My birth experience, my entire pregnancy, was a blessing. I had a hard time conceiving, ended up taking clomiphene, so by the time I was pregnant a year had gone by and I really, really wanted it! Like my mother, whom I no longer have a relationship with, but who I ironically wanted more than anyone else at the time, I wasn’t sick a day. I felt closer to God/Goddess, more purposeful than I ever have since, and perfectly content. Leslie waited on me hand and foot, which was dreamy. My cravings, and the rhythm of my purposeful body spoke volumes to me, as well, which was fascinating. I was so connected to myself. The first time I felt Elizabeth move, I was laying in bed and it was like a tiny wave crested on the shore in my belly. There she was giving me the high five.

Fascinating.

She was two weeks late, naturally, as she seemed pretty happy, too. I had a very mild labor that lasted over 12 hours and then sort of stalled. They put me on pytocin and another assortment of pain relievers, and I blew up like a balloon. She began to descend, but it wasn’t happening. She was too big, and my contractions weren’t productive enough.

So, I was off to get a C-Section, although I hadn’t read that chapter in the book … at all.

At that point, it all got very surreal. I sort of disconnected from what was happening, almost viewing it objectively, but felt that I was in the best of hands. I don’t mean the doctors, who were very good to us, by the way. At that moment, I felt like it was up to somebody else, somebody, something big time in charge. I felt complete relaxation wash over me.

Ah, maybe it was the medicine they gave me.

Elizabeth was born at 12:55 p.m. and both of us, her mothers, were right there rooting for her. “Hurry up, Leslie” the doctor cried, “get your camera out.” And they lifted her from my open belly squalling as my Leslie cried. I was in the zone.

That afternoon, after recovery, I was in the hospital bed, still on cloud 9 courtesy of whatever pain relief they gave me, and Leslie was in the chair next to me with Elizabeth, a tiny loaf of bread, on her chest. The little girl lifted herself up on tiny elbows and stared Leslie in the face.

“Are you my mother?” she seemed to ask. “Oh, you mean I have two?”

Cool.

My moment with her came later. It was the next night, and I was up on my feet by then, as recovery seemed to go quickly. She was in the little thingie, and I was sorting photos. I picked her up, and it was just she and me for that moment.

Love,
D~

I knew the day Olivia was going to arrive. Not because of some deep communication between my unborn child and myself but because she was a scheduled delivery. My lupus found me in the doctor’s office almost four times more than a woman with a “normal” pregnancy. Mine was high risk having not only an autoimmune disease but also a positive SSA. What this means to a pregnancy is risk to the babies heart. The percentage is low, but present enough that my doctor’s head whipped up when I told her I was fairly certain that yes, I was SSA positive. With this confirmation, I spent many sleepless nights wondering if my daughter’s heart was holding strong but also many blissful moments watching her dance across the black and white screen. They wanted her out as soon as she was considered full term. She continually measured so “huge” that the ultrasound nurses kept telling me to have my bags packed, but I knew she wasn’t coming before that scheduled day. I firmly believe they probably would have had to go in and get her eventually anyway.

I remember going to bed the night before our check in date knowing it was the last night of an old life. I thought I might find it difficult to sleep but I didn’t. My husband returned home the next day from work with red roses. He asked what I wanted to do before we went to the hospital and I told him I really wanted to go to church. We weren’t avid attendees but I’d always loved this particular pastor, so honest and real. It seemed too perfect that there was a Wednesday night service and our check in wasn’t until 8:00 pm. We exited just before the end of the service and as I waited for the hubby a gentleman standing by the door asked when I was due. “In about an hour.” He asked if we could pray together. So we sat there, a complete stranger and myself, holding hands as he prayed. Then we hugged and the hubby was waiting with the car. I still have the receipt from our next stop at Jason’s Deli… we sat there casually eating as if we weren’t about to embark on the most important moment in our lives. I didn’t get nervous until I was putting on my hospital gown. Not for the proceeding pain, but the person I was about to meet. Would she know me? Could I be everything to her I so badly wanted to be? And maybe a little for the pain.

I’m not scared of needles so most of the labor process was a breeze. With the exception of my epidural wearing off twice. Those combined ten minutes a reminder that it is possible to forget how to breathe. My family filled the waiting room while I dozed to waterfalls and images of the rainforest. I pushed for about an hour and then the doctor ordered me to “labor down.” I’m still not sure exactly what that meant to me, but I think it was code for “nurse, keep that baby in there until I arrive.” More pushing and (quote fingers) laboring down and Olivia arrived. A whopping 7 pounds 9 ounces. What a beast. Good thing I had those bags packed.

Our Olivia’s surprise arrival is such a deep blessing in so many more ways than just one. It’s quite possible I may have never had any children at all had we known what a risk my lupus was. The birth itself caught me off guard in its ease… everyone in the room so calm and encouraging. I admit I half expected a little of the chaos portrayed in Hollywood. Other than the constant swinging door of anxious family, the most distraught I felt was the inability to move my legs. When they placed her on my stomach I remember looking at her and saying “Hi, Baby!” That was it; my daughter was born and so was I.