Ben’s Birth Story

“E I G H T • M O N T H S

Well, little man, this month didn’t start as planned. I went to see a Soldier in the ICU, and apparently the sights + smells + heat caused me to pass out and fall on my belly. So, here we are, stuck in the hospital for 24 hours of observation. Apparently, all those times I thought you were sticking your butt out hard we’re really Braxton Hicks. Who knew? Unfortunately you’re having a bit of a Braxton Hicks party now, which is why they won’t let us leave. 

But you kicked as soon as I came too, and your heart rate is strong and steady. I’m so reassured that you’re just fine, little man. I know we’ve got more time. Grow, baby, grow!”

I typed that Instagram post as I sat in my hospital bed on Wednesday, basically counting down until discharge. But before we get there, let’s backtrack a little: on Sunday, April 29th, I had two Soldiers get in a serious motorcycle accident. Both had severe orthopedic injuries, but fortunately no spinal or head injuries. (I had a Solider in a coma for 2 ish months this time last year — so that’s what my perspective of their injuries came from.) Because of our trip to Florida, I didn’t get the chance to see them until the morning of Wednesday, May 2nd.

Both were scheduled for surgeries that morning, but it was my only window to drive to Nashville to visit and bring some paperwork to their families because of a busy week at work. I missed seeing my first Soldier — she was back in the OR— but spent some time with her parents; then I moved to Vanderbilt University Medical Center to see the second Soldier, whose surgery had been delayed until the afternoon.

I pulled into the parking garage and had a very real debate about going to Dunkin’ Donuts across the street for a quick iced coffee & maybe a donut before my visit. Instead, I decided to wait until after the visit and to enjoy it on the way home. (Hindsight being 20/20, I probably should have just grabbed it early!)

My Soldier was pretty banged up — broken bones in even limb, open wounds that were so swollen they couldn’t be shut, drains everywhere. I talked to him and his mom for about 5 minutes, and suddenly started to feel lightheaded. I shifted over to lean on the counter, and apparently went right down. I woke up about 10 seconds after falling forward, and the rapid response team was already en route.

Apparently, people pass out in the ICU all the time, but I was still thoroughly embarrassed. Here was my Soldier, lucky to be alive but with a long road ahead of him, and I couldn’t even hold it together to visit him for 10 minutes. I kept apologizing, and his mother (a nurse practitioner) was just too sweet. She knew I was pregnant, and she watched me fall forward onto my belly. She was the first one who started emphasizing that I needed to get the baby checked out. After a quick pit stop in the ER, the rapid response team took me up to Labor and Delivery. I was handed over to a nurse named Mickey, who told me I needed “4 to 24 hours” of monitoring. Honestly, I was pissed off. I had SO many things going on that week, and so did Casey. I had a growing to-do list to get through, and had already carefully aligned babysitter coverage so we could attend three separate social events. This “observation” thing was nothing short of inconvenient.

Mickey hooked me up, and we immediately knew the baby was fine based on his heart rate. Mickey also noticed regular Braxton-Hicks contractions. Funny thing was, I had never really had them before — at least to my knowledge. Throughout both third trimesters, it seemed like both babies seemed to enjoy sticking their booties out HARD so my stomach became tight. Well, there was not “booty sticking” going on — those were Braxton Hicks. And since they were coming every 2-4 minutes, it quickly became clear that I wasn’t going to be a “4 hour” person. They wanted my uterus to calm down before letting me go. I fought it the best I could without being downright stupid. I really, really wanted to leave after 4 hours, drive the hour north to our hospital on base, and finish being monitored there. I FELT fine, and it would be so much easier for Casey & Grace logistically if I were local vs an hour away at Vanderbilt. Poor Casey was up at based, distractedly going through his day with text updates from me. My sister, a 3rd year med student at Vandy, had stopped in to see me before her shift and also given him an update. I kept writing the whole thing off, because in my mind I should just be allowed to leave.

Since they team at Vandy wanted me to stay, my discharge would read that I left “against medical advice.” Mickey tipped me off that some insurance companies wouldn’t cover the visit if the patient left against medical advice. Turns out, our insurance was one of them. There was no way around it. I was staying the entire 24 hours. 

Since I was stuck for the night, Casey left work early, picked up Grace, and brought me a backpack with some clean underwear and toiletries. By the time he and Grace arrived, the contractions had pretty much subdued — from every 2-4 minutes to every 10-15, and eventually down to every 20-30 minutes. The OB stopped by while they were in the room, and we talked about the plan moving forward. I had already received the first steroid shot normally administered to moms about to deliver pre-term babies as a precaution; the next one was due around 12:00pm the next day. However, my 24 hours was up at 9:30am, baby’s heart rate was steady in the 120s-130s, and my contractions were pretty much over. The OB felt comfortable releasing me around 10am and letting me do the second steroid shot at Fort Campbell (I had already called and discussed everything with my midwife). They really didn’t have major concerns heading into the night, and expected me to leave right after breakfast. HALLELUJAH! Anything to get me home faster!

Casey and Grace left, and he was planning to take her to daycare and work a normal day on Thursday. I went to sleep around 9:30, hoping for a restful night despite all the monitors. 

My restful night ended at 10:30 when a handful of nurses came in, turning all the lights on with them. Baby’s heart rate, which had been strong at 125 all day, was tracking in the 95-105 range all of the sudden. I wasn’t super concerned; this had happened all the time with Grace and it usually meant she had moved to a new position that wasn’t easy for the monitor to pick up.

For 5-10 minutes, I got moved, my belly monitors got moved, I got oxygen, and the team kept prodding me. Probably around 10:40, the OB came in to watch. Then she turned to me and said, “Okay, it’s time to talk delivery plan.”

My response? “Um, excuse me?” This all had me totally off guard. She repeated herself, and I asked what the options were. C-section. So the plan was already made. Sometime between 10:45 and 10:50, she made the call. They picked up the room phone and blasted a call to the OR team. I was still a little confused, but amazingly calm. There was NOTHING I could do to change this. They were the medical professionals, after all.

I threw the attending OB my phone as I was reached down the hall in my bed toward the OR. “What’s your passcode???” She yelled back. She finally got in to call Casey. Poor Casey — asleep an hour away, with a toddler in bed, thinking everything was fine. I literally can’t imagine the horror he felts when he got the call at 10:53 pm and was told, “Your wife is having an emergency C-section.”

I had signed none of the consent forms, so I had people essentially briefing me and getting consent the whole way to the OR. I met the anesthesiologist and pediatrician as they moved me from the bed onto the OR table. I asked what my choices were for anesthesia — no time for anything but a full knockout. I could here the OB pressuring the anesthesia team to hurry as the nurses prepped my belly. Curtain up. Underwear off. Dress off. Cold water. Iodine. I could feel it all. Then the anesthesiologist said, “Okay, we’re putting you to sleep now.” And of the second time that day, I blacked out.

Casey got the call that I was headed back ay 10:53. Ben was born at 11:06. Chills.

Casey called my sister, who was just getting off an ER shift, and she got a quick update while he drove. Successful delivery. Baby boy. 5 lb, 9 oz. 18.5 inches. Healthy. Mom was in recovery. By the time he and sleeping Grace arrived, I was being wheeled back to my hospital room.

I woke up with Casey, Grace, and my sister Katy all there. Casey can now look back and say I was pretty funny coming off anesthesia. Grace, bless this girl’s heart, was just the sweetest. She just wanted to sit next to me and cuddle while we waited for Ben. Just after 1am, he joined us in the room.

Ben was so perfect. All swaddled up, and so tiny. We had him for about 15 minutes before the pediatrician decided to take him back to the NICU. He was breathing, but it was labored. Once they took Ben, my sister grabbed Grace and took her for the night, and Casey and I moved from my “monitoring room” to a mother-baby unit room.

Looking back now, it was a crazy 13-ish hours. I am so grateful for how things unfolded. First, that I was at Vanderbilt, the BEST hospital we could have asked for when this all happened. Second, that my care team in L&D was so adamant I stay longer. And third, that they were so prepared to react when Ben’s vitals started dropping, and that they were able to get him out of me so quickly. I was told that upon delivery it was very obvious my placeta had abrupted from my fall; and at some point in the 24 hours after, it was inevitable Ben would have run out of life support. Thank God it happened when and where it did.

If you made it this far, THANK YOU! I’m not even sure how to turn on blog comments (seriously, anyone smart with Wix?) but your prayers and support mean the world to us. Next step: Getting our butts out of the NICU!

Xoxo

Erin, Casey, Grace, and Baby Ben