Diagnosis Discovery

Tuesday, December 16, my daughter turned twenty-six weeks old. Wednesday, December 17, she turned six months old. Either way you slice it, she is half a year old—and what a half-year it has been!

Half a year ago, I called my office to say I would not come in that day. I labored at home for nine hours, plus the hour and a half car-ride to the hospital. My husband, Tim and I had studied the Bradley Method in preparation for this day. At 6:53 PM, I gave birth to our daughter naturally and without medication. She weighed 6 lbs, 5 oz, and had a healthy little cry!

The nurses assessed Diana and returned her to me for breastfeeding. A few minutes later, a pediatrician entered the room and asked everyone else to leave. She sat down next to Tim and I and told us that while looking Diana over, she noticed several physical characteristics indicating that Diana has Down syndrome. She proceeded to tell us that Diana was otherwise perfectly healthy, that she was our daughter, and that a genetics counselor could tell us more.

We were shocked. We had refused prenatal genetic testing on the premise that we would be keeping our baby no matter what the tests showed. This was my first regret. I assumed that even having the testing indicated I would consider terminating the pregnancy. My obstetrician clarified that the testing is just to present the information to parents. Some parents do indeed terminate their pregnancies upon receiving a diagnosis of Down syndrome. Some parents decide to continue with the pregnancy but give their baby to be adopted. Some parents decide to carry the baby to term and raise it as best they can, preparing themselves before the child is born.

Testing does not mean you are pro-life or pro-choice. Testing is just testing. What you do with the results of the testing is up to you. I was 27, and wrongly assumed that only women over 35 had babies with DS. I experienced an almost completely symptom-free pregnancy; wouldn't I have mother's intuition if something was going to be wrong with my baby? I never smoked or drank, I ate well, slept well, and exercised. My baby should be perfectly normal and healthy. I was planning a natural birth—I knew what to do if my baby was breech, transverse, early, late, prolapsed cord, aspirated, tongue-tied, or cross-eyed. I was not ready to receive a child with a genetic defect.

Or was I? A baby born without Down syndrome needs food, a dry diaper, safety, warmth, and love. A baby born with Down syndrome needs food, a dry diaper, safety, warmth, and love. I needed to be reminded of this over and over in Diana's first months of life. I was constantly worried about her future: how would I react when she came home crying because someone made fun of her? Would people encourage her to work hard, or would they just assume she is limited? Can she play sports? How smart will she be? Can she ever obtain a driver's license? Is it ethical for us to let her date? Will she outlive us? If so, what will happen to her when Tim and I are gone?

We, like other parents when they discover their child has an intellectual or developmental disability, went through a period of mourning. We did not lose a baby so much as the future we had envisioned for her. Our child can still have an awesome (even inspiring!) life, but it may not be exactly as we had planned for her. Some of you have found this to be true in your own lives, even when your children do not have special needs. That is where keeping things in perspective is helpful for us.

Had we opted to have the blood draw to test for genetic abnormalities while I was still pregnant, we would have been able to experience this mourning before Diana was born. We would have been able to read about Down syndrome before our sleepless newborn nights. We would have been able to interview other parents and see that having a firstborn with Down syndrome did not keep them from having more children. We could look back on our daughter's birth as a joyful night of accomplishment—unclouded by worry, doubt, confusion, and fear.

Happy half-birthday, Diana!

Despite all the difficult emotions I felt on the night Diana was born, nothing will ever overpower the immediate, overwhelming, and eternal love that enveloped me when I met my daughter. Swaddled in a hospital blanket, she looked up at me, blew bubbles, and dreamily closed her eyes again. I cried tears of joy and hugged my most treasured possession. I would not trade her for any other child; I am certain that the baby God gave us is the one we prayed for. 
 

This article was published in the Special News column of the Linn County Leader, December 24, 2014.

My Firstborn's Birth Story

Just to clarify, this is my birth story. It is not to make you feel better or worse about yourself or your experience(s). This is neither a demonstrative nor a persuasive essay. It's a narrative. Please enjoy with no expectations. Thank you!

Sunday, June 15, 2014 at Long Branch State Park

Let's begin Father's Day 2014, at exactly 40 weeks gestation.

Sunday morning we went to church as usual. I had some sharp pains in my lower trunk during Sunday School that morning but did not think they were contractions because they were irregular. (They were contractions. I was in denial because I wanted to work as long as I could before having to take off.) During communion, I leaned over to my husband and said, "She's going to be here soon. I don't think you're going to preach next week."

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Later that afternoon, we went to camp because I was the Registrar. Around 5 PM I had more "sharp pains" but chalked them up to having stood all day. My husband and Bradley Method birth coach, Tim, suggested we time the "pains," just to see if they were regular at all. They were all about the same length but occurred sporadically, so we knew not to get excited. In fact, we went to dinner.

At AJ's restaurant in Macon, Tim kept his contraction timer app open and recorded my pains. They were 2-3 minutes long and 8-10 minutes apart. This regularity was astonishing and Tim was all smiles through the meal. But we didn't get worked up because we knew it wasn't actually time; the contractions were still too inconsistent to go to the hospital. We had a doctor appointment already scheduled for the following day so we planned to keep it and not make any special trips.

After dinner, we went to Long Branch State Park to enjoy (what we thought might be) our last walk together as a family of two. We were only out for a few minutes because I kept having contractions and needing to lean on Tim. (TIP: having studied labor positions proved extremely helpful at this point) A jogger nearby actually asked us if we needed help. That was enough publicity for me. We drove home and called our parents and Doula on the way to fill them in on my progress.

Sunday Night, June 15

Monday morning I had my regularly scheduled 40-week OB appointment. I was 3 cm dilated and 80% effaced. (The previous week, I was 2 and 60. I couldn't believe I had made it to 2 and 60 without contractions but only 3 and 80 WITH contractions!) My doctor explained that I would need to be induced by June 27 if I had not delivered before then. I was disappointed and discouraged at the thought of induction. I went to work after my appointment and then went home and tried to relax. Monday I only had a few contractions on the way home from work.

I woke up about 6 am Tuesday morning with contractions. I timed them on my contraction app and was shocked but thrilled that they were 13 minutes apart. I woke Tim up at 7, and told him I didn't know if we would meet our daughter today but I couldn't go to work with the contractions I was experiencing. He called my boss for me and we began our last day together as a family of two.

Monday, June 16, 2014

I ate a hearty breakfast, knowing I wouldn't be permitted to eat while in labor in the hospital. I showered, donned my birthing gown, and watched TV with my hubby, including "The Price is Right." We were in high spirits. (Excitement is the first emotional signpost of labor.) Contractions are kind of like stomach cramps, so I had to go #2 frequently, OK? This is the body's way of making room for the baby to move down. Tim was very attentive. He made sure I was comfortable and hydrated all day.

Things got real at 1:10 PM. I was no longer comfortable in the living room and I told Tim I needed to lay down. (Seriousness is the second emotional signpost of labor.) I labored in bed for an hour and a half. Tim stayed by my side the entire time, coaching me to relax, rubbing my back, making sure I drank water, and helping me to the bathroom.

Our OB's nurse called to schedule an ultrasound next week to check amniotic fluid levels, but Tim told her that would probably not be necessary as I was deep into labor. He informed the nurse about how long the contractions were, and how far apart they were coming. She said that we should begin the trip to the hospital when the contractions got to be 4 to 5 minutes apart.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014 -- Laboring at Home

We started the 90-minute drive to the hospital around 2:45 pm, me contracting and Tim recording the contractions and coaching me all the way. I sat up in the car with my arms spread out, and my eyes closed. My left hand was on Tim's leg, and whenever I began a contraction I tapped my finger to let him know when to begin to time it on his app. Between contractions Tim called our Doula, our parents, and church people from the car to let them know that we were headed for the hospital, and God willing, our baby would be here soon.

We pulled into the Boone Family Birthplace parking lot at 4:10 pm. I got out of the car and began walking slowly toward the door while Tim unloaded our bags. We walked through several hallways and an elevator, stopping every so many yards for contractions--during which I leaned on Tim or a wall. I closed my eyes through the contractions. They felt like a huge fist was clutching my abdomen tightly. I had to concentrate to breathe. Tim would remind me to relax through the contractions, especially my abdomen, allowing my midsection to sag.

The Hard Work of Labor

As we ascended to the labor and delivery area, a nurse asked if I would like a wheelchair. We had already arrived on foot and I knew it would use a lot of energy to sit and then get back up again (imagine that it hurts to flex your abs--my contractions felt like sudden internal bruises), so I declined. Besides, we were just a few steps from the admittance desk, anyway.

I continued to breathe through contractions and hunch over the admittance desk while Tim checked us in. He gave the desk a copy of our birth plan and our admission paperwork he had pre-filled-out. The process still took several minutes because "our machines are running slow." (!) Finally, they were ready to process me and I had to step on a scale. That was extremely difficult through the disorienting pain of labor.

Then we were led to a room and our Doula (who was also our Bradley Method Instructor) arrived. [Insert "Hallelujah Chorus" here.] The nurse came in and instructed me to give a urine sample. Then she attached the fetal monitors to my belly (one measured the baby's heart rate and the other measured my contractions). Then she checked me -- I was 8 cm dilated! Yep, definitely in labor. At this point, Tim stopped tracking my contractions with his app. So we were ready to deliver but then were told that we were actually in a triage room and would need to move across the hall.

Our spectacular Doula, Teresa; amazingly helpful!

Tim was very confused and upset about this. He had forgotten that this was the standard practice. The triage room exists because of women who go to the hospital at the faintest sign of labor. If we had done that, we would have gone to the hospital on Sunday when I first had contractions. I am very glad we had those days at home to labor there.

They wheeled my bed across the hall to the actual delivery room and then lifted me onto the delivery room bed. The contractions were so hard at that point that I was involuntarily groaning, and soon after, I was involuntarily curling into a fetal position. I thought this meant that my body wanted to vomit, so I was scared to move or push. I laid on my left side and I was extremely hot and sweaty. Tim and Teresa asked the nurses to bring in a fan and Teresa went and prepared a warm compress for my back. After the fan was on for a little while, I quit sweating. They inserted an IV into my hand (the only part of our birth plan they could not acquiesce) but it was not connected to anything, it was just a saline lock in case of -- you know -- emergency. I lay there, trying to relax through several contractions. Our Doula suggested I try pushing at the next contraction. I did not feel nauseous but I was afraid the fetal position my body was throwing me into meant I was going to puke. I pushed and felt something wet and warm. I lifted my head and breathlessly asked, "did my water just break?" Tim and Teresa looked and said, "Yes!" I thought, "Holy smokes, my water broke, I think this is for real!"

The Snoogle that saw me through it all!

My doctor asked me if I felt the urge to bear down. As a first time deliverer, this was an extremely irritating question. I did not know if my doctor and I both had the same definition of "bear down," so I couldn't fathom how to answer her -- and attempting to ponder this with contractions so close together was impossible. So I replied, "I don't know." (The third emotional signpost of labor is self-doubt.) It occurred to me, however, that with my body involuntarily curling into a fetal position, perhaps THAT was the urge to bear down. When the next one began, I was still laying on my side, and I decided to attempt to push. Pushing felt good! WHAT A RELIEF! That was when I knew it was business time.

Teresa, our Doula, proposed that I try out the squatting position. I could not fathom how to change positions so I just nodded my head and let her help [wise!]. They raised the back of my bed up and I raised my knees to my chest. Teresa got behind me on the bed, and I leaned back against her between contractions while someone fetched the birthing bar. The foot of our delivery bed lowered about six inches [see example] and the birthing bar attached to the sides, which I held to squat and bear down through pushing contractions. Teresa got down, and between contractions, I rested my bottom on the ledge created by the transforming bed.

Ex: Hospital Delivery Bed Using Birthing Bar

And though I don't remember it, Tim told me that Teresa rubbed my scalp between contractions, it really calmed me down and gave me the rest I needed in the hard work of labor. Her touch also reminded me to relax my face--I didn't want to divert any energy away from my uterus! One nurse kept pressing on my belly to hold the fetal monitor in a place where she could get a good read on the baby's heart rate. I was sure the baby was great and I was almost done, so I had to say, "Annette, I need you to give me a break on the pressing." It was painful and distracting. She kindly obliged!

Tim was at the foot of the bed with my obstetrician and several nurses, cheering me on with every push! No, really--they cheered for me! They told me they could see our baby's head, which Tim touched before it ever emerged! He was an awesome coach. He kept telling me I could do it, I was doing it, and that he was proud of me and amazed by me and I was almost there. I was so overcome by pain and doubt and fear that I just believed him. I didn't know what else to do. I had my eyes closed almost the entire time from when we arrived at the hospital to this point. Teresa told me to look at Tim the next time I pushed. So I took a deep breath, lowered my chin to my chest, and pushed! When I looked down at Tim, I saw him grinning from ear to ear. THIS WAS IT. My doctor said, "only a couple more good pushes!" I like to come in under deadline, so I took another deep breath, concentrated, and pushed really hard, visualizing her head coming out of me like a balloon through a shirt sleeve! For reference: to me, my baby emerging from the birth canal felt like a bruise that stings. While sitting on a softball.

Diana Cletabell Mitchell was born June 17, 2014 at 6:53 pm. Tim held his hands out and caught her with my final push. [<3] Her umbilical cord was too short for me to place her immediately on my chest so I just stared at her, in awe of her and myself. My doctor told me, "you can touch her!" So I did! I couldn't believe a baby just came out of me! And I could feel everything the whole time! Once the umbilical cord was drained and stopped pulsing, the doctor clamped it and Tim cut it. He didn't want to because he felt like the physicians needed something to do, but the nurses encouraged him, "come on! You've done everything else!" So he did! It was so cool. Diana weighed 6 lbs, 5.4 oz and was 19" long, pink, and had a healthy little cry!

Happy Birth Day, Diana!

Stay tuned for adventures in breastfeeding...