Let's start at the very beginning. (A very good place to start.)
Growing up, I always wanted eight kids. I even had all of their names picked out (I still have the list in my closet as I type.) Sometime in high school, a switch was flicked in my brain and I decided that pregnancy and childbirth was such a weird, gross, frightening concept that I wanted NO children. In college, I grew in my passion for teaching and as I pursued a degree in education, I felt confident that God wanted me in the classroom, not at home with children.
After dating Marcus for five years, we were married. We both felt that God had called us to not have children, at least for now. Our motto was, "Never, for now." We knew that God did not want us to have children for now, but were open to his leading in the future. I was 100% certain that I was called to teach and if we had children, I would not be able to do that (because I also knew that IF we had children, I would probably stay home with them.) So, I taught. And I LOVED it. After working as a teacher's aide for one year and a third grade teacher for four years, surrounded by many women who were having babies, I began to wonder if maybe I wanted to have a baby. On top of that, and even more impacting, I grew to know and love my friend Erica, who was a mother of three. She and I were friends in college and our friendship grew in depth and intensity after college as we stayed in touch. Watching Erica parent her children erased my fears of parenthood. Up until that point I had never seen a family that seemed like something I would want to have. However, just by her example, she showed me that it is possible to raise kids in a Godly way, grow in one's own walk with the Lord as a mother and as a woman, and maintain a healthy marriage and friendships.
In the spring of 2009, Marcus and I decided God was for sure calling us to have a family. Not because of this decision, but just sort of at random, we rented The Business of Being Born from Netflix and I (ever swayed by a good documentary!) was convinced that one day I too would have an all natural labor and delivery without the interventions many medical professionals and hospitals try to impose on a pregnant mother. Later that summer, through my wonderful VBS leadership team at the Moody church, I was introduced to a very helpful tool for tracking fertility. Around that same time, I was blessed to reconnect with an old friend from college, Lisa, who was working on becoming a certified doula and birth coach. We met for coffee and she told me the story of the birth of her firstborn and I knew then that one day I would want her assistance in the delivery of my own child.
Little did I know at that meeting with Lisa, I was actually pregnant- just barely. I did not find out I was pregnant until I found out I wasn't. Let me explain. One Tuesday in October of 2009, I went to the doctor feeling nauseous and having a little bleeding. More than that, though, I was in extreme pain. I thought I was experiencing kidney stones. I was having sharp pains in my sides that would cause me to double over and had to really focus to breathe through the pain. I joked that I was having contractions. The doctor asked if I was pregnant and I said no, but he had me take a pregnancy test anyway. It was positive. What!? I'm pregnant!? Then why the pain? And the bleeding? He asked if we had been "trying" and I said yes, so he congratulated me. But then he said, "But, there is clearly something wrong." You can imagine the rollercoaster of emotions he was putting me through. Since it was evening and I was his last appointment of the day, there was nothing else we could really do except wait. I was told to come in for an ultrasound the next morning. I called to make an appointment that next morning, but they couldn't get me in until the following day (Thursday). I went in for my ultrasound with my wonderful husband and it was determined that I was having an ectopic pregnancy. The little baby was on its way to the uterus, but somehow got stuck in one of my fallopian tubes. Clearly it could not grow there. However, it had been trying to grow there for eight weeks. As it grew, (imagine a marble inside of a straw) it was causing me much pain. My body knew something was wrong and was trying to push it out of me. But my body also knew that a baby that small needs to be pushed to the uterus, not out, so there was like a tug of war going on in my body. Blood clots were forming on either end of the tube to push the baby back and forth. This was causing some major internal bleeding and my abdomen was slowly filling with blood. I was sent to emergency surgery (and was told that I probably could have died from internal bleeding if we had waited even one more day). The whirlwind of the day was awful and soon I was being put under (the worst experience EVER!) and after a panic attack or two, I was sedated, surgery was performed, and I was in recovery. Recovery was quite difficult and left me in so much pain that I had little time to process what had happened. I was more or less trapped on the couch for a week, unable to move. When I returned to work, I could not take the stairs and moved quite slowly around my classroom. Full recovery took about two months.
After that I was fearful about getting pregnant again. I was terrified, in fact. I was not ready to possibly face that experience again, plus, I knew my body needed some time to heal before trying to grow a baby again. However, unexpectedly, in March of 2010, I found out I was pregnant again! I was very scared. I had to go the doctor many times early on for many ultrasounds to make sure this little baby took the right path to the uterus and was growing appropriately. I had a wonderful doctor (whom I met during my surgery) who was very understanding of my fears and obliged my every email and call with comforting words and many ultrasounds to prove to me that everything was fine. Early on I struggled with wanting this baby. We had tried for several months for the first baby and this one was just a surprise. I wanted
that baby, not
this baby. When
this baby started to grow and develop, I mourned the first baby even more. I would get weekly pregnancy emails, "Week 10: Your baby now has fingernails." But
that baby never got fingernails! "Your baby now has hair". But
that baby never got to have hair! I struggled with this baby's development and while I wanted it to be healthy, I worried I would forget about Baby A (which is what we soon started calling it, not knowing the sex of that baby, we chose "A" as in the first baby and A for Anderson). I had guilt about possibly forgetting about Baby A and providing a life for this new little baby that I never could for that first one. But, by the grace of God, I worked through those issues and knew I could both focus on this baby
and not forget about Baby A.
This new little baby grew and grew (though not enough by some people's standards, as I kept getting comments on how small I was) and by about month six, I was annoyingly uncomfortable. But, let's backtrack a bit to month five, when we found out the sex of this baby. We both
really wanted a boy. I struggled with assuming that Baby A was a girl and wanting this one to be nothing like that one, I wanted this one to be a boy. Of course, I have no way of knowing if Baby A was a boy or a girl, but that was my illogical mind at work. Nonetheless, in teaching, I always liked the boys in my class best and thought it would be so fun to have a son. Many people questioned my desire for a son based on my intense girly-ness and Barbie collection. But, to be honest, I didn't want or need a daughter to share that with (for now) and was perfectly content having the girly things all to myself! So, we went in for the ultrasound at our new doctor's office (we had recently moved in Moline, Illinois from Deerfield, Illinois). Lo and behold, there was a little spot on the screen that showed us it was a BOY! Hooray!! :) We were thrilled!
Before moving to Moline, however, I contacted Lisa and told her we were ready to start our Bradley Method classes with her as our doula! We started the classes with our dear friends, Ovi and Esti, and once we moved, we traveled back to finish up the classes over the course of a few weekends.
So, on and on the pregnancy went, the baby and I grew- both in size and discomfort.
**This is where you might want to stop reading if details of a birth gross you out or offend you.**
The night before my eight month checkup, Marcus and I were watching The Biggest Loser, as we did every Tuesday night that fall. It was October 19. Marcus cracked some joke and I started laughing hard. Suddenly, I felt like I was peeing my pants (which wasn't so odd, being 8 months pregnant). I went upstairs to the bathroom to go, and while sitting on the toilet, the "pee" just kept coming. I put on a pad and came back down to the couch. About an hour later, I realized the pad was soaked through and so were my pants. I wasn't sure what was going on, but with my due date well over a month away, I just thought this was some weird pregnancy symptom, certainly not the beginnings of labor. Marcus was wondering if my water had broken and I was getting mad as my denial grew. I WAS NOT GOING TO HAVE A PREMATURE BABY!! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. That night I woke up around 3:00 a.m. and my pants were soaked through again, and so were the bedsheets. I changed (again) and laid there worried. Then, at about 3:30, I started to have what I thought were cramps. Soon I realized that my "cramps" were occurring exactly every five minutes. Well, isn't that strange?!
After having my perfectly timed "cramps" for a few hours, I began to get a little concerned. However, that morning I had my 8-month checkup at 8:30 a.m. I figured I'd go and find out what was going on, rather than call my midwife any sooner. When I got there, I described the previous night's events to the midwife. She asked me to lay down on the table for an exam. Before the exam ensued, the midwife grabbed her little litmus paper she was going to use to determine if I was leaking amniotic fluid or something else and as she swiveled her chair near the table where I was laying, the paper already turned blue, indicating that I was leaking amniotic fluid...everywhere. She did not need to do an exam and told me, "Well, you've been in labor for twelve hours. You need to go the hospital, you're having a baby!" To which my husband replied, "Like...today?"
So, with permission from the midwife, we went home to pack our bags, eat lunch, and collect ourselves. This was just crazy! I was at 34 weeks, 5 days gestation. We called our family members and close friends. We called Lisa (I had actually emailed her early that morning before my appointment, describing my symptoms to her, so she was already expecting the call). We dilly-dallied around, packing, eating, talking, and timing contractions with Marcus's handy Contraction App for his iPod Touch. :) At about 11:00 a.m., we realized that the contractions were two minutes apart. We called Lisa and she advised us to head to the hospital and told us she too would be leaving the Chicago area to come to us. On our way to the hospital we stopped for gas and snacks to eat while at the hospital (we didn't want to get there too soon). After checking in at the hospital, we were taken to our labor and delivery room and I changed into the gown. It was now about noon and things were really picking up. The active labor was in full-swing and contractions were getting stronger.
After a bit, it was determined that since the labor was premature, I was going to have to have the monitors on me throughout the labor. I HATED those monitors; they were so uncomfortable! Thankfully they were battery-powered so I was still free to move around. They were even water proof and I eventually moved to the tub where I stayed for a couple of hours. My midwife and husband were incredible during this time. This was the most painful part of the labor for me, but I kept waiting for transition, which we had learned about in our Bradley classes. I kept waiting for the point when I would feel like giving up and that I just couldn't take it anymore. Then I would know that I was in transition and the end was near. However, I never got to that point (that I was aware of) and that was concerning me. I knew I must have the worst in my future and kept waiting for the point when I would say, "Give me the drugs!" But, alas, it never came to the point where I was in unbearable pain. At about 2:30, I felt ready to push, so I got out of the tub and moved over the hospital bed. I tried a few positions before getting in the traditional position of laying on my back. While I know this is not the most effective position for giving birth, it was the most comfortable for me because I didn't have to hold my own weight. At about 3:45, Lisa came, and she was just in time. She grabbed one of my legs, and with Marcus holding the other, the three of us worked toward getting this little baby out. The midwife was coaching me through and I kept pushing. At about 4:20, the midwife asked the nurses to get things ready for an episiotomy. I was devastated. Avoiding an episiotomy was one of my highest goals of having a natural labor. I remember opening my eyes, looking between my legs right into my midwife's face and saying, "No, I can do this. Please. Please let me try." I begged her with my eyes. She could tell I was upset and told me I could have one more push and if the baby didn't come out, then she'd have to cut. Things were getting serious with the baby because he was so premature, the stress of the labor was really getting to him and his heart rate was getting dangerously low. She explained to me that he had to come out in the next minute or two. So, I pushed, she cut, and out came my little baby at 4:26 p.m.
As I sit here trying to think of how to explain this feeling, no words come to mind. I cannot explain it. The midwife took my baby and handed him over to the neonatalogist. This was not how it was supposed to go. My baby was supposed to come right to me, right to my belly, and we were supposed to nurse and meet each other immediately. Things were not going as we had planned. The neonatalogist took my baby and laid him, gray and limp, into a little medical bassinet. An oxygen mask was put to his face as his abdomen was expanding and deflating rapidly in a concerning way. The nurses began to draw his blood and Marcus was called over to cut the umbilical cord. Meanwhile, I delivered the placenta and got stitched up (it was just a small incision, less than a centimeter). Then, they wrapped up my baby and handed him to me. I held the little wrapped bundle and I noticed his skin. It was gray and he was covered in little pimples. He was alert though and looking around. I gave him a kiss, told him I loved him, and then he was taken from me. I held him for about 15 seconds. Then they handed him to Marcus for about the same amount of time. Next, he was taken down to the NICU. What happened next, I cannot confirm, because I was not there. Marcus left me and followed the nurses and doctors down to the NICU. I stayed in my bed to recover.
Our little guy right after delivery, getting checked out.
Marcus got to hold him briefly before he was whisked away to the NICU.
Me getting some nourishment after the labor (gotta love the shirt).
In came family members to greet me while Marcus was down with our baby. It wasn't until about two hours later that I was cleared to be up and moving around to go see my baby for myself.
When I walked down to the NICU, this is what I saw:
Our newest little family member had
many visitors that night. We were exhausted, yet on an adrenaline rush, and kept going and visiting and mingling until late that evening.
Here we are just loving our little guy.
Burkley with my doula, Lisa
Burkley stayed in the NICU for six days. Each day a new wire was removed and different tubes were taken away. Each day he grew stronger and stronger and by day four he was receiving all of his nourishment from breastfeeding and no longer from any tubes. The neonatalogist was amazed at his speedy progress and noted how unlikely it was for a "35-weeker" to be doing so well. I stayed the night at the hospital with him and fed him as much as he wanted. He grew in strength and endurance and by day 6, the doctor said he was ready to go home. Those were the most exhausting six days of our lives. Driving back and forth to the hospital from home and visiting with
so many people was simply exhausting.
When we finally got home, we knew we had to watch out for the jaundice. The day before we left the hospital it gotten pretty bad, but we were still cleared to go home. The following two weeks were full of checkups at the pediatrician's office and appointments at home with the visiting nurse. We had to get his bilirubin levels checked many times. Only in the past few days, at two months old, is the jaundice looking like it's going away.
Burkley has been such a wonderful blessing to our family and we are so thankful he is here, even if he surprised us all by how early he came. He is such a champ, growing strong and sleeping well. He brings us so much joy and love and we greatly enjoy being a family of three. The whole experience at our hospital, with our midwife, doula, and the amazing NICU nurses was simply wonderful. So wonderful that I already am eager to do it all over again, but for some reason each time I bring it up, Marcus reminds me that we should wait awhile longer. ;)
As I finish this story with my little guy fast asleep on my chest, I am thankful I took the time to write this out. While it may be long and possibly uninteresting to many of you (way to go if you made it this far!) I truly hope that one day Burkley will read this and be thankful I took time to write it.
We love you, Burkley, and can't wait to watch you grow! (Though not too fast, I love you as a little baby!)
Burkley James Anderson
October 20, 2010, 4:26 p.m.
6 pounds, 4 ounces and 17.5 inches
