Birth Story

Contractions started.  It was Sunday night ~ the night I lost my mucus plug.  They were few and far between, but strong enough for me to stop what I was doing and wait till it passed.  Monday, September 30th, I was having them pretty regularly, about every 20 minutes or so. I remember being at the bank getting our checking account set up and also trying to coordinate things for the closing of our house the next day.  I had to stand because sitting during a contraction was killing my hips. I desperately wanted one last pedicure but knew I wouldn’t be able to fit it in (or sit for that long).  Too much “real life” things to cross off the list before this baby showed up.  I was emailing our new landlord coordinating a move in date.  All I really wanted to do was sleep. 

That evening they got closer together and I called my mom, who decided it was best for her to come to town now, at 7:30 pm rather than at 1 am when we would probably be rushing to the hospital.  We had prepped Donovan telling him Poopy was going to be coming out really soon, and if we had to go to the hospital, grandma would be taking him to school and picking him up.  

I laid on the couch (Kristin’s couch) and had back labor, hip labor, hurting labor, stabbing knives labor…. this baby hurt me waaaay more than Donovan ever did and I thought I wouldn’t survive.  I wanted to go to the hospital and get DRUGS!  I was like, “this baby ain’t playin’… let’s GO.”  But since my contractions were still 5-7 min apart, the doc said not to go until they were 4.  I packed a couple last minute things into my hospital bag and when I finally had a contraction that was 4 minutes from the last, I was like, we are OUT. My mom had been there for an hour or so already and Kristin was out of town at the time–probably for the best… I’m sure she would’ve been worried about me giving birth at her house or something….

We drove to the hospital, which was thankfully only about 5 minutes away, especially since I told Grant to run every single red light on the way.  It was 11:30 pm on a Monday and there was hardly any traffic.  He almost missed the turn to the freeway and I felt like we were in a movie or something.  I’m telling him to hurry up and get there and TURN!!!!!!! and you better run this light or I’ll seriously hurt you… 

We get to the hospital and he parks in what seems like the furthest lot from the front door.  I’m having contractions, needing to stop walking because I’m in so much pain. UGH!  Meanwhile, Grant is walking ahead into the hospital without me…..

He may have gone to get a wheelchair… I can’t remember.  Let’s say he did. That sounds best.  

Did I pre-register? Um, no. Sorry hospital.  Too busy getting the rest of my life set up.  But apparently that should have been on my list of things to TOTALLY do because then it took the nurse, oh, 30 minutes to get me checked in, repeatedly asking me what my social security number was, my medical history, etc etc etc. Then another nurse comes in and asks the same stuff. I said, “my medical history should all be in my chart that was sent over! Isn’t it in there?!?”  They didn’t seem to care. They wanted to hear it from my lips.  Extra infuriating.  “Can’t I get the epidural while you ask me these things? I need the epidural. GET. ME. THE. EPIDURAL.”

“We’ve paged the anesthesiologist. She is at home so is driving in. She’ll be here shortly.”

Why she wasn’t AT the hospital is beyond me.  So after having these killer contractions for 45 minutes at this hospital where no one but the MIA anesthesiologist could give me drugs, I finally got the shot… except it took her 2 tries. Whatever. I was pain free and loving it.

I had a c-section after 36 hrs of natural labor with Donovan, and I was determined to try a vaginal birth for this baby. The doctor on call knew of my plans and was working with me to try to make that happen.  They placed a heart monitor on my belly to listen to Poopy.  Everything sounded normal except during my contractions.  His heart rate plummeted to a scary slowness.  It almost sounded like the heart was stopping, it was so slow. Then it was “hmm, let me get the doctor in here to take a listen…” I knew that wasn’t good. So they hooked up an internal heart monitor to get a listen, maybe the monitor was falling off during the contractions or something.  Nope. The doctor said the cord was probably wrapped around his neck so they would have to go in and get him out.  So much for my vaginal birth plan. BUT, I was happy to have another c-section because hearing those heart beats so slow scared me so much.  I just thought: Do what you have to do. So they did.

My dad ended up coming to the hospital and was there as they wheeled me in for surgery.  I was at the hospital at 11:30 pm to check in and Quincy Everett Wilson was born at 3:04 am.  The cord was around his neck and so they whisked him away into that other room to get him cleaned up and hearing his first cries after what seemed like forever was the biggest relief. There’s my baby, I thought. They brought him to me and he looked nothing like me, unlike Donovan who was my twin from the get-go.  Quincy rested on my chest and was rooting immediately.  We introduced him to my dad, who was there with camera in hand, as always.  

He was a teeny 5 lbs, 12 oz.  I almost didn’t know what to think… such a teeny little super guy.  I was in love. They sent my placenta to the lab to see why he was so teeny, especially since he was born only 5 days early.  Tests came back negative. Everything was normal.  I blame the stress of the move, but only God knows why he is so small.

That morning, after we had been up all night, Grant had to go to the bank at 9 am to wire the money for the closing of our house.  New beginnings were abundant!

And Donovan came to see his new little brother.  Dad and big brother were both in their Superman t-shirts… very fitting, I think.

 

To say he was excited and happy to finally meet him was an understatement.  He loved visiting us in the hospital every day, always wanting to eat the hospital food in our room and going to get juice boxes from the fridge down the hall. My mom was a champ taking care of him that week; taking him to and from school, bringing him to the hospital, feeding him dinner every night, turning in his form for school pictures… all the big AND little things. Those days were crucial during this transition time in our lives and having her help was priceless.  After 4 days in the hospital, it was time to go home. And I believe we stayed one more night at Kristin’s then my family and friends met us at our storage unit and helped us schlep all of our stuff to our new rental house.

Seriously.  I don’t know what we would’ve done without every single person’s help.  I guess that’s what family and friends are for.  

Now, exactly 11 months later, we are settled.  Still in the rental house, but looking at areas we might want to buy a house in. I’m working full time at the University now too–a job came open right when I started looking that was exactly what I used to do at UVM.  I nailed the interview and started getting that much needed paycheck.  Quincy is still tiny (he’s 11 months old and can still fit into a 3 month sized onsie….) but he has personality galore.  

I love these little stinkers!