Alex's Birth Story:
The Unabridged Version

Alex was delivered by emergency Cesarean section, which was something neither Matt nor I had been prepared for. In truth, it was a very scary night. I'm so very glad that Alex was born healthy, but I can't help having some misgivings over the way he came into the world. I realize the past can't be changed, but I'm still working through some lingering doubts and unanswered questions about what happened (so quickly!) that night in Labor and Delivery. I'm told that it's normal for C-section mommies to feel this way.

Leanne at 39 weeks; huge belly, puffy face, and all.

Early labor
I started having contractions at about noon on Sunday, March 17, while I was in the checkout line at the grocery store. I was a week away from my due date. After reaching home, I rested as much as could, but by 10 p.m., the contractions were about 8 minutes apart and fairly regular. I had been planning to labor at home for as long as possible, but soon began to have signs of leaking amniotic fluid, and was advised by the hospital to come in to have it checked.

Just as I was about to be examined at the hospital, my water broke, and I was promptly admitted. At that point, I was dilated 3-4 centimeters and fully efaced. My nurse and I reached a deal that would have allowed me to remain relatively mobile through the rest of the labor, instead of confined to a bed: If I would undergo electronic fetal monitoring until they got a "good 20-minute strip," then I would be unhooked from the machine for the remainder of the time. I wanted to undergo this procedure standing up, because I was coping with the labor pains better that way, but my nurse insisted I lie down on my back because the machine supposedly was unable to get a clear reading in any other position. Now, I had tried to avoid back-lying during my pregnancy because I knew that Alex's placenta was positioned in the back and I was fearful of compressing it, lest his oxygen be cut off. In this instance, though, I complied, because I wanted to be rid of the infernal EFM machine as soon as possible.

Scary times on the EFM
A few contractions later, Alex began to move in a way I had never experienced before -- kicking violently, little fists pummeling, as if I was about to give birth to a really angry octopus. My belly was visibly jumping and the machine was registering the movements. A young medical technician was standing beside me, trying (unsuccessfully) to find a vein for some bloodwork, and I pointed out my jumpy belly to her. "Oh, that's normal," she said. "No, it's not," I insisted. "He's freaking out, he's going ballistic; I've never seen him move like this, ever." Suddenly, alarms started sounding on the machine and a group of people raced into the room. "Mrs. Nuckolls," said my doctor, "Your baby's heart rate has dropped to 55. We need to place an internal monitor immediately, and if the heart rate continues to drop we'll need to take him right away by C-section. Within what seemed like seconds, I had so many wires attached to me that I felt like some kind of cyborg, and documents were given to me to sign in case of C-section. My hands were so shaky, I could barely make my signature.

With all the flurry of activity, my relaxation/deep breathing techniques were thrown off kilter, and the contractions became too much to bear with all the new distractions. I had read somewhere that epidurals often act to calm an irregular fetal heartbeat, and so I asked for an epidural, hoping to buy some time of "regrouping" for both me and the baby.

And for about 20 minutes after the epidural took effect, all seemed fine. I rolled on my side (finally!) and the little lines on the EFM machine stayed perfectly within the bands that they were supposed to. Suddenly, it started again. Matt and I watched as the baby's heart rate rose on the screen. It climbed slowly, almost as high as 200, and then dropped like a rock to about 75. This happened at least three times. "C'mon, little guy, relax," Matt said, and we rubbed my belly softly. Then, the dreaded "crash team" rushed in again. "The baby is in distress," said my doctor. "Let's just go ahead with a C-section." I was 6 centimeters dilated.

Faster-than-a-speeding-bullet Cesarean
Another flurry of document-signing followed, and my bed was rolled down the hall. The anesthesiologist was able to use my existing epidural for the anesthesia, so I didn't have to be put under. I asked if Matt would be able to come into the operating room, and I was told that he was putting scrubs on, getting ready to come in. Matt, meanwhile, was told to wait in the waiting room, so it's doubtful that they ever really intended for him to come in.

A drape was put up, so I was unable to see anything going on below my chest line. I felt pressure, and thought maybe the nurses were swabbing my belly with betadine or something, just prepping me. I heard my doctor say, "There's the nuchal cord." The doctor assisting her said, "Well, there's the problem!" And then, suddenly, I heard a strange bleating noise. "Time of birth, 5:54," someone said loudly. It took me a moment to recognize the noise as a baby's cry. "Already?" I thought to myself. It had happened so fast.

The anesthesiologist was standing near my head, and I asked him if the doctors' conversation meant that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around the baby. He peeked over the drape and said, yes, that the cord had been around the baby's neck.

In a minute or two, my doctor appeared around the side of the drape with Alex in her hands. He had been wiped clean and was swaddled with a little cap on his head. His eyes were wide open and he was very quiet. My arms were strapped down, so I could only nuzzle him quickly before they took him away. Matt tells me that they brought Alex out to the waiting room, and he accompanied Alex down to the postpartum ward for his eye drops, Vitamin K shot, first bath, and other various assessments.

Recovery
Meanwhile, the anesthesia began to climb in my body, instead of fading. My arms and hands became numb and it became difficult to breathe. I had a horrible case of the shakes and could barely speak. I was transferred to a spare ICU room for recovery. Slowly, with a heat lamp on me, the anesthesia began to subside. My parents and Matt came to sit in the room with me. It took five hours before I could move my feet, even a little bit. At long last, I was transferred to the postpartum ward.

Alex was brought into my postpartum room in a little wheeled bassinet, and I finally was able to hold him. It seemed strange to me that this little person had somehow fit inside of me. He has really big hands for a baby, Matt said. We marveled at his light brown-reddish hair. Above all, I was grateful that he was healthy. With all the frightening events of the night, it seemed like such a miracle to hold a pink, perfect little baby.