the way I wanted. I knew he was pissed, but I didn’t care. He was out, he was OK and he was gorgeous. I could barely breathe and was in shock because of how fast it happened. (Five pushes total….I think). I vaguely remember Frank’s family coming in. All I remember is watching him on the warmer getting some oxygen and retracting and a sense of calm panic. But he was OK once they put him on my chest. 8lbs 13 oz and 21 ¾ inches long at 2139 on 07.16.09. I wouldn’t trade the look on Franks face for anything. I think everyone should be privileged enough to give the person they love a child. There is nothing like it. The best thing about having a baby hands down though? Not being pregnant anymore!
Written by Daffney Bryan
Comments:
Jul. 23, 2009 at 11:50 AM
awesome story....cant wait for my second labor day in december!!!...i feel like this story took the words out of my own brain...
Jul. 23, 2009 at 11:56 AM
AWWW THAT WAS SO CUTE AND WELL SAID
Jul. 23, 2009 at 11:57 AM
SO CUTE, BUT IM SO GLAD I HAVE MY PERFECT 3, LAST WAS MY SURPRISE AND IM ALL DONE.
Jul. 23, 2009 at 2:13 PM
Wonderful post!! 
Jul. 23, 2009 at 3:23 PM
Thank you ......
....I love you
Jul. 23, 2009 at 9:16 PM
Awesome.
I think she was on target saying "Jesus loves me, this I know, my epidural tells me so." That rocked. And well told.
Sure, pregnancy can be royally uncomfortable, and labor scary (and in some cases, painful), but at the end, you look at this tiny person and think "Oh my gosh, I did that?!" (And "How was he able to fit inside of me again?")
Great story, well told.
Jul. 23, 2009 at 11:55 PM
VOTED POPULAR. VERY WELL WRITTEN. I AM A MOM TO 2, STEP-MOM TO 3, GRANDMOTHER TO 15 & GREAT-GRANDMOTHER TO 2. SO I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE COMING FROM. I LOVE THE WAY THAT YOU WROTE IT. AWESOME.
Jul. 24, 2009 at 12:55 AM
aww great story you should tell her to join cafemom
Jul. 24, 2009 at 1:00 AM
Great birth story!!
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I literally had tears in my eyes!! Tell Daffney that it was beautifully written. Thank you for sharing this with us!
- JustAngela
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