Happy Birthday, Ryan!

Actually, yesterday was Ryan's birthday, but we had family over all day, and I never had a chance to post. So this is a homage to Ryan's 4th birthday on February 15.

I was almost completely surprised when I discovered I was pregnant for the 3rd time. (Almost, because I should have known better. "It's probably safe" are infamous last words!) I admit I was not altogether thrilled, because our financial situation was grim, and we lived in a much too small rental house. So at first Dave was a good deal more excited than I was, and I let him deliver the news to our family, who accepted it with more enthusiasm than I thought they would, to their credit. In my heart, of course, I still believed that God creates babies - people - at just the right time and in just the right place - there are no mistakes - but in the first half or more of my pregnancy, I struggled with applying that to reality, and I tumbled into a very dark place that was a bewildering mix of depression and a particularly severe manifestation of my OCD (one of a few major "episodes" of the kind that I've experienced in my life). I think hardly anyone knew what was going on, and certainly only Dave knew the severity. But he was merciful and patient, as he always is in times like those, and the Lord was so good in holding me in that time, as well as protecting our family, so that I was still able to take care of Aimee and Drew - I think they were largely unaware of everything, and as unaffected as they could be. I was, of course, often worried about my unborn baby, wondering how my stress would affect him.

But eventually I emerged from the depths, and I was able to prepare for his arrival. I was still paranoid - but I think more in the normal pregnancy kind of way! - about when he would come, though, and whether or not all the important family members would be able to be there, particularly Dave, who was often working out of town. So while I had hoped to go the "natural" route, and had promised myself that I would never be induced again if I could help it, my resolve wavered as my due date of February 14 approached. My week-40 visit was that day, and I was in such a panic that when one of the nurse midwives casually mentioned that it would be no problem to induce me the next day, I readily agreed. I was so incredibly relieved for the rest of the day, and probably as relaxed as I'd even been the entire pregnancy, and sleep came easily that night. But of course I had to wake up and go to the bathroom at about 1:30am, and just after settling back into bed, I felt something...unusual. I woke Dave up and announced that I thought my water had just broken. The panic returned full force, as I was practically convinced the baby would just fall out at any moment - never mind the fact that neither of my previous two labors had been under 12 hours. I called the midwives, and they told me to head over to the hospital, so we immediately woke up the kids, put my bags in the car, and eagerly made the 10-minute drive. We settled in a room, spoke to the midwife on call, and met the doula, Vicki, whose services were offered free by the hospital - and then we waited. But by then I had developed a sense of peace and a new resolve. My labor beginning on its own reminded me that my body really could do this without help, and I determined to let things continue without intervention as long as I could, refusing the offered epidural or even IV. My parents arrived at some point, and took turns caring for the kids, who had quickly grown restless. I had been 3 cm. dilated upon arrival, and I progressed to about 5 cm. with little difficulty in the first few hours. My doula proved to be fantastic through the contractions that got me there, calmly knowing what I needed almost before I knew I needed it, the nurses were very supportive, and my midwife was calm and unhurried. Altogether, things were moving along beautifully, and everyone was speculating that we would probably have a baby around lunchtime. But the morning came and went, and for hours I alternated walking the halls and bouncing on the birth ball as I listed to music in my room - but 5 cm is where I stayed. As the afternoon wore on, I had periods of hard, regular contractions, but then also periods of hugely disappointing lulls (I was very tired by that point), and I was progressing only very slowly. Occasionally someone would suggest Pitocin, and I would adamantly refuse, but eventually even my doula began to suggest it might not be such a bad idea. When by 4 pm, the midwife's exam revealed I had only reached 6cm after all those hours, I hestitantly agreed to a very little Pitocin. I was very unhappy about needing the IV and monitoring, but the midwife assured me that I could still move around a little, and that I wouldn't be confined to bed. In about thirty minutes after receiving the Pitocin, my contractions definitely changed in intensity, and I was working the birth ball very seriously. My volume and distress level also increased signifigantly, and this scared 4 year-old Aimee, who had been brought back in to watch the impending birth. My mom whisked her out to my dad, before returning to help me - although because of my doula's tireless help, my mom and Dave were able to be simply supportive spectators through most of my labor. We all agreed later Vicki was the main reason I was able to do it without pain medication.



At any rate. I soon reached the "I can't take it, anymore" stage, at which point the nurses began to smile infuriatingly and assure me that it meant I was almost done. At the time this seemed like very little consolation! They also told me it was time to get off the birth ball and into the bed so that I could push, and I was VERY resistant to this notion. But they were more insistent, and they coaxed me into the bed, where things took a turn for the worse as far as I was concerned. If I couldn't stand it before, I felt like I was in danger of being swept away by the contractions. Actually it seemed like one huge wave, with barely imperceptible dips, and the only thing that kept me on top was being able to rock on my hands and knees.



In only a matter of minutes after getting into the bed, it was time to push, the nurses hurried to get someone "qualified" to come catch the baby. My midwife was with someone else who was also pushing, so they brought in the doctor on call. At that point I didn't care WHO was at the other end of the table! But I did care that they asked me to roll over onto my back, which I felt would kill me. I thought I would definitely lose myself underneath the waves - correction, the ONE BIG RELENTLESS wave. One of the nurses kept telling me to rest in the breaks, and I nearly bit her head off. "There ARE no breaks!" My one sustaining thought was that I had no choice but to stay on top of the wave. I felt like I going under, but I knew nothing would happen if I did - no one could "rescue" me, so what else was there to do? So I stayed just above hysteria, and just when I really couldn't take anymore, I was allowed to push. My first push brought insane relief, but also searing pain, as the baby began crowning almost immediately. After a couple of pushes delivered the head, I irrationally refused to push anymore, but the nurses and my mom informe me that I had to get his shoulders out, so I dug down deep, and just one or two more pushes, Ryan O'Rourke Meester was born. It's not enough to say it was the most amazing feeling in the whole world - I don't think anything can match the contrast between such unbelieveable pressure and pain and the immediate relief and ecstasty that follows. The transformation takes only seconds, and I don't believe it's possible to have the one without the other, not in such quantities, at any rate. It doesn't take anything away from my first two births, and I'm not diminishing anyone else's birth experiences, but the facts are quite tangible in this case. And there was no denying the differences in alertness between my first two babies, both medicated to some degree, upon their entrances in the world, and Ryan, my first unmedicated baby. Everyone in the room noticed how astonishingly alert he was - and he looked so intelliegent and aware on top of that. (And if my scanner were working properly, I could show you!!! Grrr...) One of the first things my mom said about him, in fact, was that he looked so "knowing," and even from those earliest days, he always looked as though he wanted to tell you exactly what he was thinking. And he was Ryan right from the start - placed on my chest after his birth, he immediately quieted, and each time he was taken away, he began crying, soothed only by being in my arms again. Someone mentioned how attached he was to me already, and sure enough, "attached" didn't even begin to describe his feelings for me for the next year or so!

There are so many feelings surrounding Ryan's pregnancy and birth, that this could go on forever. All struggles and doubts from my pregnancy aside, Ryan became one of my dearest treasures, of course, and even when he drives me crazy, he is my "heart walking around outside my body." And his birth gave me something I could talk about forever without adequately describing its importance or impact. I really didn't think I could handle the sensations of birth, but I did it, and experiencing that was a priceless gift to me as a woman and a mother.