November Blessings

Isaac Lee Sweet a.k.a. Cuatro, Caboose, Icky was born on November 21st at 3:32 a.m. He weighed a whopping 8 lbs 5 oz, 4 oz heavier than Aislin, who previously held the title of Biggest Baby Born to Tim and Anna Sweet.

All was well leading up to his birth. I walked into Triage like a pro, handling my contractions while 7 cm dilated. After being moved into my delivery room and settling in, I got an epidural...which became the source of half my problems thereafter!! I had one with the other three kids, and although they weren't pleasant to receive, they went well. This one was not only the most uncomfortable to get, but caused a number of problems even after I left the hospital. It created pain on the right side of my lower back...and then out of nowhere a zinger went down my right leg. That was attempt #1. During the second attempt, I told Tim to be quiet and made the nurse ramble in my ear to distract me...and the attempt was, seemingly, successful. So we moved on. I rested, the nurse checked my vitals, and then the doctor came in and had me move from side to side because Isaac's head wasn't facing in the right direction. As I was doing this, his pulse dropped rapidly from 140 to 75. And that was it. The doctor called quits on the body rotations and said that Isaac's umbilical cord was probably wrapped around his neck. Every time I had a contraction, the cord tightened and he lost oxygen.
As she was talking, the room filled with NICU nurses and a tray of tools just in case I couldn't push him out fast enough. The words "emergency c-section" were mentioned briefly, but everyone was too busy to expound. Before I knew it, they were ready and I was being instructed to give big "warrior pushes" so that every push counted. I pushed so hard I almost puked, and wondered why it was taking so long to get him out when, with Des and Linc, this part of labor was so much quicker? Finally he was out, but he didn't go straight to my chest like Des had, and I didn't get to keep him in my room afterwards like with the other three kids. The doctor snipped his umbilical cord and handed him to the NICU nurses who took care of him and cleaned him while I laid in my bed feeling...a little butt-hurt. It's okay if I don't get to see him right away, I told myself, or that Tim gets to stand over that little hospital bassinet and watch while the NICU team works. I needed to catch my breath anyway.
The doctor stayed put, too, and worked on getting my placenta out. I was hardly paying attention until she quickly pushed her stool away from me and threw her hands in the air, eyes wide behind her glasses. That's when I heard a big SPLAT and knew my placenta had flown out and hit the floor at her feet! Like a lunatic, I sat up in my bed and laughed. In fact, everyone in the room had a good laugh...but within minutes I started feeling dizzy and could barely form a word. I couldn't remember the doctor's name anymore, or my labor nurse's name. I tried to get the doctor's attention but I couldn't speak loud enough, so I had to wait until the nurse walked near my bedside. I called her Nurse and told her I didn't feel well. She tried to tell me it was normal but the doctor made it clear that I was losing blood quickly and needed to be moved to the operating room.
Again, it was like I had blinked and the number of people in my room doubled. New nurses appeared, another doctor who came bearing morphine and other happy things, and the anesthesiologist that I was hoping I'd never have to see again. They all did whatever they did while my doctor explained that there were a total of three procedures they could do to stop the bleeding: a D&C, which would basically vacuum out the blood from my uterus; placing a bakri balloon in my uterus and then plugging things up with a giant tampon (should the D&C not work); and a hysterectomy (should the first two procedures fail). And, of course, a blood transfusion.
At that point I was shaking uncontrollably and thinking to myself, I will never (again) live anywhere cold. Ever. The anesthesiologist brought me heated blankets and, although the reprieve only lasted a short while, I was grateful for his thoughtfulness. While everyone worked and talked and moved around the room, I tried to pray. I tried and tried, but I couldn't hear myself. I couldn't focus. And not being able to form a prayer made me feel even more afraid.
I turned to Tim who was standing behind the layer of medical staff between us and smiled. I didn't want him to worry. And I was tough, wasn't I? But I had never been in an operating room before, and they said he couldn't come with me. And I still hadn't seen our son. I looked at Tim, and cried. One of the nurses squeezed my shoulders and said, Don't worry, we're going to take really good care of you! I told her I knew they would, I was just really stressed out. Then Tim asked if there were any LDS males working at the hospital that day? He wanted to give me a blessing before I headed to the OR. I heard a few names here and there but there just wasn't enough time to figure it out. So they wheeled my bed out the door and left Tim in the delivery room. I wasn't hysterical, I wasn't in a panic...but it was the first time in my life where I couldn't stop crying.
While we moved through the hallway, the anesthesiologist came through yet again. He had the presence of mind to page two of his technicians who he knew to be LDS and asked them to meet us in the OR. When we got there, the staff slid me onto a metal table. I shook even worse than before and was so nervous I couldn't even begin to pray. But then a man wearing a surgical mask bent his head down to mine and said, I was told you wanted a blessing? He introduced himself and the person behind him, and explained that, although they could only do a blessing of comfort because they didn't have any oil with them, they would add as much to it as they could. So I closed my eyes...and for the first time since I gave birth, I could hear something other than the bustle of the medical staff. I heard every word he spoke and finally felt calm and safe. A couple minutes after they left, I fell asleep.
I woke up in time to hear my doctor say that the second procedure was enough, that the hysterectomy wouldn't be necessary. The staff wheeled me back to my room where I heard the anesthesiologist tell Tim that things went better than expected, given the amount of blood lost. My vitals stayed stable and my body accepted the new blood and plasma well. He said that if he hadn't known what had happened after delivery, he wouldn't have guessed it judging by the ease of the operation and the outcome. While they talked, I thought of that blessing of comfort I had received from two complete strangers and wanted to shout my testimony from the rooftops!
The hardest part was over. The only things left to deal with were when I could see my baby and when we could go home. A few days and a blood patch later (for the epidural headache I got the following night), Isaac and I were finally moved to a recovery room. His bassinet was finally placed beside my bed and the kids were able to visit me and meet their youngest sibling.
Throughout this whole experience, our friends took care of our older three children--taking them to church, driving them to school and picking them up after, watching them in the afternoons and feeding them dinner...all so Tim could stay with me during the day. They even fed our dog and let her out of the house to play so she wouldn't mope in an empty house all day. When we returned home, our ward brought us meals and offered whatever support they could give.

Fast-forward to less than a week later...when I was sitting on the couch with Lincoln--big kids at school, Isaac asleep in his crib--and couldn't feel the couch with my right elbow. At first I thought my arm was falling asleep, so I adjusted the way I sat, thinking maybe I had leaned on that arm a little too heavily. But then my right leg started to feel numb, and then my right shoulder, and finally the right side of my face. In a panic, I sat straight up and called Tim. Thankfully he was only down the street to do a few hours of consultation work and was already packing up. Before I could tell him about my face, he asked if it was also feeling numb? He told me later that my speech had changed, that I had slurred my words. He thought I was having a stroke. As soon as he got home, he helped me into his car--no shoes, no purse--and asked our neighbor to stay with our boys until he could find someone to come get them. By then, the numbness had started to wear off...but it wasn't gone completely until we were already in a room in the ER. Over the next few days, I would go from the ER to the ICU, have multiple CT scans and MRIs, neurological tests, and at least two seizures--not strokes--a day.
Turned out the epidural removed too much spinal fluid, and as that fluid was leaving my spinal column, my brain kind of followed. In other words, my brain moved downward and detached from the derma (a thin covering for the brain), causing the nerves underneath the derma to become irritated and bleed. A small amount of blood then pooled up on the left side of my brain, which, the doctors determined, was why I experienced seizures on the right side of my body.
Holy sh*t, right?
On the one hand, I was prescribed anti-seizure meds for the next five months, needed my aunt to come stay with us for a couple weeks when Tim had to go back to work, and struggled with anxiety and memory loss...but on the other hand, I learned more than I can say about gratitude and humility. I learned that my will won't always be stronger than my body, and that over these past 7 1/2 years as a mom, I should've learned how to rest. I also learned that my friends, family, and ward family are angels.

I've had four months to think about these events. I still don't take the best care of myself. Sometimes I forget to rest, drink water, eat a proper meal. And when I do rest, I beat myself up for not working out! I've wondered if Tim and I had pushed things too far by having a fourth child. My back was already busted and we knew another pregnancy meant a fourth round of gestational diabetes. After four months of putting thoughts together, this is what I've come up with: I wanted Isaac, so I fought for him.
I recently remembered something from last summer, a moment during my pregnancy when the words "dilated kidneys" and "enlarged ventricles" were introduced. (Isaac turned out to be fine, by the way.) I remember praying to Heavenly Father for the health and safety of this child, and then realizing I was praying about the wrong thing. Instead of asking for help, I needed to express to Him that I was serious about this baby, that I wanted this child.

I carried a child for nine months, underwent a frightening delivery and some really weird stuff afterwards, and thought I would lose my mind more times than I can count. IT SUCKED. But I would never give less for such a precious blessing.