My Birth Story Part 5: Samuel Josiah

It was Monday, the day after my due date, and I went in for my scheduled appointment. My midwife immediately started talking about induction. I was shocked. We had had so many conversations about how I was against being induced and against using pitocin to augment labor. I knew that either way, it increased my risk of uterine rupture 4-fold, though the risk was still less than one percent. In addition, they had told me I could go full term if necessary--up to 42 weeks. When I brought that up, she countered that hospitals only do inductions on certain days of the week, and the doctor's schedule was already pretty full. I'm sure my eyes bugged out of my head! You've got to be kidding me, I thought! Now, those of you who know me know that I would never say anything like that, but I certainly thought it. I was finally able to side-step the scheduled induction by letting the midwife know that I would rather wait the two weeks and then just have a c-section, if necessary. I left that appointment, like so many others, in tears. 

Josiah and I went to dinner, and I made up my mind. I was going to just pray. Pray and believe, and pack my bag (because it wasn't yet). I also called my mom, and she agreed to come as soon as she could to watch Elizabeth. Josiah was able to take the next day off and spend it with me, as I was emotionally a wreck. My mom got to our house that night. She told me we were going to walk and walk and walk some more until this baby came. I had already been walking daily, but we were going to ramp things up! 

Wednesday I noticed a "bloody show"! That's got to be good, right? Wednesday night we went to the Promenade and ate my favorite--Thai. Afterwards Elizabeth and Mom stayed at the fountain while Josiah and walked--very slowly as it was very uncomfortable. I started feeling what I called "gas pains". I thought maybe I needed to go to the bathroom. Sorry if that's too much info! Josiah commented that my pains were coming a little too regularly, and that maybe we should pay attention. I timed them the whole ride home. He was right! About every 5 minutes or so! Huh. I laid down in my bed at home. They were still coming! I called my doctor and described my pain. She told me that this wasn't "it" but that the good news was that things were getting started without any help. I slept as long as I could, contractions coming every five minutes, but at about 3 am I couldn't go back to sleep. I woke my mom. We looked through old pictures and talked about good times. 

By Thursday morning, I was definitely hungry! I ate some eggs and shortly after my contractions stopped. I was heartbroken. We went to Dorney Park for a little while, but it was HOT and my heart was not there. I was afraid to eat--afraid that that's what had stopped my progress. I came home and rested some, and then Josiah and I went to Home Depot for something--being new homeowners we were always there for something. We walked every aisle--slowly like before--the whole time I was begging God for the contractions to start again. I went to bed that night with a heavy heart. 

Friday I had a non-stress test. We decided to go to Chuck E Cheese because my mom wanted to take Elizabeth there. I noticed some contractions, maybe every 10 minutes or so, but I ignored them. They hadn't amounted to anything before. By the time we got to St. Luke's in Bethlehem (we had to go there because the Allentown office was closed on Fridays),  I was pretty uncomfortable. I stopped to get directions to the correct office, and the staff offered to take me where I needed to go in a wheelchair, but it wasn't that bad yet. When I was hooked up to the monitor, the nurse said to me something like, "I've been in labor and delivery for X number of years (twenty, maybe?) and I think you are going to have this baby today". I briefly thought with a grin that it was my husband's boss's birthday, and I had told him in no uncertain terms that my baby would not be waiting that long to be born! She suggested I call my doctor, because she would hate to send me all the way back to Allentown if I was 8 centimeters! When I called my doctor, she said she was certain this was not it, but offered to meet me at the office to check me if wished. I did. If this wasn't it, I didn't know what was. 

We got to the office as fast as we could, but we hit a little traffic on 22. No one was there. We tried calling the answering service, and they said they would call the doctor, but we never heard back from her. Though we had joked about having the baby at home, I certainly did not want to have my baby in a hallway. I told Josiah we needed to go to the ER. So off we went. As Josiah backed our car out of the parking space, it stalled. This, a borrowed car, and the second car to break down on us in a very short period of time. We called my mom to come get us, but she got lost because I failed to mention the "south" part of Cedar Crest Blvd. Finally we were on our way! 

On the way over to St. Lukes, we got stuck behind some construction. Josiah tried to no avail to pull out into traffic to get around it, but it wasn't working. (I guess those DC driving skills were in hibernation.) So he decided to take matters to the next level. He hopped out of the driver seat and started waving his arms and screaming, "Get out of the way, my wife's having a baby!" Please know that at the time I was deeply embarrassed by this show, but I can now appreciate it's rich humor. 

When we got to the ER, everyone who saw me thought for sure this baby was coming any minute. My contractions were strong and every two minutes. I was not making loud noises, but I was obviously uncomfortable. I was set up in the hallway as no beds were available. When they checked me I was 2 cm and -3 station. Not what I was hoping for! This was about 5 pm. They offered me tylenol with codeine, which I gladly accepted. I got home and when I finally found a good position on the futon, I was able to sleep between the contractions, still coming steadily every two minutes. Josiah and my mom took turns with me. The only thing that offered any relief was prayer. It went like this: at the end of the contraction I would close my eyes, lay my head back and sleep. As another contraction would jerk me awake, I squeezed my supporter's hand and said, "Please PRAY". They would say a quick prayer, and I would let my head fall back as the pain was subsiding. 

Around 3 am, my water broke. We called to make sure there were beds at the hospital, and we called my doctor to see what she suggested. She suggested we go. We briefly contemplated staying home, but we knew that was not really an option as we didn't have support lined up for a home birth. When we got to the hospital, I was checked by the same resident, and I was only 3cm and -3 station. Major disappointment. I will not go into detail about the hospital experience, because this is getting so long, but needless to say that the IV, the monitor, and overall smell and feel are completely contrary to relaxation to me, especially since my first birth experience. As a VBAC mom, you are restricted to a 3 foot rope, ie monitor. I did the best I could to stay out of the bed, but when I sat on the birth ball, the baby's heart rate dropped, so that was not an option. I was weary, and in pain, and not sure what to do, even though we had been "trained". 

Immediately upon arrival, the staff suggested that I might need some pitocin to speed things up. I told them to call my doctor, and she said I could have six hours. I labored as best as I could. I kept thinking, things can change so quickly! They would check me, often at my request, and my dilation was stalled. When the six hours were coming to a close, I started thinking that maybe this birth was not going to go the way I had planned. I felt pitocin was unsafe in a VBAC situation, so I chose a c-section when it was going to become an issue again. 

It was very surreal walking myself to the OR and climbing up on the operating table. I chose an epidural over a spinal. (I just felt more comfortable that way--though neither option filled me with joy.) I had some trouble breathing, and I was getting pretty upset about it. The nurse and anesthesiologist both insisted that I was not because I was on oxygen. I still insisted, and they decided to take matters into their own hands to calm me without telling me. Josiah told me about it later. 

Though it wasn't what I chose, it was definitely easier this time around. At least my epidural worked! Afterwards, I felt such peace. We were alone, just the three of us and I felt so happy! I had survived! No, it had not been the story I wanted, but God had been faithful. Over time I realized that maybe it was better that it had still ended in a c-section. I had "corrected all my mistakes" from the first time, but the outcome had been the same. Maybe I could finally stop blaming myself. 

I won't say that I felt no sadness. I did. Especially as I could over hear other women laboring in the  adjoining room. I heard their struggle, and then I heard the triumphant cheers when their babies arrived. It was almost more than I could bear. I walked the hall a lot so that I could get away. I just could not understand why I was not allowed to have that experience. 

Either way, my beautiful baby boy was here. Elizabeth had her brother. God had added to our family. 

My Birth Story Part 4: Healing

I am excited to move onto happier thoughts! Thanks to everyone who is reading along. I pray you are encouraged by God's loving faithfulness throughout even the dark times. 


Years went by. I still couldn't tell my story without tears. The thought of not having more children saddened me, but I was unwilling to accept the possibility in my current state. Not until my back heals completely, etc. What if I injure myself worse? Who will be there to parent Elizabeth? I wanted to trust, but I wasn't even sure if that's what God wanted of me. Maybe He wanted one to be enough.

Not long before I got pregnant with Samuel, I was walking the mall with a friend. I was trying to loose weight (as I just about always am!) so that my body would be better prepared, just in case God did want to bless us with more children. She was talking to me about how God was challenging her to trust Him with the size of her family. Don't worry--I've heard it all before. I gave her (ahem--God) my really good excuses. My back is injured. My body may not be able to handle the stress of pregnancy in this condition. She just smiled and said something about how He could handle those things, too. I couldn't speak. I went home and prayed. And prayed and prayed and prayed. Wasn't she right, my soul shouted? God could handle anything. Didn't he want my trust instead of my fear?

Over the course of a few months I prayed through all my fears related to birth. Over and over I felt God's comfort, and reassurance that He could and would bless me, if only I'd be open. I shared all this with Josiah, and he felt the same way. So we started trying for our next little blessing, and it wasn't long before I woke him at 4 am to show him a positive pregnancy test! The most amazing testimony of God's goodness in this pregnancy was this: no more back pain. Up until the point I got pregnant, I still had sporadic pain. I would know when I had overdone it by the familiar throbbing and soreness. But even though I weighed exactly the same as when I had gotten pregnant with Elizabeth, and gained the exact same amount of weight during my pregnancy, I never experienced pain! It was as if God was supernaturally showing me what He could do with my trust.

Now the big question: was this pregnancy fear-free? And the truthful answer: no. I cried over and over about the delivery and post-partum period. What happened before simply could not happen again, right God? I spoke more openly with my friends about my fears, and asked them to pray. Though many people loved and encouraged me, two conversations stand out to me from the rest, because of their uniqueness. One, a dear friend who had watched my pain helplessly the first time (there was so little anyone could have done) told me toward the beginning of my pregnancy that she was praying, and asking others to pray, because she did not want to see me suffer like I did before. I had said so little. I didn't even know that she knew. Her knowing, and her praying, meant the world to me. Later in my pregnancy, my dear non-confrontational friend listened again as I cried over the possibility that I would be forced into another c-section by circumstances out of my control. She was quiet for a second and then said something like, "I know what happened last time was really terrible, but there are no guarantees it will happen like that again. You need to trust God." Perhaps I was quiet for too long, because she rushed on to say that she wished could have said that face-to-face, and with a big hug. I couldn't speak, though, because I was smiling so big. She was right! She had just given me a great gift! Even after that, it was hard to trust and not be afraid, but I knew then what I needed to do.

I worked hard to correct every "mistake" I made the first time. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth and I went for walks if I experienced pain, I thought something was wrong, and would rest. Now I knew that pain was normal (within reason) and walking was the best thing I could do. I took a Bradley Birth Class with Josiah. We both enjoyed those once a week outings just the two of us. It was a great time to heal from the first birth. I was able to finally look back and see some of the things that had gone well the first time around. For example, I had second guessed my choice of hospitals (among so many other choices), but the pediatrician I met there was the best one Elizabeth had ever had. We have yet to find as caring, patient and natural a doctor. Breast-feeding went well. Many women struggle, but for us this was a joy (not that it didn't have it's hard moments)! Some of the things happened because they were standard procedure/hospital policy/etc. It does not mean they have to happen again, and it did not mean that it was all my fault just because I didn't know it all or know which questions to ask. God was healing my heart, too.

My Birth Story Part 3: Recovery

Again, this part of the story must be told. But I pray that I can do it in a respectful way. It is no way intended to hurt or offend those closest to me.

It begins as I was being wheeled to a recovery room. It felt as if I was rejoining the world after being away for a while. I'm not sure how I could have prepared myself for this next part. Everyone was so excited. I felt like I had just been through the battle of my life. I was still in a state of shock. I know why they were excited. Our long awaited baby was finally here, safe and sound. But I felt anything but safe. I was afraid of what was happening to my body. I was severely swollen, for one. My legs were as hard as rocks, and it wasn't muscle. My abdomen had just been cut in half. I felt like if I moved, all my stitches could not possibly contain the inside of me. Yes, I had read the c-section portion of What to Expect, but it wasn't sufficient. When my doctor finally came, he said the words I needed to hear most. He said, "You feel like you are going to fall apart, but don't worry. You aren't." He also made a comment about having removable shower heads in all 6 of his bathrooms. We're still not really sure if he was serious, but we laugh about it to this day. My mom also stepped up at this point and asked the doctor things I couldn't have thought of at the moment. She also convinced him I needed a script for an extra massage because of my legs. (The hospital provided one post-natal massage as part of it's routine care.)

Elizabeth did have some trouble nursing later. Not much. Mostly it was hard to get her to wake up to nurse. My intense anxiety over her welfare began to exhibit itself. I was so fearful that she was not getting enough. The lactation consultants helped some, but overall I credit my success breast-feeding to my mother. Her steadfast "you can do it because I did" attitude is part of what made giving up not feel like an option. Fortunately, this is a bright spot in this story. I loved breast-feeding. Knowing that I was providing something only I could provide was the most comforting thing.

After I got home a few days later, problems began to arise. First, I started experiencing extreme discomfort in my back near where the epidural needle was inserted. I couldn't lay on my back at all. Sitting was uncomfortable. When it came time to go to sleep, I was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. Not only could I not get comfortable, I felt like I was artificially being kept awake. I would fall asleep only to pop awake a few moments later. At five days post-partum, I was experiencing rapid heart rate, and my doctor advised a trip to the ER. That was an ordeal in itself, but I won't go into details. After many hours and lots of tests, nothing alarming was showing up. However, in the mean time, I had been without pain medicine for my back. I talked to a nurse about the potential side effects of that medicine. She told me it was very possible that the medicine could be causing the symptoms I was describing. I stopped taking it (it wasn't really helping the pain go away anyway) and eventually I was able to sleep again.

Josiah is the real hero at this point of the story. I often couldn't fall asleep without sitting up leaning against him. His warmth and listening to his heartbeat was the only thing that seemed to calm my racing heart and mind.

I never wanted to be alone--not even for an hour--but I wasn't good company. I was fearful, anxious, stressed, tired, and still so confused about all that had taken place. I enjoyed caring for Elizabeth, but nothing else seemed to bring me any peace or joy. Normally a people-person, I couldn't relax in the presence of my friends. Television proved almost impossible for me to watch. Any scenes of action or intensity only heightened my anxiety. For many years I could not watch a medical drama. They still really aren't a favorite.

My back pain wouldn't go away, but Josiah had to return to work. Lifting and holding a baby for long periods during the day was very painful. We decided to "move in" with my parents for a little while. Maybe a few weeks? I don't remember. My mom came to me when she could, and when she couldn't, we went to her. I never could have imagined that this how my birth story would go. I was so embarrassed by my lack of being able to stand up on my own two feet. When we were at our house, our church family continued to provide meals, as did other members of the body of Christ. Never had I been so thankful for the way God ordained community to work. I knew there were people praying for me, and that, too, was invaluable.

Unfortunately, it took me a long time to recover emotionally. It was one baby step at at time. Around four months after her birth, we began support raising in earnest for the job God had called us to with Fellowship International Mission. I saw God do amazing things, and my faith was strengthened. Still, there remained this dark spot on my journey. What had gone wrong with my baby's birth? Why had God allowed this to happen? Would the pain in my back or my heart ever go away?

Would my battered and broken body ever be able to carry another child? It was never our plan to have just one child, but maybe that would have to be enough. Oh, how I grieved for Elizabeth! To never have the joy of siblings! It was my greatest disappointment in the whole ordeal. (Though the following is certainly not true for every woman who has gone through a c-section, I have heard the same thoughts echoed in more women than I can count, often through the haze of our tears.) I felt like a failure as a woman, and a mom. When the time came to be there to bring my baby into the world, I couldn't do the one thing my body was made to do. I had failed her, and myself. I was broken. Going into future birth experiences, this will be the largest mental hurdle to overcome.

My Birth Story Part 2: Elizabeth Anne

This part of my story is difficult to share, because it so personal, and leaves me so vulnerable. I also hesitate to link the beauty and joy that is Elizabeth to the way that she came into the world. She is a gift straight from God, and I in no way intend to detract from that. I cannot dismiss this part, however, lest I miss what God could be teaching me or someone else through it. 


Fear. That's the one word that characterized my pregnancy. It wasn't until I became pregnant a second time that I felt any fear that a miscarriage might happen again. But much to my dismay, I found myself deeply worried that something terrible would happen to this baby, too. I remember at about 4-5 months confiding in a dear friend and mentor at church my fears. And I remember her admonition that fear was not from the Lord. I am so thankful for her caring honesty. But as hard as I prayed, I could not shake the fear that had overtaken my life.

Elizabeth's Estimated Due Date was June 5th. We took the free childbirth classes offered to us, read the books we knew to read, listened to the advice of all. Her due date came and went, and my cervix remained unchanged. She did not drop, I did not dilate, my cervix did not soften. My doctor was much more patient than I was feeling. On June 19th, I was scheduled for an induction two weeks after her expected arrival. My mom and sister joined Josiah and I. I spent all day on a pitocin drip. I had a few contractions, but made no progress. That afternoon my doctor attempted to break my water, to no avail. He started talking about a possible c-section because of a potential "big baby".  Around 5 o'clock, my water broke on it's own, and my contractions began in earnest. I don't remember how far apart they were, but I knew after a while that if it was going to get progressively worse, I would never make it to the end. Still fear was the word of the day. I was incredibly afraid of the pain that would come. If I could go back and change one thing, this is what I would change. I would tell myself that though I may be feeling pain, it was nothing to be afraid of. 

An epidural was suggested and I agreed, heartily. This experience in and of itself is very fearful. The room was cleared of all but Josiah, the nurse and anesthesiologist. He started to go to work, and I concentrated on sitting very still, as I knew from the consent forms all the things things that could go wrong with such a large needle going in a very sensitive area. I felt pain with the insertion of the needle. More fear. The anesthesiologist did more things, asking me about the pain. I described it as best as I could, more on the right side than the left. As he pulled medical tape off my back, he asked me if I was allergic to it. I said no. He said, "You are now". My back was covered in hives.

As it turns out, the epidural was only partially effective, and only on one side--the left.  It's hard to describe the surreal and drugged state I was experiencing. The nurse was concerned that I was still feeling pain and suggested we might need to try the epidural again. I was afraid, but at this point, I felt like I was on a runaway train. This time the epidural caused a rapid drop in blood pressure (later my doctor told me this was normal). All I knew was that something was terribly wrong--and said so--as my body moved up and down off the table involuntarily and I wretched. I thought I might die. My sister was afraid for me. I was given medicine to bring back up my blood pressure--this all happened a matter of moments.

I know that I was periodically checked for progress, but I'm not sure by who. I was so tired, and so drugged, the nurse suggested I try to sleep. I fell into a fitful sleep in a dimly lit room with lots of beeping LEDs. When I "awoke" I was told that they had seen some things on the heart monitor that had them concerned and the doctor had been called. He reviewed the monitor reading when he got there, and I was told, "We are going to have this baby". I was immediately prepped for a c-section. I think I cried, but I don't remember saying anything.

What I knew for sure was that my epidural was not sufficient for major surgery. I still felt much of the labor my body was experiencing. I wasn't sure how to tell them, but I just kept pushing that little button to deliver more drugs to my body, hoping I wouldn't have to speak up. As I laid on the operating table, I waited for it all to begin. It was about 3 am. I hoped my doctor had gotten some sleep. I felt them pinch me to test the effectiveness of the anesthesia, and told them I could feel it. Then they made the first incision. It felt like someone was drawing on me. I told them I could feel that, too. Then I was asked to make a choice. "We can keep going, or we can put you to sleep," someone said. "You are going to have to put me to sleep, because I can't go through this being able to feel that much." Josiah had to leave while they did that part. Fortunately I remembered how easy it had been at 5 years old having my tonsils removed. I felt God's mercy at that moment, knowing at least I would sleep through this nightmare.

I'm not sure when Josiah returned. I have no idea what Elizabeth looked like when she came out. I didn't hear the announcement of "It's a girl!" I didn't hold her or kiss her until much later.

When I woke I was in a strange place. It looked like the OR but much dimmer. There were instruments everywhere, but the only one with me was my nurse. Maybe Josiah was there--I don't remember. I just remember how surreal it felt, because when I had been put under, I was surrounded by so many people and bright lights, and now it was dark and quiet. Josiah stood to my left and held up a beautiful little bundle. He said softly, "We have an Elizabeth." "It's a girl?" I asked. "Yes", he said. My eyes couldn't focus and my head rolled around involuntarily on the propped up bed. "Help me", I said, alternating with, "She's beautiful". I kept repeating those phrases until Josiah gently held my head in place. We laughed about it later--my lack of physical control--but it was sad, really. I told the nurse she was my angel. She was very kind the whole time, and I felt like I had walked through the valley of the shadow of death.

The nurse asked me if I wanted to feed my baby. "I'll try", I said. She latched on beautifully. Another evidence of God's grace. After all that. She looked up at me with those perfect blue eyes and nursed like a champ.

My Birth Story Part 1: Infertility

I think the experience of my journey into motherhood is one long story, intertwined in ways that make it difficult to look at each birth separately, but I'll try in order to make following along a little easier. I'll also attempt to write it in a way that glorifies God and does not detract from anyone else's experience.

Our story starts with infertility. Our situation was not severe, but it took us over a year to get pregnant the first time. When we did I was elated. My heart instantly bonded with baby, as did Josiah's. We were only pregnant one week before problems arose, but it felt like months. The weekend that I started bleeding, Josiah and I had planned to take my sisters Jessica and Sarah to Hershey Park with some free tickets we'd been given. I had to sit them down and tell them that I didn't think we could go, because I was pregnant, but I thought I was loosing the baby. I fear I traumatized my poor young sisters who had probably been praying for a baby for me. We went as a family to the urgent care center. Joseph, John, Jessica, Sarah, Mom, Josiah and I... waiting together for news. That first night, there was none. (I will often look back with fondness on how they stood with me that night.) I went back to my family home, slept through my sadness until the moment came when I knew. I knew the baby was gone. A deep painful stab and then it was over. There was no more pain--instantly the discomforts of pregnancy were gone, but I would have given anything to have them back. I cried all day that day. It wasn't until late that night that Josiah asked me what I was thinking that I responded, "Haven't I told you?" And he responded, "You haven't said a word to anyone all day." If you know me, you know my normal is processing through words. When he said that, I realized that a monologue had been taking place internally all day, but it had been too much to say to the words audibly.

The Lord truly did sustain me, and my sadness melted away in a deep sense of acceptance. God held the life of my baby, and myself, in His hands. He would bless us in His time. I won't say there weren't moments of sadness in that next year, because of course there were. Baby showers, mother's day, and careless remarks stung as I processed them while producing in me an empathy for others who experienced the same thing. I think the hardest part was knowing that I actually was a mom already, my baby just wasn't here with us. In my heart, I was a mom.