On Monday, March 19, 2012, after 8 days we received the glorious news that our son was negative for downs syndrome after being given a 50/50 chance of a positive. That was one of the best days of my life.
We still faced the open heart surgery that would be needed for our little boy when he was under 6 months old. While daunting, I was ready. The few days that followed were some of the best memories I'll ever have. Matthew was feisty, kicking like a champ, and Jamie even got to feel him for the first and what was to be the only time. He used to like to jump from the bottom of my belly to under my ribs, his head bumping my stomach out in a comical fashion.
Late Wednesday night, after "marital activity", I started having ebbing pains in my uterus followed by a small amount of spotting. When timed, they were about 5-10 minutes apart and went on for a few hours. I had heard that such activities can bring on Braxton Hicks, so I was not too worried. I mentioned to Jamie we might have to go to the ER if they kept up or got worse, but eventually I fell asleep. Besides, at 22 weeks it's perfectly normal to have BHs. They did wake me up a few hours later, but in my sleepy stupor it didn't phase me. Plus, labor is unmistakable right? Yea they hurt, but not nearly as bad as I had imagined labor to be.
The supposed BHs continued through Thursday off and on. I had to breathe through some of them, but again, they weren't so bad that I thought it could be real labor. I decided that if they continued through the next day, I'd call my midwife.
Friday morning Jamie and I went to the echo cardiogram appointment for Matthew to meet with a neonatal cardiologist and discuss his heart defect. The ultrasound tech did a number on my uterus, and was pushing the ever living crap out of my stomach for about an hour. I was in a lot of pain, and the BHs got worse after the appointment. Of course, I thought that was due to the aggravation of being bruised and battered by the ultrasound probe. Labor never even occurred to me.
After our appointment, we had a whole day planned especially for Jamie and I. It was to be our last big date together before Matthew came a few months later. We went to our favorite restaurant for lunch. Meanwhile the contractions were getting worse, through lunch and the rest of the afternoon. I took a nap at home, drank lots of water, and tried to qualm my spasmodic belly. It seemed to help a little.
We had a big night planned. Jamie's hometown hockey team, the Winnipeg Jets, were playing the Capitals in DC and I, being the amazing wife I am, had surprised him with tickets. I sucked up the pains I was having and we went ahead with our plans. After walking around DC for an hour or so, we sat down to the hockey game. My contractions started to get worse again, and I spent the majority of the game in the lobby breathing through them. They still weren't painful enough for me to think labor. They were easy to breathe through, but coming pretty close together. After all, EVERYONE says how unmistakable and painful labor is.
I called and talked to the midwife on call at my birth clinic. She seemed unconcerned. To this day I am a little upset at that. I explained what had been going on, and that I thought I had maybe lost my mucus plug. But she just replied that the mucus plug is constantly regenerating, and not to worry about that. At this point I had started to get worried, but as she seemed to think it was fine, I squashed my fears and took her advice: to call again if the contractions woke me up in the middle of the night, and then we would check to see if it was labor.
We left the game early, as Jamie was increasingly worried and wanted to get me home. I laid down again, drank water, and tried to sleep. Even a midst the contractions, I was able to sleep, and never woke up from them.
Saturday morning, they were still coming, and the bleeding was still there. I called the midwife on call, who was different from the night before, and she instructed me to come in at 1pm since she'd be there meeting another patient already.
The contractions got harder and faster over the hour before I was to go in. In the 20 minutes it took to drive to my appointment, I was breathing through each one every 5 minutes. Now I was scared.
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When the midwife checked me, I will never forget the words she said. "I'm so sorry, you're 5 centimeters dilated."
In that moment the bottom dropped out of my world. I looked over to see a look of shock and horror on my beloved's face. One that would not leave his face for many days.
"This baby is going to come today, I can feel his little feet kicking."
She proceeded to call an ambulance to take me to AAMC. She thought that Matthew would be born within an hour or two, and that we wouldn't make it to Johns Hopkins.
He had other plans.
During the ride over, I was in such shock that I didn't realize completely what was going to happen. I was more worried about Jamie than myself. The EMT who sat with me did his best to encourage me that some babies live at this age. I didn't take much comfort from his words, but his kindness was felt.
We arrived at the hospital at 1:30pm where I was rushed to a labor and delivery room. Our pastor, my parents and brothers, as well as a couple of friends arrived soon after.
The hours that followed seemed to both fly and drag. We decided to try everything we could to stop the labor, and to at least try to give him a few days more inside.
My bed was tilted to the point that I could see nothing other than the ceiling. Practically on my head. The magnesium to stop the contractions made me feel like I was on fire, but it didn't phase me. The antibiotics pumped, the contractions continued, and Matthew kicked like no other. He was happy.
They placed a Doppler on my stomach to watch his heartbeat. He was fine. Perfectly fine. He proceeded to use the Doppler as a target for his happy kicks, which in turn made very loud and shrill noises on the machine to the rhythm of his antics.
The faces around me were ones of worry, pity, and pain for me. I felt none of that.
I did my best to console Jamie. His face ripped a hole in my heart every time I looked at him. I kept repeating over and over, "It's OK. We will see him again." It really wasn't OK at all, but who would know the perfect words to say in that situation?
The contractions continued to come, and I continued to dilate. By 4:30, I was almost fully dilated, and Matthew was still kicking.
We made the decision to let him come. It was made clear that there was nothing more we could do. They stopped the magnesium, and my contractions built. I was able to sit up and get comfortable, instead of being on my head, while we waited for my water to break. The midwife and nurses all said that once it broke, he would come very quickly.
Except, this was my son, and at 22 weeks gestation, he was already defiant.
Around 5:30, my water broke. The contractions picked up, and I got ready to push. Fortunately, it turned out only part of the sac had broken, and there was still a small part in tact that Matthew was encased in, protectively. This turned out to be a blessing, as it made birth easier on him.
He continued to kick through the next 4 1/2 hours till he was born. I, gently and slowly pushing so as to make it as easy as possible on him.
Jamie, overwhelmed, decided to step out of the room for a few minutes. The moment he stepped out, Matthew decided to come, after 4 hours of gentle pushing. The nurse ran to get him, and he was able to get in just in time to see his son born.
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That moment.
That astounding, amazing, heart wrenching, intensely bittersweet moment that we had prayed for. Hoped for. Yearned for over 4 long years of trying desperately to become parents.
It was here.
