If you
tell me you hear voices in your head, I'll call you crazy. But one
time in my life, I heard clear direction from the Lord in my head as
though someone had spoken out loud. It happened exactly nine months
before we had twins.
We had
three small children at home, ages 3, 1, and 9 months, when my
husband suggested that he'd like a brother for our youngest before he
was 2. "Well, I'll get right on that," I sarcastically
responded. Finally, I said, "I am not ready for another baby,
but I will pray about it." That night, I had not even finished
formulating the prayer when I felt very clearly that the Lord wanted
us to have another child. Right away. As in, throw away the pills
right now.
It was
difficult for me to stomach, the thought of a fourth pregnancy in
four years, caring for four children under age four while my husband
worked two jobs and finished seminary. But I very firmly believed the
Lord had planned it for us.
Within
two weeks, I was pregnant with twins.
Twins?
The doctor performing the ultrasound said, "Now hold still while
I look for a third one."
I said,
"Please stop looking!"
I think
I walked around in a daze for a month. Five children under age four.
Five. Is that even physically possible?
I
bought a fancy, automatic, grinding, programmable, coffee maker as a
treat for the impending craziness. (I still use it!)
My
doctor had stopped delivering at Baptist, so I had to find another
doctor. I had planned a home birth, but no midwife in the area wanted
to deliver twins at home. I had read that most doctors these days
prefer to C-section twins due to the high risks they typically pose,
so I interviewed several doctors before I found one who would let me
attempt a regular birth, provided both twins were head down at birth.
I
called Penny Williams immediately. She had attended two of my
previous births at Baptist, and I found her services and advice
incomparable. I praise Jesus that we had no difficulties at all
during the pregnancy. I enjoyed an ultrasound once a week throughout
the course of the pregnancy. The twins stayed head-down the entire
time, except once. At 34 weeks, I felt an incredible turmoil in my
womb as Baby B somersaulted. I looked down at that baby and demanded,
"You flip back over right now!" Well, he took his sweet
time, but he did manage to revert before the birth.
The
pregnancy was difficult. I gained 75 pounds. I couldn't reach the
faucet while doing dishes. I had to chase around three toddlers, one
of whom still required me to lift him in and out of his high chair,
crib, and car seat. So, at 35 weeks, I asked the doctor how much
longer until she could induce me.
"Not
until 39 weeks without a medical reason," she said.
"How
about maternal sanity?" I asked.
"I'm
not a psychologist," she said. But she did sign for a
handicapped placard for me, which did make my life much easier.
At 37
weeks, I told her that I had been having contractions everyday. They
wore me out. She said she was going on vacation at the end of the
week, but she could induce me on Friday if I had contractions. I did
everything I knew to induce contractions that day. Spicy food? Check.
Nipple stimulation? Check. That other thing that husbands get so
excited about? Check. Castor oil? Ew, castor oil? Some friends swore
by it. I called Penny to get her take on it. She said she wouldn't do
it, but it was up to me.
I was
desperate. I mixed the castor oil into a milkshake and didn't even
taste it. Delicious! I certainly regretted it the next morning,
though. I will never do that again. It was painful and unproductive.
But I
did have contractions.
So we
sent our kids away. We packed our hospital bags with movies, games,
clothes, pillows, and towels. We stopped by Chick-Fil-A for lunch. It
was the strangest feeling--the surprise of labor eclipsed by the joy
of induction.
When we
checked in, I was still in early labor. My husband was not allowed
admission to triage until I had been asked the safe-haven question. I
knew it was coming from my previous terrible experience, and I tried
to circumvent it, but to no avail. But this time, I checked in at 3
cm dilated, not 9, so I was happy to let him wait. I was happy all
around.
Until
they checked the monitor strip. "Well," the nurse said, "I
don't really see any contractions."
I said,
"I know I'm having them. I can feel it."
She
checked my belly. "Oh, here's the problem," she said. "The
strap had slid down."
After
15 minutes, my file had proof of contractions, and my doctor started
me on Pitocin to augment my labor.
I lay
in bed all afternoon, resting in between visits with my mother-in-law
and mother. Penny spent the afternoon at the hospital with us, too.
At 9 pm, nine hours after checking in, my doctor suggested breaking
my water.
I was
game.
I told
my nurse that I would want an epidural when I reached 7cm. I don't
know why I chose that number, but maybe it was because I had a hidden
fear that the contractions would stop, and I would end up with a
C-section. The nurse suggested that if I had chosen an epidural, I
might as well get it now, at 5 cm. She didn't have to talk me into
it. The doctor broke my water, and after 45 minutes of outrageously
painful contractions where Penny rocked me and rubbed me through
them, they finally worked in the epidural. They said everyone had to
leave the room but one person. I chose Penny. She helped me to stay
very still during the insertion of the epidural.
I never
expected to go from 5cm to complete before midnight, but I did. In a
very short amount of time, I felt like pushing. I calmly called the
nurse over. "Do you mind checking me? I think I feel like
pushing?"
Her
eyes widened, and she pushed the call button on the hospital bed.
"Call Dr. Carney back now!" Apparently, Dr. Carney had left
the hospital to perform a C-section at a different hospital.
Meanwhile,
the nurses wheeled me down to the operating room for delivery. One of
the conditions for a vaginal birth was called a double set. I could
deliver the babies in the operating room so that I could be prepped
for a C-section quickly in the event of an emergency. I could only
have one visitor join me, so of course, I chose the father! The
nurses kept saying, "Don't push!"
Dr.
Carney strolled into the operating room, pulling on her gloves, and
said, "Okay." Tobias slid out without any effort at all.
At
11:59pm.
"Cool,"
I said. "They're going to have different birthdays!"
For 29
minutes, Dr. Carney pressed her hands on my abdomen to keep Baby B
from turning. With each contraction, the sac bulged out the birth
canal. Dr. Carney had a full-face shield, and all the attending
nurses turned their faces away in case the bag broke. The room was
full of laughter, Tobias was being attended by a team of NICU nurses
and doctors, and Chris was reminding me to push lightly so I wouldn't
burst the capillaries in my eyes. Tyler finally made his appearance
at 12:28 am in his sac.
I
didn't make it back to the room until 3 am. Chris texted a picture of
the babies to the waiting relatives so they wouldn't worry. Poor
Tobias' nose was squashed after nine months of being on the bottom!
The
doctors tried to send me home the next day, which ordinarily would
have thrilled me, but I felt overwhelmed at the idea of taking care
of five children under age 4 less than 9 hours after coming back to
the room. They said insurance would send me home because Tobias had
technically been born the day before, making my total visit two days.
I rolled my eyes. They finally agreed to call it "fatigue"
so insurance would pay for it. They weren't lying!
What
I would repeat:
Basically
everything. I think this hospital experience went very well because I
followed all the policies and rules willingly.
What
I would change:
Insurance.
The one minute Tobias enjoyed before midnight cost $1500 for
"nursery." Sometimes automation does not beat human logic.
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