MTHFR and a Healthy Baby: The Birth Story

Continued from MTHFR and a Healthy Baby: My Pregnancy Story

Week 38 / Day 3

Tuesday morning: We have another ultrasound scheduled at the perinatologist’s, and both Daddy and Lillyan are on hand for this one.  The sonographer starts measuring and figuring and comparing charts from the last ultrasound and checking blood flow to the baby’s lungs and brain … and calls the doctor in.  She is concerned that our baby girl is growth restricted and my fluid levels are too low (both known complications of an MTHFR pregnancy).

My perinatologist takes a look at the ultrasound himself, and then heads out of the room to call my obstetrician.  I’m working hard not to freak out in front of my three-year-old, who keeps jabbering away about seeing her little sister.  At this point, we don’t know what any of this means, but I’m afraid …

The doctor sends us into the fetal monitoring room and then pokes his head back in to ask where we were planning to deliver.  That doesn’t sound good to me.

I send Lillyan out to get our favorite nurse, Miss Paula, so we can talk to her about what is going on.  She is a calming influence, talks us through what the ultrasound means, and what she thinks the doctor is going to recommend.  She tells me this:  “If you were my daughter, I would send you to have this baby today.  At this point, she will be safer out than in.”

The doctor comes in again to say that, indeed, we are going to be having this baby today.  She hasn’t grown much at all in the last four weeks, and my fluid levels are dangerously low.  He reminds us that this is why we have been monitoring her all along, so that if this very thing were to happen, we can save her.  That helps.

Please allow me to digress here for just a bit …

For those of you who don’t already know our family, we are a bit fanatical about all-natural, organic, whole living.  Our oldest daughter has never met a chemical that her body didn’t hate.  Combine those life-style choices with the obsessive amount of research that I am prone to do about any given topic affecting our family, and you get a mother who is not at all excited about having labor induced artificially.  In fact, next to the health of my baby, being induced was my greatest concern.

We nervously head home from the doctor’s office because we have a few hours before we’re supposed to check in at the hospital.  I immediately start trying to convince the daughter in my womb that it’s actually her idea to come out today.  I use my breast pump for 20 minutes (that’s how we got labor started with Lillyan), and then I call an acupuncturist while I drink a big super-food protein smoothie.

I’ve never tried acupuncture before, but it’s a well-known method of labor induction in Asia.  I convince my husband by showing him several scientific studies backing up claims that it works.  When I get to the office of this kind, globally-minded doctor of Chinese medicine, I notice a whole wall of baby announcements and photos.  She says it’s her “fairy godmother wall” – she induced labor for all of those babies.  I feel better.  (The photo of her with a giant panda sitting on her lap makes me smile, as well.)

The kind doctor asks me some questions, then pokes several needles all over my body, and I lie still on a table listening to the sounds of nature from her little boombox.  I try hard to relax – but the nasty thoughts of an impending Pitocin drip make that difficult.

One hour after I return home from the acupuncturist, the first real contraction hits.  After the first couple of contractions, my husband starts tracking them on an iphone app.  I take a shower and fix an organic chicken pasta dinner for the three of us.  On the way to the hospital, we drop Lillyan off at friends’ house to stay the night.

By the time we get to the hospital at 7:30 pm, my contractions are four to five minutes apart and lasting about 90 seconds.  Nurse Rose takes us to our nice birthing room, and I get hooked up to the monitors and start a bag of IV fluids.  Nurse Rose is another answer to prayer.

The more naturally-minded hospital where I was hoping to deliver recently closed their labor and delivery ward, and so we had to deliver at the much busier, knock-’em-out-drag-’em-out hospital instead.  Rose was a nurse at the place where they are much more familiar with drug-free childbirth (and she is an Air Force mom).  She reads my birthplan (approved by my doctor but potentially scoffed by most nurses) and jumps onboard with both feet.

The monitor confirms that, sure enough, I’m in labor.  To help soften and ripen my cervix, Rose gives me Cervidil at 9 pm.

My own incredible Mother (two natural childbirths herself) arrives on a flight at 10:30 pm.  Friends bring her straight to the hospital.  She sits up with me all night long, chatting between contractions, which are much too uncomfortable to be able to get any sleep.  At 3:30 am, Nurse Rose removes the Cervidil because she and the doctor are afraid it’s the reason my contractions are coming one on top of the other without breaks in between.

The contractions slow down a bit after that, and our baby girl starts to have a few heart rate decelerations.  Nurse Rose warns me about what the doctor might suggest, and I discourage her from mentioning any of those options (stripping membranes, breaking my water, etc.).

My OB knows I want to do this as naturally as possible, but he also knows it’s his responsibility to protect our baby.  He thinks it’s time to get this moving along.

At 5 am, the dreaded IV bag of Pitocin shows up.  My good friend calls it Satan’s Drug.  I know lots of natural mommas, but none personally who have made it through Pitocin contractions without an epidural.  I have the advice of a friend’s sister to do my best to stay ahead of each contraction, because they come faster than the natural ones.

Nurse Rose starts the drip at a 2 mu/min and the contractions start to pick up again.  At this point though, I’m relaxing in the recliner, reading my Bible on my iPhone in between each one.  Nurse Rose comes in a half and hour later and ups the Pitocin to 4 mu/min.

Thirty minutes after that, Nurse Rose asks me how my pain is.  I tell her I’m doing fine.  Totally handling it.  She says “We can fix that!” and jacks the Pitocin up to a 6.  (This is the opposite of anything they warn you about in the natural childbirth books, where nurses and doctors are suggesting pain-management and asking you to lay flat on your back in a hospital bed.)

At this point, my husband gets more involved in his Bradley Method (husband-coached childbirth) role, and I move back to the birthing ball that was my best friend during those overnight rough ones.  Nurse Rose comes in and reaches for the IV pump again.  I stop her.  I tell Rose these are getting serious – no need to turn it up anymore.  She turns it up to 8 mu/min anyway.

The main idea of the Bradley Method is to relax your entire body through each contraction, letting your uterus use all your energy to do the work of getting your baby out.  Easier said than done, but it can be accomplished with practice and good coaching.  My man and my mom are talking me through each contraction at this point, reminding me to relax each part of my body as they see tension.

At 7:30 am, it’s time for Nurse Bianca to replace our dear Rose.  Rose has Bianca check me.  She says if I’m complete, she wants to stay to see our baby girl be born.  I have to get in the hospital bed for the first time in several hours.  Nurse Bianca reports that I’m only at four or five centimeters.  Nurse Rose tries to be encouraging, “Oh – you’ll have this baby by noon!”  Feeling like I know my own body and what’s going on, I shoot back, “Noon?? How about 8 o’clock?!?!”  All the nurses laugh and leave the room (but at least they finally turn my Pitocin back down a bit first).

I get back on the birthing ball (which is just an inflatable exercise ball we brought from home).  My husband is behind me putting pressure on my lower back during each contraction, while my mom sits in front of me holding my hands, making sure I keep them relaxed and not clenched against the pain.

Now these are some for real contractions.  I have no way to compare them to anyone else’s, but the pain is certainly worse than it was during my oldest daughter’s birth.  We call the nurses several times to let them know they should page my doctor.  I feel like no one is taking us seriously enough.

My biggest challenge is staying ahead of each contraction.  When I can get totally relaxed before the next one hits, I can manage the pain and keep my body relaxed.  When the next contraction comes before the last one ends, I get behind and question whether I can even do this.  (Not that I have a choice now, but everyone is kind enough to not point that out.)

In between contractions at about 7:45 am, my water breaks while I’m sitting on the birthing ball.  For me, it’s another sign that it’s almost time to meet our little girl.  Another contraction later and I feel like I really need to stand up, but there is so much adrenaline flowing through my body that I’m tingling from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.  Standing up isn’t going to happen.

At 7:50 am, my husband’s parents arrive (they drove in from Colorado the night before).  He jumps up to hug his mom and to advise his dad against coming in.  Another contraction hits and when I lean back on the ball, there is no one to support me.  I have no choice but to lean forward and stand up against my mom.  That was all it took.

I announce to everyone that I am going to push.  Everyone tries to tell me not to push.  Anyone who has ever personally experienced natural childbirth knows that the most ridiculous idea in the whole world is NOT pushing when your body is telling you to push.  Can’t be done.

They say I have to get into the bed, but I have to spin around to get untangled from the tubes and cords.  I need to push again, and again they all tell me to wait because the doctor will be there soon.  The phone rings.  It’s the doctor.  He hears the nurse telling me not to push.  Again, not happening.  I inform everyone that we are NOT waiting for the doctor.

On the next push, the nurse gets very serious.  She orders me to get in control.  She says I CANNOT push.  The cord is wrapped tightly around our baby’s neck.  For her sake, I have to wait.  That was finally reason enough to not push.  Nurse Bianca clamps and clips the umbilical cord, gives me permission for one more push, and Emilia Luceille is born at 7:58 am.  Born, but very blue.

The nurses rush her to the warmer.  My mom and mother-in-law cling to each other nervously, my husband is at the baby’s side, and I feel very alone in the hospital bed, anxious to see and hear my baby.

It’s awfully quiet.

After what was probably less than one minute but seems like an eternity, Emilia screams out.  I immediately praise God.  Then I ask someone to please come back and hold my hand.

They do a little more work getting Emilia all pinked-up and hurry to bring her back to me.  Her eyes are wide open and she looks overwhelmed.  And she looks exactly like her Daddy.  And she wants to eat.

I don’t want to say that I can’t believe, after all these months of concern, that she is out and healthy and perfect, because I can believe.  We serve a big God who can do miracles for tiny babies.  It is awesome to behold.

Only a few minutes later, Lillyan arrives to meet her new baby sister.  When she climbs up on the bed next to me and and Emilia hears Lillyan’s distinctive voice, the baby lights up. She stares and stares at Lillyan, with a look on her face that says, “I’ve been imagining what you look like for so long!  I’m so happy to finally SEE you!”

Emilia Luceille is tiny for a baby born at 38 and a half weeks:  5 pounds, 6.7 ounces and 18.5 inches long.  After that night of labor, I was at least glad to know the doctor was right in sending me for an induction.  She was growth restricted and it was time to come out.

Emilia passes all her newborn tests with flying colors, and our whole family is home to sleep in our own beds that night (except Emilia, who isn’t really interested in her own bed yet – she wants to spend some more time cuddled against anyone who loves her).

We have more appointments with the pediatrician and the pediatric cardiologist in her first week, and they all reassure us that she and her heart are perfect, feisty and strong.

I look at Emilia everyday and am reminded of a God so powerful that He can heal inside my womb, while being so gentle that He holds and protects my tiny daughter in His arms.

Psalm 139

⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.