Guest Post: “It was the worst of times…. Another infertility story”

There is a deep feeling of pain every month, one you hopefully will not become used to. But for many of us, it’s all to familiar a feeling: you got your period this month, again.

We had hit the 18 month mark before I had to stop counting. For the first few months, aunt flow came with all my familiar cramps and pains, and I would smile through the rest of the week with shrug: it was healthy not to get pregnant right away. Then the second half of that next year, I would get a little more down trodden, but I had nowhere to turn. By the end of the first year, I was a mess every month when the “crimson tide” started, because I knew it meant one thing…Not pregnant yet.

I didn’t have a lot of support. My family thought I was too young to start a family: every time it came up, the infamous “I’m too young to be a grandma” would rear its head, and I would just smile and nod, pretending that I wasn’t doing everything I could to get knocked up. My husband didn’t truly understand my anguish, because as a man you just don’t worry about these kinds of things. My girlfriends all had different agendas, finishing school and finding careers. My first doctor shrugged me off as a fat, young girl that needed to hold her horses. At 23, I was hit with this feeling that I would not ever get the family I had dreamed of as a kid.

I watched friend after friend post new baby updates, and with each one, I found the “hide” setting. I wanted to be happy for them, but I couldn’t be happy. My husband’s close friend from work had a new baby boy, and I broke down in our bedroom before going to see them, while he watched not sure what to say. A cousin in the family got pregnant: no job, not married, not readily paying her bills and moved back home with her mom shortly after finding out she was pregnant- and hasn’t left- and it was all on accident. Barely out of high school, she couldn’t take care of herself, much less the dead-beat father she was trying to support and a new baby. But she was given the greatest miracle in the world, to be a mom, and I was a bitter because I wanted it to be me!

It broke my heart. I cried myself to sleep. I laid awake guilt ridden at all hours of the night. I kept a journal about how unfair it all was, and how broken I felt. No matter how much I tried, or how much I wanted to get pregnant, my body just wouldn’t. I watched the months tick by, and knew that all these “delays” were adding up. It would make the difference between my husband’s Grandmother meeting our daughter –he was her favorite grandson- because her health did not allow her to stay with us that long. I blamed myself a lot, and brought myself down. I let myself hit the lowest of lows, truly believed that this was just not going to happen for us. In order to write this post, I went back through those old journals, and it made my heart hurt all over again.

I have mild PCOS: the cysts on my ovaries were not very large, and the extra chemical progesterone was only mildly over what it should have been. We had my thyroid tested, and all came back clear. I could grow facial hair like my husband, and had gained weight over the years that I really didn’t link up with the PCOS until now. I was one of the lucky ones, where in a 12 month span, I would only skip a period 2 or 3 times because I hadn’t ovulated that month. My first doctor did not run additional tests at all, other than the basic ultrasound, and left me with the diagnosis to see her again in a year and lose weight. Notice how I said first… if you don’t like or agree with your doctor now, do you think you will later, when you do get pregnant? Ditch any negative nancies now, and find a new OB/GYN that is willing to help!

After the close to two years of trying of trying, I really stopped counting. I looked up adoption, starting writing up a biography about us, and started looking up what kind of fees I would need to pay, and how I was going to save up for them. I forced my husband to see his doctor –and let me remind every one of you beautiful, hurting ladies: it takes two to tango here! His test results were similar to mine: again, we were sent away with a diagnosis of lose weight, try harder, and then it’ll work. I then turned into some sort of monster: I blamed him for not taking his vitamins, drinking one more soda than he should have, putting his left shoe on before his right… Things that were totally unrelated became a bullet point on my vendetta list. I went from sobbing emotional sad-sack to bitter bitch-zilla in a 10 minute span (influenced mildly by Clomid) and I was not fun to be around, even to myself, I would realize later.

I won’t sit here and tell you what the magic trick is to being okay with not being okay. Take a moment to yourself, don’t just pretend and smile through the day. There are days you are going to need to cry it all out, nights you just need loud music, or a quiet hot bath. It gets much harder before it will ever be easier, but it does make victory so much sweeter. Here’s the thing: you can throw as much as you want into your fertility, but there’s never a guarantee that it’ll be enough. Take each month in stride, make positive changes, and do what you can to help yourself.

I’m no expert, but I do have some experience in the area. If your doctor is unwilling to help you, there are a lot of things you can do to help yourself. Start by knowing as much as you can about fertility: learn how to track your cycles, find those ‘super foods’ the internet talks about, cut out the bad things from your life, like smoking, before you begin to try. My favorite book was “The Impatient Woman's Guide to Getting Pregnant” by Heidi Murkoff. I read it three times through or more. There’s certainly a lot to learn, and a lot to change. Because it takes two, you also want to help your partner make changes too: quitting smoking, reducing alcohol and coffee intake, even switching to different underwear. I highly suggest you both take a prenatal vitamin: part of this suggestion though, I would use an empty bottle of vitamin whatever and fill it with prenatals, if your partner isn’t as on board as you are. Folic acid for him is equally as good as it is for you! Sperm is, however, made in advance, so what you are using today was actually “created” 3 months prior. Changes on your partners side will take effect 2 to 3 months later.

Use the time you have before being pregnant to do things you wanted to learn to do: I am thankful I had a chance to learn to crochet before we had baby-on-board. I got a second dog, and trained him before we got pregnant (another blessing in so many ways!). I could financially prepare for what we were going to need, and the delay was a good thing,  that allowed my husband to change jobs to something more reliable, with a higher wage which was nice too. Maybe it’s a trip to Hawaii you’ve always been dreaming of, or learning professional photography. Keep your partners feelings in mind too: maybe there’s something he would like to do before baby too, and squeeze these simple pleasures and new hobbies in beforehand. For secondary infertility, enjoy your first child just a little longer. Make a few fun outings that you don’t normally, like a road trip to the beach, and just enjoy their excitement. Soon, you’ll have to try to find time for two, and you’ll miss these days.

In the end, do what makes sense to you. Your mind knows what it wants. If you just need to rant, or cry, or hit something, find a constructive way to do it! You are doing all you can, and good things really do take time. Surround yourself with people you can talk to, doctors whom you trust and respect their advice, and who are there to help you through your struggle, not just shrug you off with a “lose weight” or “get older” verdict. There is no magic trick to getting pregnant, no wonderful pill you can take and make it easier. Anyone who has never had trouble getting pregnant has no idea what it feels like, and they give bad advice –take it with a grain of salt. Talk about it, even if it’s just to a word document on your computer, or a notebook at home, and let go of all your frustrations and unwind! You are not ever, ever alone in this journey!

So, my last piece of advice. Go into the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror. Tell yourself that “We are going to do this!”. Repeat every day. You really are going to be able to do this, in your body’s own time. And, that feeling every month? It makes it totally worth it in the end!



Amanda P. is a soon-to-be mom from Arizona. She works at an airline call center and also has a website that you can check out here. Sending Amanda lots of well wishes, as she is due to give birth February 2014!

Guest Post: "Laila's Story"

For months I have gone back and forth about writing this... but I would like to go ahead and document it, at least for my daughter to read when she gets a bit older.

When I was younger, I was told that I would never be able to have children due to PCOS. I accepted my fate and kept my head held high. I would adopt. One way or another, I would be a mommy to someone someday.

I met my best friend turned husband in 2007. When we were married in 2009, we decided we definitely wanted children. I told him they may not be biological if we were to have children and his views on adoption/foster parenting matched mine. We began making about a 45 minute drive each weekend for our foster parenting classes. We were midway through the classes and we were informed that the demand for younger children and infants was high, so we would more than likely never have a child under the age of 16 in our home. We have nothing against teenagers, but we were looking to be able to instill good values and eventually adopt the child we were raising. We had just been teenagers not all that long ago and we knew what the job entailed. Lots of angst, rebellion, and heartbreak is generally what surrounds the teenage years. This isn’t true for all children, but we learned that teenagers in foster homes were more likely to rebel than your average teenager. We discontinued our classes.

We began charting ovulation and I began my monthly blood tests to check for pregnancy. After more and more attempts, and even more failed pregnancy tests, we decided it wasn’t meant to be. Several of my friends at work had become pregnant, and all I could think of was “Why not us?” It was hard. It was 2011 and we decided we were just going to chill out on the “trying to get pregnant” process. Finally have some us time.

 ENTER April 2011. This month was not a particularly hot month, but for some reason, I had been waking up at all hours of the night in hot and cold sweats. I hadn’t missed my period or anything like that, in fact I had just gotten off of it. It had to be my hormones I thought. The week of the 28th, I scheduled an appointment to have a blood test to check my thyroid. I had been feeling ill all week. I was definitely getting sick I thought. At my appointment, she asked if we had still been trying, “On and Off” I answered. She told me I should try and take a pregnancy test as well, just to make sure. I dreaded it. The heartbreak that followed every time I took a test in that office and it came back negative... “Here we go again”, I thought. As I sat and waited for the test to turn, she prepared the needle for the blood test. “OH MY GOD IT’S POSITIVE!!!!!” she yelled. I calmly looked over and asked “What?”  “THE TEST!!!!! YOU’RE GOING TO BE A MOMMA!!!!!!” I began shaking. It had to be wrong. I requested another test. She informed me that the medical grade tests were 98% accurate. I was in disbelief. I took another test “POSITIVE!!!!!” she screamed again. I still said no. I requested the blood test. Those tests are 100%. I was shaking.

I left work early that day; it was my husband’s day off. I had bought a card a long time ago that I had intended to give him when I found out we were pregnant. It said: Get ready for the pickles and ice cream! We’re pregnant! When I got home Jeff was concerned. I told him that I would be right back. I went to the closet, got the card and the 2 stick tests, and wrote my heart out about he was going to be a daddy. I placed the sticks inside and sealed the envelope. I placed the letter directly into his hands. He wanted to know what it was... He shook it and tried to see through it. He had no clue. He opened it and looked right at the tests. “Whose are these? “He said. “Read the letter!!!”. He read it and stood in shock.  He turned to me, searching my face to see if I was about to yell JUST KIDDING!!...and I grinned from ear to ear. He gave me one of the biggest hugs I think I have ever had. In fact, he started cutting off my air supply at one point. He wouldn’t let go. “LET GO!!!!!!!” I yelled. When we pulled away he just continuously asked me if it was real. Over and over again. I told him the tests were 98% accurate and that the blood test would be back tomorrow to let us know 100%. That night we went through one of the largest hail producing storms Tennessee has ever seen. My car was totaled. Thank God for full coverage insurance!! Haha.  The next day the test came back positive!!!! An ultrasound followed and we found out I was 6wks along.

The months flew by. The morning sickness finally trailed off. I loved being pregnant. I was going to have a natural, drug free birth. After watching countless documentaries and reading horror stories about hospital births, we found a midwife and quickly learned my insurance doesn’t even touch midwifery services. We decided at the recommendation of a friend, on a local Obgyn. I would still have the natural birth, but I would simply deliver at the hospital….right? Throughout my pregnancy, EVERYONE told us we were definitely having a boy. The day we were to find the sex, Jeff asked me what I felt in my heart it would be. I said “I think it’s going to be a girl.” BINGO! Jeff’s heart grew 100 times larger that day. A daddy’s girl. He was ecstatic. So was I. I wore pink to work the next day to announce to everyone. We would name her Laila. (Like the Eric Clapton song, but spelled different)

The day was fast approaching. I was huge, and I loved it. I was getting foot and back rubs every night (which is still continuing to this day. Lol...) I was finally on maternity leave. This was the life. But it wasn’t. We wanted our little girl. We walked as much as we could, trying to get labor to start. My due Date was Dec 25th. Our doctor kept throwing induction around, but we declined. She would come when she was ready. Laila was a very busy baby while in the womb. She constantly hiccupped and kicked around.

On the evening of January 3rd, I was sitting at the computer at home, playing an old Sims game, and I felt a pop. Then came the small flood. My water had broken…on its own. YAY!!! I calmly texted Jeff to call me. He called and wanted to know what was up. I told him my water had broken and he needed to come home. I didn’t tell him that when my water had broken that it had a green tint to it, meaning that Laila, being an overdue baby, had her first bowel movement in the womb. Which is a normal thing for babies that are past due, but it makes things a bit trickier because infection can set in quickly. I didn’t want to tell Jeff because he tends to drive a bit too quickly when there’s an emergency. I hopped in the shower, and started to pack. When Jeff arrived, I told him about the fluid, and I moved/ waddled faster than I had in months. Haha!

I had been very adamant about having my female doctor deliver Laila (I think it’s a bit odd when men go into the obgyn practice. Just sayin’); however, she was not on call that night. It was the only male dr in the practice that happened to be on call. Oh well. They got me hooked up to the monitors and I began the journey into labor. The contractions were hell. With no pain medicine, it was by far the worst pain of my life. It was 9 pm. I had read that first babies take a lot longer to be born. Oh my gosh. I labored in bed, on the ball, in the bathroom in the hall. I started shaking, which was completely normal the dr assured me. I was freezing. I started convulsing a bit. Laila’s heart rate was high, and it would not go down. A team of nurses rushed in, and the next few hours were a blur to me. I had about 10 blankets on me and they had begun to give me oxygen. They wanted to give me Pitocin to make my labor speed up. I declined. My actual dr. finally arrived and checked me. I was at 6 centimeters. But then she checked my temperature. It was 103.5 and rising. The baby’s heart rate was too. Emergency C-section she said. I asked what my other options were; she said there are no other options. She said I could either be put to sleep, or take the epidural and be awake to hear her first cries.

The nurse called for the anesthesiologist. A boy, a bit younger than me, arrived to the room. HE was the anesthesiologist….the student anesthesiologist. The senior tech was already in surgery with another patient. I asked the boy how many epidurals he had done. “Enough.” He answered as he looked down at the floor. I turned my back and sat as he pushed and poked, meanwhile having the worst contractions ever. He found the spot…and he messed up. He put it in crooked and it numbed one of my legs.  I was still feeling everything. He wanted to try again. He removed the needle and replaced it. Nothing. Finally the dr arrived and said they would get the senior tech to do it, but there was no time left, I needed to get in the operating room ASAP. Poor Jeff was a nervous wreck the entire time. He tried massaging me, I didn’t want to be touched... I didn’t want to talk. I felt like I failed my baby. But I know it wasn’t my fault... sometimes, in these situations, you don’t have proper thought process.   They rushed me into the room, and the senior tech once again tried the epidural. Nothing...again.  One leg was numb, and they had given me so many epidurals at this point, the left side of my body was numb, and my face was drooping, similar to that of a stroke victim. I was pitiful. FINALLY they did a spinal tap on me and got me to go numb from the waist down.

They finally brought Jeff in (while they were cutting and removing organs I might add). We sat behind a big blue curtain waiting. They informed me that because of the stress she had gone through and the meconium that was in the amniotic fluid, that she would be rushed off to the NICU unit to be tested for infection. We continued to wait for what seemed like a century and then we heard it. The most beautiful cry ever. I hate that she was torn from me violently under bright lights and didn’t get to come on her own terms. Her daddy didn’t get to catch her or cut the cord. But she got here safely either way. Jeff went around and got to her hold her first. Then they brought her around to me after getting her all cleaned up. She was amazing. She had stopped crying by the time the brought her around. They laid her across my chest and she just stared at me. Jeff and I both cried as we held that scrunched up little baby.

Then they took her away.

They wheeled me into recovery. I was refusing pain meds, but I could barely breath it was so severe. My dr advised me to take half a Percocet and some ibuprofen. I felt better. My legs were still numb, and the feeling would not return for 2 days. It would be 6 hours before I could see my baby. I was advised to recover the rest of the night, as they discovered I had an infection in my blood from the fluid. They kept me on antibiotics. Although Laila didn’t show signs of infection, they wanted to make sure. They told me they would be keeping her in the NICU for 7 days for back to back antibiotic treatments. When I went to go see my baby, she had holes in her little bruised hands; she had holes in her tiny little feet, and an I.V in the top of her head. But she looked at me with such wonderment. I began skin on skin contact right away. My milk came in that night and she fed perfectly. Thank God for that. I wanted to feed her on demand, so they paged me every time she was hungry. Every 2 hours. The nurses all gave me kudos for being such a good mommy, even though I was still losing a lot of blood, I went to her every time they called. And I went to her even when they didn’t call. I was in love.  Jeff constantly stayed with the both of us. Taking time with me, going to see her.  He didn’t get any sleep. I love that man.

When they informed us that they were discharging us, we found out through my dr that we could do something called in-rooming with Laila. She would be hooked up to monitors in the room and we would be allowed to stay there with her. The room had a bed that was as hard as a rock. And being a vegetarian at the time, they didn’t understand that I didn’t eat meat. They constantly brought steak and chicken. How annoying.

No one could give us a straight answer on when she would be discharged. But finally, after 7 days, the dr came in and said she had passed her tests and we would be discharged. I immediately began packing. They came in and unhooked her. We got to hold our baby for the first time. No cords. No monitors. It was a beautiful thing.

That night we went home and cuddled our baby. She slept a lot. They said it may take a few days for the medicine to wear off.

Two weeks later, I was feeding her; I burped her and saw a lot of blood running from her mouth. We raced her to our local Children’s Hospital, where she was hooked up to monitors and readmitted. We stayed with her again. After many tests, they determined a dairy allergy. Being a vegetarian, cheese was the only dairy product I ate. But being a mother, sometimes you have to make sacrifices. I asked no questions, and became a vegan then and there that day. After another week in the hospital, we were free to go.

Laila did not get here easily, and her first few weeks of life were enough to make some people lose hope. But we didn’t. Sometimes, life throws you for a loop. That’s life. Don’t let it conquer you or steal your soul. Don’t ever let the darkness creep in, I have come close many times, but my husband and my miracle baby keep me on track. This is Laila’s story. Today she is a healthy baby girl that loves being outside and having songs sang to her.  I would happily lay my life down for her. Thanks for reading.

Bundles of Joy,
Spen’Sar




Guest Post written by Spen'Sar Custer, mother of 1 from Tennessee. She's also a hiker, outdoor enthusiast, artist, music lover, wife, and a tree huggin', dirt worshipping, happy hippie.You can read more about Spen'Sar at her blog, The Happy Hippie.

Guest Post: "My long, long, long story."

I've been overweight my entire life. At the beginning of this journey, I was 300lbs. I'm 5'2, so that's quite big. I was diagnosed with PCOS when I was 13. I was immediately put on birth control to control the symptoms of PCOS, as well as metformin. As time went on, I stopped the metformin because I wasn't trying to conceive as a teenager and thought it was dumb to try.  So at the time I became pregnant, I had been dealing with PCOS for 13 years. Most of those 13 years I was on birth control. About 6 months before I became pregnant, I was tested for PCOS again and it came back that I very obviously had mild to severe PCOS. I was put on metformin and aldactone. A few months later, I moved from Tennessee back to PA and stopped taking the metformin, aldactone, and birth control because I wasn't in a relationship at the time and wasn't able to get my medication because I no longer had insurance.

 I met the father of my baby in July of 2012 and we became a full blown couple in August of 2012. We used condoms, but weren't extremely careful. I wasn't worried because of my history of PCOS.  We broke up September 15th, 2012. Two weeks later (after he moved back to California to be with his family - I live in Pennsylvania. That's 2000+ miles) I found out I was pregnant. For about a week, I had been feeling tired and nauseous, but I just assumed it was from the stress of the breakup and PMS. My mom asked me if I could be pregnant and I told her "Well, technically, yes. But I highly doubt it". She asked when I was supposed to get my period and I told her it would be about a week before I could test, but I was sure my period was coming.

Fast forward to 4 days past when my period was due to start. I worked my 3-11 shift and decided to go to the drug store after work to get a test. I bought a two pack of digital tests because I didn't want any question about the lines. I didn't want to think I was seeing things when it was really negative. I got the tests and went home. Ate something as I always did and went to bed. Around 7am, I got up to use the bathroom and decided to take the first pregnancy test since it would be first morning urine. I sat the test on the sink and went about finishing up. I glanced down at the test less than a minute after taking it and it said "Pregnant". I closed my eyes for a few seconds and looked at it again. Still "Pregnant" I picked up the test and held it close to my face, staring at it. It didn't change. I turned the test every which way, still the same. Still "Pregnant". I took the second test out of the package and tested again. Same thing. "Pregnant" came up before a minute had passed. I started shaking and crying. I went to my bedroom and called my mom. At first I couldn't speak. She became panicked, thinking there was an accident or I was hurt. I squeaked out "I'm pregnant" through my gasps for air. All she said was "You're pregnant? That's not a bad thing!". She's always wanted me to have kids.

So, there I was: 26, 300lbs, major history of PCOS, just broke up with the father of the baby I was apparently carrying, living alone 2 hours from my family, working a full time, physically demanding job. It took me a little while to wrap my head around it. I took pictures of the test and looked at them because I was still in disbelief. A couple hours after taking the test, I called the baby's dad. We had still been in touch since we broke up, so it wasn't terribly weird talking to him. I basically told him to sit down where ever he was. I explained that I took two tests and that we were having a baby. He was in shock, as any man would be in his situation. He didn't talk for a little while. I was crying. I told him he didn't have to come back and that he didn't have to have anything to do with the baby if he didn't want to. I just wanted him to be able to make the decision. He decided he wanted to come back to help me out and be a part of his baby's life. He was back in Pennsylvania 2 weeks later. We decided at that point to work on our friendship because we wanted a healthy relationship (whether it be friendship or romantic) for the baby.

He came with me to my first real appointment at 8 weeks pregnant. The first thing I asked the nurse was "Do women as big as me often have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies?" She let out a little chuckle and said "I see women bigger than you every day that have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies. Don't even worry about that!" I knew then that I was at the right office with the right people. The doctor didn't mention it, she only suggested that I have an early glucose test because of my PCOS history. They tracked my weight like they would any other pregnant woman. They didn't treat me any differently. I ended up losing 10lbs in my first trimester due to my morning sickness. At 10 weeks, they found my baby's heartbeat and I cried. It sounded so perfect. I had my first ultrasound at 13 weeks and my baby looked perfect. I was worried that they would have a hard time seeing the baby because of my weight, but the ultrasound tech didn't seem to even notice.

Everything carried on as normal for a few months.  I wanted to have an all natural birth, but I also knew that things can happen so I decided not to get too used to the idea. The baby's dad and I re-developed feelings for each other and decided to make a go of a romantic relationship with the understanding that we need to make it work. If it ends, it ends for good. Either way, we needed to be mature and civil for the baby. We decided to move closer to my family for support and for childcare after the baby was born. I worked up until the day before we moved (I was 28 weeks), but wasn't able to get a job after we moved. The worst part was switching doctors.

I went to a women's clinic in town and was severely disappointed. The female doctor I saw was horrible. She looked right through me. She ignored my worries about my blood pressure. She did mention my weight and I simply said "I've only gained (this much) and that isn't a problem." After two appointments like this, I decided to find a doctor in my hometown that is an hour from where I live. I'm so glad I did. I went to a new practice that had an OBGYN and a midwife. They were both so wonderful. Never mentioned my weight, but did address my blood pressure. It was only slightly elevated, but they didn’t want to take any chances. I was put on Labetalol twice a day to manage my blood pressure starting at 34 weeks. I had no real side effects from the medication, but it didn’t completely control my blood pressure. At 38 weeks, my doctor decided that inducing me no later than 40 weeks was the best option. This was because of my blood pressure, my family’s history of pre-eclampsia, and also because baby was measuring weeks ahead on every ultrasound since 33 weeks. Luckily, I didn’t develop pre-eclampsia.

I kept trying to bring labor on naturally. Walking, bouncing on a yoga ball, walking up and down the steps, and increasing intercourse (the boyfriend loved that!). I had a few contractions off and on, but nothing significant. So, at 39 weeks and 4 days, I began the induction process. They decided on Prepidil because I was already 1cm dilated and 75% effaced.  The worst part was that I had to stay in bed for 90 minutes after they inserted the Prepidil. It causes spontaneous contractions that, at times, are very painful. I was able to get out of bed and into a jacuzzi after the first round of Prepidil and it was heaven. My contractions evened out and I was handling them well. Sadly, they stopped a couple hours later. I kept walking and trying to bring the contractions back on, but nothing. I did this all day long with very little progression. At about 10pm, they offered to break my water and try another round of Prepidil. I opted for sleep because we had been up since 3am.  They gave me a shot of pain killers to help me rest.

The next morning, they checked me and I was still the same. We did another round of Prepidil. Same thing, eventually my contractions stopped again. I got to 4cm and they broke my water (Strangest feeling ever!). They also gave me some Cytotec. Nothing happened. I made it to 5cm and they said that it was time to try Pitocin. The baby was tolerating everything really well, but there wasn’t much we could do besides the Pitocin. At this point I was exhausted. I had been through about 36 hours of medications, contractions that weren’t doing anything, and plenty of cervical checks. I had heard about the effects of Pitocin and how strong the contractions can be and I decided that it was time to get an epidural. The anesthesiologist wasn’t very nice and it took a few minutes to place the epidural, but it was worth it. I got some relief from the spontaneous contractions and was able to rest. It was also worth it because I couldn’t feel the very uncomfortable cervical checks anymore. They placed a monitor on the baby’s scalp to monitor the heartbeat, and also placed an intrauterine monitor to track my contractions. The pitocin ran the rest of the evening and into the next morning. They jacked it up to the highest setting. My contractions still would not regulate. At about 4am, the baby’s heart rate dropped just a little bit, then again an hour later. My midwife and OBGYN told me that, if I hadn’t progressed any, that it was time to start thinking about a c-section. They checked me at 6am and I was still at 5cm. The baby’s dad and I talked with the midwife and OBGYN and because I wasn’t progressing, plus the baby was starting to show signs of distress, it was time for a c-section. What was nice was that it wasn’t an emergency. Yet. Luckily, all the doctors and anesthesiologists had just come in for their shifts and no one was in the operating room yet, so I didn’t have to wait. Within minutes of getting the order, everyone was in my room, calmly preparing me for surgery. My epidural was working well enough that we could use it for the surgery. Within 30 minutes I was being wheeled away. The baby’s dad joined me in the operating room, of course. All dressed up in those scrubs. There was a second anesthesiologist that was helping with getting me prepped. I called him “the nice one” because he was very friendly and was wonderful at keeping my attention. While he helped wheel me into the OR, he looked at me and said “I think you’re the calmest c-section I’ve seen in a long time!” My reply was simply “I’ve been at this for 48 hours. I’m ready to meet my baby.” He was great. He talked to me the whole time and kept the baby’s dad from looking over the curtain. It felt like an eternity, but eventually he said to me “She’s on her way out! She was very far down into birth canal.”

There was a lot of tugging and pulling and then there she was. They held her up and she looked so mad! They rubbed her a little bit because she didn’t want to cry, but she did a few seconds later. I lost it. I just started crying. They cleaned her up enough that she could open her eyes and made sure she was breathing okay, and then they laid her on my chest. I was so excited to be able to have skin-to-skin contact like that. She laid there in my arms for about 10 minutes and then I began feeling nauseous so I had her dad take her. I watched while they weighed her and finished cleaning her up. The doctor gave me some nausea medication and I actually dozed off on my own. I heard a nurse ask if they had to sedate me and the doctor replied “No, she’s just dozing off on her own! After 48 hours, I’m sure she’s exhausted.” I had to ask for pain medication because my shoulders were killing me. They told me that sometimes gas gets trapped and it’s a pretty common side effect. After that, we were wheeled to my room. We weren’t allowed visitors for an hour. It was just me, my baby and the baby’s dad. Luckily, the pain medication worked well enough that my shoulders quit hurting before we got visitors.

My midwife came to check on me shortly after I got to my room. I was holding my baby and asked her what the red lump on the side of her  head was – if it was from one of the monitors or what. She smiled and said “No one told you? That’s where your baby was trying to come down into your birth canal. Her head was tilted. That’s why she couldn’t move any further down and that’s why you only dilated to 5cm. She was never coming naturally with her head tilted that way. She tried, though. She was pretty far in there!” So, in the end, there was nothing wrong with my body at all. It was simply that my baby girl got a little confused and tilted her head just enough that she simply couldn’t move any further into the birth canal.

My boyfriend had to take care of the baby most of that day because I didn’t get out of bed until later that evening. He was great. Changed all the diapers and would bring her to me any time she looked hungry as I was trying to breastfeed. My pain was being managed well, but I was still exhausted. I basically demanded that they get me out of bed that evening into the chair. They told me that most women don’t get out of bed until the next day, but I was determined.

The next day was pretty rough since my epidural had completely worn off and I could feel my incision. I got up and was walking around, the nurses and my doctor were all surprised I was up. The baby was doing great, latching on like a pro. I went home 5 days after I was admitted.

The first night the baby was home, she screamed and screamed. The hospital had arranged for a home health nurse to come see us because the baby had lost quite a bit of weight in the hospital. Well, she lost even more in the 18 hours that we were home. I had to start supplementing with formula. My milk never came in. I cried and cried, but still tried to breastfeed her in hopes that my milk would come in. Once she started formula, she was a happy camper. She started gaining weight and all was well. My milk never did come in and she’s fully a formula fed baby now.

Two days after we got home from the hospital, I had increased pain and tenderness in my incision site. I called my doctor. It was infected. I don’t want to go into the gory details, but I had some very painful doctors appointments and three rounds of antibiotics. I also had to have home health come in to take care of the wound once a week while my boyfriend took care of it every day. This went on for a month.  I couldn’t see it, thank goodness! I didn’t look at the scar until it was completely healed. It’s nothing. You can barely tell anything is there. My boyfriend was amazing with the whole thing. He diligently took care of my wound, helping me heal physically and emotionally.  He’s also been a great dad. He loves his baby girl and I can see it in his eyes.

Through all of this - every painful and scary minute, having a baby was worth it. I’d go through it all again in a heartbeat. Anna Sophia is beautiful, healthy, and happy.






Guest Post written by Elise Shute, 27 year old momma to Anna, who is named after Elise's grandmother. Elise resides in Pennsylvania, is a pet mommy to a dog and two cats, and enjoys crocheting when she's not playing with Anna