Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Thomas Alvin Case V is finally here!

*Our baby was born October 19, 2010 at 3:52 A.M. I actually started writing this the week after he was born, but I've been a little busy to publish this :)*

The last time I felt this way was after our wedding. To everyone else, a wedding or a birth is just another wedding or birth--another event. For me, these events made this life stand still while another life and world, totally separate from this one, was created. I was changed there, and now I am left to reconcile my two lives into one. It is a bittersweet transition.

I was admitted to the hospital Sunday morning after experiencing some strong, but irregular contractions from about 2 A.M. Saturday morning until 7 A.M. Sunday when we finally called the doctor and were told to head to the hospital. We spent a couple hours in triage while they monitored me for some progression. Thankfully, I progressed enough to be admitted. At the time, I couldn't imagine being sent home only to have to make the trip back to the hospital later. We only live 3 miles from the hospital, but the first trip over the torn up city roads was the only trip I wanted to make. Besides that, we had already told our parents that we were headed to the hospital...therefore, the parents were also headed to the hospital. Had we known how long it would be until baby Tommy would be here, we would have had them wait a while before making the trip. Bless their hearts for enduring 2 days and 2 nights in the waiting room!



As you can imagine, Sunday was a very exciting day for everyone. We were at the beginning of the mental game. I was managing the contractions well by singing, dancing, soaking in the jacuzzi tub, and relaxing. At about 2 A.M. Monday morning, I had my first emotional breakdown when I was told that I had not progressed at all within the last 8 hours. I hadn't slept, I had eaten very little, and as I was in progressively more pain, I was finding that many of my coping techniques were expiring. Besides that, my water hadn't broke, which was making progression an even more difficult task. I was becoming less consolable. Around 10 A.M. Monday morning, I finally took the doctor's advice to take a morphine shot so I could get some sleep and relax. I thought I had slept for only a half hour, but I found out later I slept for about 2 hours. At the end of the two hours, my water broke. We thought for sure that progression would come quickly now, so we took "thumbs up" pictures and prepared ourselves to meet our new baby in 4 hours.





But 4 hours later, our baby still wasn't here. It was determined later that my uterus simply was not contracting hard enough for me to dilate on my own. This meant Pitocin would have to be administered--a strong indicator that my hopes to have a drug-free birth would be dashed. We tried some natural techniques for increasing the strength of the contractions, but we were not successful.



Finally, at about 9:00 Monday night, exhausted but feeling like I had fought a good fight, I ordered an epidural. Pitocin was administered soon after that. I felt good about my decision and that it was absolutely necessary at that point. Looking back, I'm sure I would have died of exhaustion if I had not gotten the epidural.



Anyway, the epidural was great! I could still feel and move my left leg and I could move my right foot. I could also feel some of the contractions, but I could not feel pain. So, I slept for a few hours (at least that's what I'm told. I don't remember much about the hours after the epidural). I woke up and a couple hours later I felt a very strong urge to push. They checked me and I was told NOT to push! HA! 20 minutes later, I told them I HAD to push, and again was told that even though I was 10 centimeters dialated, I could not push until the doctor got there. Thankfully, she lives in the neighborhood only 5 minutes from the hospital. Once she got there I was told that the pushing stage would take 2-3 hours. HA! I had been in labor for 72 hours, so I determined I would NOT push for any more hours. Thirty minutes later, my baby boy was lying on my chest!





Looking back, it was quite an amazing experience! For me, it was more of a mental/emotional challenge than a physical challenge, but it was a fun challenge. Even though I had moments when I was ready to throw in the towel and when I swore off any future pregnancies, the whole experience was one-of-a-kind that I will cherish forever.


Monday, October 11, 2010

Dear Baby Boy

Dear Baby Boy,

Today everyone expects to meet you. I don't think you'll come today because I haven't been showing any of the normal "signs" that labor is about to start, but maybe after I write this letter to you we'll both be more confident about making today your birthday.

I felt like I needed to write to you in order to come to the realization that you are not just an ever-growing, no-hassle, movement in my stomach, and to hopefully give us both some confidence in me. Baby Boy, the truth is that I'm scared. I'm afraid of the unknown. I don't know when you'll decide to come; I don't know how you'll decide to come; I don't know how long it will take or much it will hurt. I do know the "you" that I can reach down and touch, but I don't know the "you" that can reach up and touch me. I love you as much as I can right now, but I don't think it's enough, and that scares me too. I don't even call you by your name when I talk about you; you're always "the baby." Have you noticed that? It's not that I'm detached from you emotionally, it's just that I don't know you as a person yet--I only know you as the movements in my stomach that are covered by my skin and protected by my body. You're not your own person yet; you're still a part of me. I only worry about or love the things that I can love about you right now. For instance, I worry when I haven't felt you move much during the day, but I love when I can see your back moving up and down with your practice breaths (and I also love when you make your dad giggle by giving him a few kicks in the back!).

I have so many doubts about my readiness and ability to be a good mother. When I used to think about my future, children were always a part of it, but I never imagined my future would eventually become my present reality. I think that's another reason I'm scared. I'm a dreamer and a planner. Those two things don't seem to go hand in hand very well. In my dreams, you just existed and I was a great mother. In reality, you were conceived much sooner than I had planned. In reality, I had to wait 9 nauseous, weight-gaining, body morphing months for you. Once you are born I have to practice patience and faith, and I have to realize that I will fail, and I need to accept that there will be days where you come very close to hating me. These are the things that I have to plan and prepare for, but they don't line up with the dream. On the other hand, I should plan that there will also be days where I'll feel like a competent mother just because I was able to feed you when you were hungry, or because a kiss made your boo-boo all better, or because I was able to make you laugh. And I will absolutely melt when you reach out for me for the first time, or when you open a door for me, or when you tell me that I look pretty.

I guess what I need to tell you (and myself) most of all right now is that none of the whens, wheres, hows, and what ifs matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. God is our Creator. Whether we choose to believe it or not, He knows our deepest desires and He loves us more than we can imagine. Put those two things together and why should we ever be afraid? It's simple, but it's not easy because you have to resist your enemy's negative but totally plausible suggestions (we'll be talking more about this when you get older).

So, I'm going to fight for faith this week as I wait for you. Despite the doubts and fears that creep into my head, I'm going to trust that God knows what he's doing and that I can do all things through Him! That's such an amazing truth that I hope we do well in showing you.

I'll see you soon, Tommy! I love you!

Your mother.