Micah's Birth Story

In just a few short days our firstborn will turn TWO! I feel like one of those old aunts that pinches your cheek and leaves lipstick on your face when she kisses you when I say this, but I truly do not know where the time goes! I look back at his baby pictures and it just doesn't seem possible that he has changed so much in a relatively short period of time!

I had to look back in the archives of this blog to make sure I hadn't posted Micah's birth story yet. I was almost certain that I hadn't, but I wanted to make sure. Honestly, there is a reason why I haven't posted Micah's birth story until now, I am just now coming to terms with his birth and learning to find peace in the Lord and not in my circumstances. Micah's birth did NOT go as planned. In fact, pretty much everything I didn't want, aside from me or him dying, happened. It was very difficult for me to move past that and treasure his birth for what it was...a blessing, the greatest moment any mother could ask for, providence from the Lord, and the moment I became a 'MOM'!

This is Micah just a few minutes after we brought him home from the hospital. I loved him so much, and, in a way, love him more today!

Sweet baby boy all bundled up. I forgot how dark his hair was, he's pretty blonde now.

*Please don't let this picture of him sucking on a pacifier deceive you. This kid HATED pacifiers AND bottles! The first day I went back to work he ate 4 oz in 10 hours. A sinner from birth!

So here's the story of Micah-Moo making his grand entrance:

My original due date was October 10, but since I had tracked my temperatures, I felt like it should have been more like October 6. As you will see in a moment, me thinking this only added insult to injury!

Around 38 weeks I started having high blood pressures when I would go to the doctor. They would send me to the hospital where they would perform a non-stress test. I did these twice a week from 38 weeks until he was born, and not once was my blood pressure high at the hospital. I was still working at the time, and began to have some swelling in my hands and feet. I blamed it on the fact that I was on my feet for 8 hours straight. I got some ted hose and somehow managed to squeeze them on every day. That was quite a sight...9 months pregnant and putting compression stockings on myself. Oy!

I continued to work up until my due date, at which point I gave in and stopped working. Physically this was a good move, mentally it was a disaster-I'd just hang around home waiting and waiting. So, October 10 came and went, so did the 11th, the 12th, the 13th, and so on. On Thursday, the 16th, I went in for another check-up. I still wasn't dilated, but had gained 5 lbs. in one week...and it wasn't all baby! My hands were so numb from the swelling that I couldn't grasp a pen to write and my toes looked like sausages. Yet, I continued to deny that anything was wrong.

Let me just take this moment to say that I love my doctor. Dr. Diane Adam is her name. She has a way about her that displays professionalism with a touch of compassion...my kind of gal! When we had our miscarriages she didn't treat us like she sees this every day, that it happens all the time, instead she warned us that it would take time to grieve the loss and that everything I was feeling was normal. I think when you become pregnant you develop an affinity for your physician that can't be explained. In all reality, I shouldn't like her as much as I do.

So, in true Dr. Adam style she informed me that I needed to do a 24 hour urine test to see if I was spilling protein into my urine. This, along with excessive weight gain, swelling, and high blood pressure are all signs of pre-eclampsia. She did this with a calm attitude, which I SO needed!

I gathered the bright orange container from the lab and began to collect my urine. 24 hours later I waddled to the lab and dropped off my 'specimen'. By this time Jason and I were anxious to meet our baby, but were still totally oblivious to what was really going on. We hopped in the car and headed home, trying to decide what to do that evening. 15 minutes after dropping of the urine Dr. Adam called. She explained that normal protein levels are 500 and that my lab results showed that mine was over 3,000! WHAT!?!?! But, I felt fine! And I'm not dilated!

She told me that I needed to check into the hospital THAT NIGHT and that they would begin the process of inducing me.

Insert ideals # 1: of natural labor and childbirth crashing down around me here.

I wanted to throw up! Internally I was throwing a temper tantrum that went something like this, "But I don't WANT to be induced. I'm FINE. Just give me a few more days and the baby will come, you'll see!"

I will save you all the gory details and use of words such as cervix and dilation, and instead fast forward to the next day-Saturday. We survived Friday night and the majority of Saturday without any major hiccups, but as I progressed further along in my quite unnatural state of labor, they started me on magnesium sulfate, which is given to help keep the body from having seizures when it is pre-eclamptic. This sounds all awesome and great, except the way the magnesium sulfate keeps you from having seizures is by causing all of your muscles to become floppy. Guess what? your uterus...that huge organ holding your baby...its a muscle!

Insert ideals #2: of any rational thought or movement of body gone here.

Honestly I don't remember a whole lot of the next few hours, exhaustion combined with an epidural and magnesium sulfate made everything pretty blurry. Around 9 pm it was determined that I was ready to push. This is where God has done a great work in my heart. The nurse who was taking care of me, not only asked the anesthesiologist to give me more medication, WITHOUT me asking for it, but she also informed the Dr. that 'I was ready to push', when in fact, I didn't feel that way at all. After everything was said and done, and the dust cleared, the 'what if's' began to set-in and satan set up camp. I held a grudge against this nurse for MONTHS! I was convinced that if she hadn't requested the extra meds or had me push too soon then things would have turned out different. They may have, and then again, they may have gone exactly as the did. Over the past two years God has revealed the bitterness and anger I have felt towards this nurse, as well as a much deeper issue, which I will touch on in a moment.

Back to the story: I pushed for 45 minutes with very little success. Over those 45 minutes my blood pressure skyrocketed out of control. They gave me blood pressure medication intravenously. It was at that point that I finally began to realize how sick I really was.

The doctor allowed me to try a little longer, but then told me that she really thought we needed to perform a c-section.

Insert ideal #3: vaginal birth no longer an option removed here.

Looking back, and hearing the story from Jason's perspective, they were prepared for a c-section long before I was. Honestly, I think the Dr. gave me a shot at a vaginal birth just for me, but in all reality knew that it was bloody likely that I would have a c-section. I appreciate that.

At 10:05 pm Micah came into this world. He was SO long, and while he wasn't low in weight, his length made him seem so skinny!

They let me kiss him, and Jason went with him to the nursery while they finished surgery on me.

I wasn't 'put under' for the c-section, but the magnesium sulfate and morphine made me SOO loopy that I just passed out afterwards and I didn't wake up til 2 am! It was the weirdest feeling in the world. I wanted to be awake, I wanted to hold my baby boy, but my body just wouldn't work. I could barely lift my hands and my face itched like crazy! At 2 am I finally did get to hold and nurse Micah. It was so surreal, as I'm sure every first time mother's initial bonding with their child is. I can still remember the way he smelled, like Pampers diapers ;), and how his soft hair felt against my lips when I kissed his head. He was so cute, he looked just like his daddy.

While I was overwhelmed with the love that I felt for this child, I was being smothered with a blanket of lies. I felt every emotion under the sun towards the way Micah had been born: guilt, pain-LITERALLY!, anger, sadness that I didn't get what I wanted, like I had let Jason down and was a failure in his eyes, and later bitterness. I remember being so torn with my feelings over the next few weeks. Sleep deprivation didn't help.

I am so thankful for God allowing us to be the parents of Micah. It is truly a privilege, and one that is not taken lightly. I am also thankful for modern medicine. If I had waited to give birth to Micah the likelihood that either of us would have made it out alive was slim to none. I am so thankful that I live in a country where prenatal care is readily available.

So why did I really share Micah's birth story? Was it so that you could re-live this slightly traumatic experience with me? No!

I chose to share Micah's birth story as a testimony to the work the God can do in our hearts. I spent a good 15 months of Micah's life wrestling with the fact that things had not gone as I had expected them to. I spent a lot of time 'talking it out' with friends and my husband, but would always leave the conversation without any resolve. As the Jude's due date inched closer I began to realize why I had been struggling so much with the way Micah was born. It was a pride issue! And my pride had been hurt!

During the last month of my pregnancy with Jude I struggled with God over my pride. I bargained with Him, that if I could just have the bragging rights to a successful VBAC with Jude then everything would be fine. Then I would stop complaining about what a train wreck Micah's birth was. I would stop complaining about how I didn't get what I wanted.

You know what He revealed to me? *This is not what I HEARD Him say out loud, but rather what I FELT Him say to my heart*

"Dollie, it's not about you! It's not about you being able to tell everyone you meet that you gave birth to your child without ANY medical intervention. That's not what it's about! This is about a life, a life that I have entrusted to you and your husband. At the end of the day it doesn't matter how he came into this world! It doesn't matter if he's not potty trained by 5! It doesn't matter if he can read chapter books in kindergarten or get a full ride scholarship to Yale! What matters is that he KNOWS who I am. That he FEARS me and LOVES me! What matters is that you talk about Me when you sit, and when you walk along the road, and when you lie down! So swallow your pride-No, better yet, let me take that pride and give it to my SON- and live in freedom!"

I will share Jude's birth story later, but let me just tell you this...he was born vaginally, but not before I surrendered my pride-a.k.a. sin- and laid it at the foot of the cross. While I am so thankful that I was able to VBAC, I will NEVER brag about it! Nor will I choose to be angry or bitter about the birth of our firstborn!

Thank you Lord for this awesome son! Thank you that You knew just when he would be born. Thank you for allowing us to be parents. Please help us to raise him to know and fear You!