Monday, April 6, 2015

Oliver Fitz::::

Wednesday, April 1st. April Fools Day.
Throughout my pregnancy I kept self talking myself into making it to April. I would say, "If I can just make it to April, that would be best for baby" given my history of preterm babies, both born in the 35th week. Making it to 36 weeks was a major feat and uncharted waters!
Wednesday I kept busy, I had a hair appointment in the morning, and even ran an errand to pick up product for a client. We went about our day like any other; we even played outside until Marshall came home, and we had breakfast for dinner. Egg burrito for me, and pancakes and sausage for the boys. I sat on our little floral yellow chair to rest from the day after dinner when my mom called on her way to work (the night shift at North Memorial hospital). She immediately asked how I was feeling, this is when my first contractions started. It was like my body heard her call and said "GO!" For the next hour my contractions were regular. Every 2-4 minutes, lasting anywhere from 30 seconds to 2 minutes. I paced around the house keeping track while Marshall bathed the boys and put them to bed. I almost talked myself out of going into the hospital, but then my contractions started to get a little more uncomfortable. Marshall persistently called to me to lay down and relax, but I couldn't! I hopped in the shower, changed into clothes that would be easy to get out of in case things happened fast and gathered a couple things in case we were having a baby. I called my sister to see where she was, and she agreed to come over with her boyfriend and stay at the house so we could go to the hospital. It could not have worked out more perfectly. The boys were already asleep, the house was clean, Marshall was home, and babysitters wouldn't have to do anything but keep watch of the house and take care of the boys in the morning. I knew that if we didn't move when we had the chance, things would quickly get complicated. I called the hospital to see what I should do, and thankfully, my doctor was on call. She called me right away. She sent me in, and we both hoped that she would be able to deliver me if it got to that.
When my sister arrived, Marshall and I were ready to go. It was thundering and lightening and the rain was pouring down. Marshall and I laughed and talked about how surreal it felt to be together this time. The last two times, Marshall wasn't able to drive me to the hospital. And last time, he wasn't able to be at the delivery itself. This was a special gift from God that he allowed us to experience everything together from beginning to end. I am so grateful for the Lords timing in everything.
When we checked into triage it was just before 9pm, I immediately thought they would send us back home, that what I was feeling was nothing and that contractions would stop and that I hadn't progressed. She checked my cervix and sure enough, I was a 1 1/2. A lousy little 1 1/2.  I was embarrassed that I was even there, but because of my contractions, I knew I needed to be. After monitoring me for an hour, she checked me again and I had progressed to a 3 before 10:30. (Whew!) I was moving fast. I was so relieved when she said they were keeping us! I asked the nurse when she thought the baby would be here and she thought midnight or 1 am. April fool's!
 Once they admitted us, I had a new nurse, and I will blame my night nurse for how the rest of the night went.
Marshall and I tried to get as comfortable as we could. We were in a room without any windows, just one of those fake tv picture things that change from pretty flowers to grassy fields to starry nights. I secretly hated it, but was too grateful to be there that I didn't have energy to care.
Once I was hooked up to my IV (I was positive for Group B strep from the very beginning- so I needed antibiotics for delivery) and they were monitoring my contractions, I needed to use the bathroom-- and continued to need to use the bathroom so frequently that I knew my nurse hated me and rolled her eyes every time she needed to unhook me from the monitors. When she asked me my pain level, I swear I read her mind and I knew she called me a baby (Maybe none of this is true, but she was not my friend this night).
I wanted to go as far as I could without drugs and told her that I would like to get to at least a 7 without an epidural. I was feeling a lot tougher than I should have.
You guys. I sat at a 3 ALL NIGHT. I am talking, from 10:30 to probably 5 am. I am blaming my nurse because I couldn't relax with her. I was so uncomfortable, and she kept forgetting to do things, and she never asked how I was doing and was clearly annoyed when I would call her to my room to help me. Marshall laid (as comfortably as he could) on the couch, and I watched him try to sleep. I didn't sleep a wink. I was in pain, breathing and watching the clock and trying to hold my urges to use the bathroom because I didn't want to bother my nurse again. I even tried to get the cords to reach from the monitors to the toilet ... I couldn't.
My contractions started to get closer and more painful as early morning approached. At this point, I knew that I had to have progressed, I mean, I was in PAIN! I asked my nurse if I could have something for my pain and without being completely rude, she told me her shift was over and how she would let the next nurse know. (...... I wanted her shift to done.)
She did manage to check my cervix before her shift was up. I waited for her to tell me, "wow! You are at a 7 or 8 or 9!", judging by the amount of pain that I was enduring. "You are at a 4" ....
A 4!?!? HOW?!? I had Eli without drugs and hardly pain like this and I'm at a measly 4?!
I was exhausted. I hadn't slept at all; I was living off a 2 egg burrito and a green smoothie from the night before.
Then my next nurse walked in. I swear she had a halo circling around her precious head. I knew I loved her. She immediately ordered my epidural and got me as comfortable as she could. She checked in with the doctor and relayed the plan that laid before us.
I was beyond thrilled when the anesthesiologist arrived. I did exactly what they asked of me and as I sat on the edge of the bed with my bare back to them, I watched Marshall from across the room. I wanted him to be touching me, but my nurse was so hands on that I don't think he felt like he should be too close.
I felt the pinch of the local anesthetic near my spine, then I could feel the pressure of what felt like the hollow tube being ran through my vertebrae. I think feeling the hollow tube was something I shouldn't have felt.
Minutes later, I was numb where I needed to be. I couldn't feel any contractions, and I was in heaven. My nurse checked me; I was at a 5. Progressing! The doctor suggested a tiny bit of pitocin to get things going, and she also broke my water. After this, things happened fast.
It didn't even feel like an hour had passed before she had checked me again to tell me I was at a 10! I was feeling a LOT of pressure to push. Even through the epidural. I remember not feeling a thing when I had an epidural last time. This was such a different experience.
The room was prepped and ready to go. My heavy legs were placed in the stirrups, and I had Marshall on my left and my nurse on my right.
It was calm and exciting in the room. I smiled through the pressure I was feeling in my back that ran through my body. I hurt and I hurt good.
It took just a couple pushes for my doctor to notice that the baby was facing up. She then proceeded to turn him. I couldn't exactly feel the trauma of this until after the epidural wore off, and even now. But this explains the pain my body was going through. She worked and worked to turn him upside down and when she did, I knew he would be right out. I pushed maybe 3 or 4 more times before he arrived. Marshall squeezed my leg and quietly cheered me on. With my final push, I felt his body leave mine, almost like the wind was knocked out of me and he pulled all of my insides out with him. I was empty. I was instantly longing for him to be put back. 

(10:53 am- April 2nd, 2015)
Until they flopped his fresh little body on my chest. He came out crying strong and loud. I glanced over at Marshall, and his eyes looked proud. He lowered his head in close for a better look. I just remember his mouth moving but not making out what he said. They took Oliver away to get his measurements and called them out. 6 lbs.3oz., 18 inches. "He's just perfect" he was. He is.
He was born 3 weeks and 5 days early which meant he would need a little help in some areas, but he plowed through them. The trauma of delivery unfortunately took its toll on me, leaving  me with tears inside and out (not kidding) Even the nurses that had been checking on me each commented on how swollen I was from delivery. And even more unfortunate, Oliver has a broken clavicle. Most likely from being turned while inside of me. There is nothing that they do to treat it because they are so little and their bones are soft and growing so fast. We are extra gentle and make sure not to move his arm.
This delivery was hands down the hardest for me. I can't wait until Oliver and I are all healed up and 100%!
We were able to come home when we were supposed to! Another sweet gift, with the last two babies, I stayed in the hospital for weeks and bringing Oliver home felt so frightening but natural at the same time.
Marshall and I could not come up with a middle name for this guy. We held on to the birth certificate paper until just before heading out. We wrote the ideas on paper and drew from a hat, drew numbers, wrote full names out and even asked a nurse.
Oliver Fitz Abrahamson
It just sounds right.

This little one looks just like his daddy and even more like his brothers. He just belongs with us and I am so happy he his finally here.
We are all so in love. The boys want to hold him and kiss him and pat his back and watch him..... It doesn't get old.
(Unless, Eli has a terrible, awful, worst timed cold ever. Which he does. I am not surprised. Things can't ever be too easy. ;)

I have been saying many prayers of gratitude for all the prayers, love and support we have received from our friends and family. We are so grateful to be surrounded by so many wonderful and loving people in our lives. Each of my children's lives have and will continue to be blessed by those that love them. Thank you to Maple Grove Hospital, to my family, especially my sister and my mother who watched the boys for us when we couldn't, to Marshall's parents for making his birthday special, when I couldn't and to Marshall- for being the best husband and father I could ever know.