My Final Birth Story

The Story of Silas: My Final Birth Story

It is really hard to write that title. Final. 

It has taken nearly 10 months for me to be able to write those words and the story of Silas’ birth.

After the life-changing experience of Schafer’s (my fifth child) birth, everyone, including my OB, suggested that I choose to stop having children. I simply knew in my heart that our family was not complete.

So, here’s the scenery. I was 41 years old and had 5 unique birth experiences, with the most recent one nearly taking my life. I don’t like being pregnant. Since we have a big family, people are often shocked to hear this. It’s just hard for me on so many different levels, I can’t really begin to explain. 

I really have to do a lot of mental work and preparation for the actual experience of being pregnant. Everyone, with the exception of my husband (and he was a little shaky) believed our family was complete. I found out I was pregnant in July 2020, in the middle of a global pandemic. The pregnancy was hard from the beginning. Everything about it was hard. Everything. 

One of the hardest things was not telling anyone (quite literally there were only 4 people in the world who knew I was pregnant). We didn’t even tell our other children until 20 weeks. SInce the pandemic was raging, we didn’t see anyone, so no one noticed. My husband Corey and I were excited, happy and joyful to be bringing another child into our family and the world. This was no accident. There was no shame. It wasn’t easy to keep it a secret.

We didn’t tell anyone for the simple fact that we didn’t want to hear any negative opinions (I’ve written about this in other places). We held this information from everyone until Thanksgiving. And then shared the most exciting news in the most exciting of ways, a Thanksgiving Zoom call.

After Schafer’s difficult birth, my birth plan was considerably different. Gone were the days of planning a beautiful home birth with my favorite and beloved midwife Sarah Simmons. I had made peace with that before we decided to have another child but there were certainly feelings of disappointment. I recognized this would be a planned, high-risk pregnancy. It would be at a hospital. And, thankfully, it would be with the OB that I trust most in the world, Dr. John Carroll. My goals and birth plan were quite simple: Avoid magnesium. No hemorrhaging. Period.

Did I mention the pregnancy was hard? I really tried to savor every moment. Reminding myself this would be my last, I approached each day with love and tenderness for the life growing inside me. I noticed I was growing much bigger and much faster than my previous pregnancies. I paid attention to every small change and feeling in my body. Every baby hiccup and kick. Every flip and flop. I often felt sick throughout this pregnancy. When it was hard and I was struggling, I focused on gratitude. I was so blessed to be having this experience.

Since this story is my last and is so different from all the others, I feel compelled to tell it in a blow by blow sort of way. That’s kind of the way it felt, like a boxing match, one hit after another.

I knew the risks of pre-eclampsia were very real. In my third trimester, my blood pressure was starting to elevate. My OB suggested induction at 37 weeks. We were almost there on Monday, March 8th. I completed a routine check-up and bloodwork and a full day of massage appointments. I came home exhausted. The following morning I felt sick (again). It was different. As usual, I tried to push through it. I texted Corey that I wasn’t feeling well and had a bad headache. The feelings of sickness were starting to change. I can’t really describe it other than I felt really sick in my core.

Fortuitously, Sarah from Dr. Carroll’s office called to talk with me about my test results and could tell from my voice that I was not well. Dr. Carroll advised me to go to the hospital. I came downstairs and told Corey we needed to go. Right away. I felt “off” and knew something wasn’t right.

On the drive to the hospital, I was struggling with my speech. I remember being in triage and the nurse telling me I was not going home. I expected this. But then came the news. They would be starting magnesium and inducing labor immediately. I was heartbroken but really too sick to be aware of everything that was happening.

Mag and Pit. Things kind of blur from here. The discomfort and pain of that first dose of magnesium is really indescribable. I remember really fighting my way through it. Small pieces of information. The padding on the bed in case of seizure. The dual IV sites. The pain of a catheter without an epidural was absolutely awful. The ice packs the nurse and Corey were putting all over me. And how quickly my body temperature would melt the ice.

The induction was a long and slow process. I didn’t have much control over convincing my body to get into labor. The magnesium dulled the contractions. I was maxed out on Pitocin and could barely feel the contractions. I progressed very slowly. I remember praying. I prayed that I wouldn’t need a C-section. Dr. Carroll remained patient. The baby was not coming down. I remember laying there feeling so sick. There’s just no way to describe it.

My beloved doula business partner, Tara, arrived in the morning of March 10th providing Corey and myself much needed support and a breath of fresh air. Her calm presence and gentle suggestions made all the difference in guiding us towards the next phases of birth. Corey and I are forever grateful for her.

It had become clear that the baby was not descending due to polyhydramnios (excessive fluid). No wonder I was so big! Dr. Carroll presented us with the option to break my bag, but there was a real risk of cord prolapse due to the amount of fluid. If things went wrong, an immediate C-section would be necessary. Thus, an epidural needed to be placed. 

So strange. My view of birth has evolved and continues to evolve. There have been times in my life when I would have paused with all of these medical interventions. I’m familiar with all of them. I understand them. I recognize when they are necessary and when there may be a need for pause. This was not a time that needed pause. I was only able to give up control because of the immense trust I had in the team that was caring for me. I knew without question that they would lead me on this journey. 

I prayed for my baby to arrive soon and safely. Once the epidural was placed and my bag was broken, labor progressed quite quickly. Baby started to find the way. Within a few hours we were ready to push. And my body remembered exactly what to do. And the moment arrived to find out who would be joining our family.

Corey announced that we had a son. I was happy for a moment until I saw the look on Dr. Carroll’s face. He was trying to stimulate the baby. My son was not responsive. I knew he was not well. The color of the skin. The silence. My heart sank.

Nothing prepares you for that moment.

NICU was there to receive him. Corey stood by, talking to our son. Welcoming him as we had our previous 5 children. Other than that, there was silence. He never cried or made a sound. There was none of the usual banter and small talk I have with Dr. Carroll. I remember the silence. They worked on him in the room for awhile and then were preparing to take him to the NICU. Corey and Tara intervened and asked if I could hold him. Just a moment of skin-to-skin contact.

The moment you wait for, to hold your baby in your arms. Relief, joy, sadness, emptiness, uncertainty. Love and fear, all at once. He was breathing and I thanked God he was here and that it was over.

I watched him leave the room. I felt empty. I knew he was in good hands and would be okay. It’s hard to not be with your baby. I would not see him again for 24 hours as I needed to be in recovery from the magnesium. More waiting. I was grateful that Corey went to be with him at the first moment he was allowed. Corey stayed with him and held him skin-to-skin all night and often throughout the days he remained in NICU.

Silas John Gerald was a gift to us. 

I am grateful for our journey. He spent the next 8 days in the NICU and, well, that’s a story for another day.