Something is wrong. (5-21-08 @ 12:15am)

After Oliver emerged into his daddy's hands under the water in the birthing tub, he was lifted to just under the water level. (Babies born under water will not gasp for first air until the air hits a "gasp reflex" located inside their cheeks) We paused momentarily as the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck twice and body once. The midwife easily reached in and unlooped the cord, it was not tight. It slipped away over his head and sunk down into the water below. Oliver was lifted above the water. Within two seconds at most, he was freed and placed on my chest. I was so relieved that he was out and my pain was over. His dad was so excited that he had caught Oliver with NO assistance.

And as I laid my eyes on my new baby boy, I knew. I knew why. I knew why I wanted him out so fast. I knew why my mind and my body had screamed with impatience and urgency in the days and moments before birth. He was blue. Blue as the ocean at night. Deep deep blue. I knew what that meant. He had no oxygen. Within seconds there was help. They had just taken a refresher course not 3 days before at a midwife conference for situations like this. Just three days before...An air mask went over his mouth and nose, a tiny quarter sized stethoscope was placed right over his heart and each beat was counted aloud. His heart rate was normal 140. No breath. We rubbed our baby, his father and I talked to him with urgency, pleading with him to complain of the harshness of birth. No sound. No motion. Like a rag doll, heavily filled with beans, he laid on my chest. I silently begged the powers that be for my baby to breathe. Nothing. I heard someone say his Apgars were 2 and then at the five minute mark an Apgar of 3 was announced. The midwife looked at the assistant who was pumping air into him and said she was "calling it." 9-1-1 was dialed by a third assistant, and we continued to listen to his chest as his heart pumped and, continued to squeeze bagfuls of air into his lungs with resuscitation equipment. We noticed a tiny bit of blood coming from his nose. Perhaps it was from birth. We wiped it away. I could hear my mother in the bathroom, rushing prayers to God. I could hear my husband giving information-our address-our phone number. He's still on my chest. We are still in the warm water that carried him through my body and into this world. I'm holding him steady and rubbing his feet and legs trying to force a cry from his tiny body.

And we continued to pump air. I looked at my midwife and I said "his placenta is still giving him oxygen." She said "yes, and you must hold it as long as you can, just hold it." I pleaded with my still strongly contracting body to wait. And it did. She placed his cord in my hand and I felt it pulse with life. Please body I prayed, care for this baby just a little bit longer. It listened. As the ambulance pulled up in front of my house, I heard my husband flashing the porch light and yelling "right here."

As somewhere around 7 men in blue uniforms came up my front step, my placenta, Oliver's placenta emerged into the water. It was cut free and saved for later inspection. It had waited. My baby was carried to the bed, wrapped in three recieving blankets as he was now out of the warm water, and continued to be suctioned and oxygenated. I sat in my tub, a little murky from birth. I gripped the edge. My bedroom, my space, our nest was full of men, strangers, in dark uniforms that were the color of my son, and I was there, in my tub, completely naked watching with wide eyes and utter shock. This wasn't right. He was supposed to stay on my chest and not leave my side. He was never supposed to go further than his cord would have taken him. I was going to say who came into our space. This was wrong. Suddenly I felt very scared and very alone. I knew my midwives had not left me, but they knew I wanted them with my baby. They needed to be with my baby. I would have been angry had someone been attending me when he needed so much help. This tiny bundle at the foot of my bed struggling for life. I just sank into my tub, and felt the warmth of my water around me. My job was done for right now.

One of these men who seemed 8 feet tall to me from the little tub which I sank turned to me and bent over. His eyes never left mine. He never diverted down to my naked body. "Where do you want your baby to go, mama?" he asked me. Me, someone asked me. I was a part of this too. All along we had said if we had to go somewhere for any reason, it would be the closest hospital because it would be a matter of life or death. And here we were. Putting into action our plan for worse case scenerio. I asked "what's closest?" He said Sutter Roseville. Then that's where he goes, as fast as you can. He nodded. "Take care of him" I barely whispered. I choked on my words. I knew he would, but I had to say it. My last instruction was to my husband "do not leave our son, stay by his side." He nodded in understanding through fear stricken tearful eyes. I couldn't believe I was giving someone else orders in how to take care of my baby. Everything had gone wrong so fast. The nice man in blue said he had called another ambulance for me so I could get to my son's side as fast as possible. I thanked him, and in a flurry my room was left empty of the men. It was quiet. I was no longer pregnant, yet there was no baby.

I silently stepped out of my tub. Leaving so quickly behind hours of work and agony to start a new chapter already. Someone held my hand and steadied my balance as they dried my legs and I sat on huge pads on my bed. I was quickly inspected for injuries inside that would require assistance. I was told I had a tiny tear that I could have stitched here at home, or in the hospital. I didn't want anymore pain. My heart was torn out, my insides were torn a little bit, I didn't want a needle near me. I asked if I could just wait. She said I could just not have it stitched. It was so tiny and my body knew how to heal itself. I believed her. It knew how to birth, it knew to make that boy come out because it was his time and it was urgent, it knew to hold the placenta just a little bit longer, a tear was nothing in perspective. My ambulance had arrived by 20 minutes after birth.

I walked to the stretcher that was lowered to the level of my bed, just inside the door. They lowered it just a tad and I climbed my still naked self onto the stretcher. I was covered with my huge dark blue bathrobe, thick and warm. I saw my mom standing in the kitchen stunned. My kids were all still tucked into to bed as far as I knew. I felt a twinge of guilt that I had told Ryan so many times he'd see his baby. His baby was leaving. And he hadn't seen his baby. I said to my mom "you got the kids?" She nodded through the tears and whispered how much she loved me. I loved my mom too. We'd been through hell the last year, but in times like this, you heal in a way. She didn't abandon me. She hadn't abandoned me. She was here. My mom was here for me. She has seen me transform only minutes before. And now she stayed as I had to go and move on through this story.

As we wheeled outside into the dark front yard I looked up at the stars and the moon which was full and ripe. I felt every tuft of grass as we wheeled over it. I looked up and down the street, and no one was out. It was dark and eerily silent. I tried to absorb everything around me, knowing we were about to walk, we were walking through something huge. I wanted to remember. I wanted to be able to tell this story.

Once in the ambulance with my midwife riding shotgun, the EMT started an IV line in me and took my vitals. All normal of course. I felt very closed in and very alone, and it was no ones fault, it was just the situation. I felt shaky. He talked to me the entire drive to the hospital about my birth. I remember saying "you probably think I'm nuts for doing homebirth." I don't know why I said that, I don't really care what his thoughts are, but I'm so used to people judging that decision I suppose I was readying myself for a battle. He smiled at me and said "you couldn't have paid my wife to do it." That was good enough for me. He cared for me like he would anyone else.

We arrived at the hospital and wheeled through the emergency room doors. It was silent. Again, eerie. Not a patient was in that huge ER room other than me and my son. There were paramedics everywhere, my midwives, my husband and roughly 10-15 people throughout the room. They hovered over my son. I heard that his blood glucose level was zero. Zero. I scanned my brain. I knew that was huge, I did not know why. Come on brain, process. They could not get him intubated. One person's attempts failed and another would try. It seemed so desperate. It had been 20 something minutes from his birth. I caught a glimpse of my husband through the crowd, his eyes were bloodshot, he was pacing...another person tried for the tube, and finally a fourth. I heard my husband begin to shout and watched as security walked him outside. Too many people were trying, we needed someone to do. Finally- it went down. He was intubated. His oxygen levels that hovered near 85% began to rise. His sugar began to show a measurable reading, small, not near where it should be, but progress.

My midwife and assistants were furiously working to get prenatal and birth information to all the staff involved. It HAD to be accurate, it had to be truth. My son's health was as stake. There was no room for homebirth judgements here. And praise God, there wasn't much judgement. There was the assumption that his cord had been too tight at birth, and we disputed over and over that it was very, very, loose. We knew if needed eventually we had photo proof of that, but it wasn't important at the moment. Someone said his birthday was May 20th. It wasn't the 20th it was May 21 at 0015 or 12:15am. Not extremely important, but needed to be accurate.

I zoned in and out of reality the next hour. I had gotten through birth, but the trauma afterwards made me weak and I accepted a shot of dilotid into my IV to help with my after pains still contracting, and for the panic I was feeling inside. I was just too drained to cope, and the hour of that medication was welcomed at the time.

Soon more people showed up. They were from a different hospital. Someone explained to me that Oliver would have to transfer to a larger hospital downtown where the NICU could handle injuries that severe with much more grace, and specialists were there all the time. People had come to make the trip with him. He would go in about an hour. The midwifery people made sure that I would see him before he left as I'd only had him on my chest but five minutes, and it was all resuscitation. They said I would. Even though he was across the room from me, I needed to see him up close. I also needed to have ID bands on he and me and my husband. I needed something to assure me that he would not be lost in the chaos. I know it seems silly, but it was very serious to me.

I had to pay attention to my body now. Things were hurting. I had to potty. They brought me a commode right to my bedside. It burned so bad from the tear but being emptied made my pain subside much. My snuggly blue robe was soaked through with blood. Normal. But messy. Everything under me was overflowing. Normal. We'd just been distracted. The midwife paused in her pursuit of information sharing for the benefit of my son, to multitask and take care of me. She never made me feel abandoned by her. I felt lonely a few times, and scared, but amazed that she never abandoned me. I was cleaned up, robed fresh, and tucked back in. Someone brought me a turkey sandwich and crackers which I inhaled. I gulped down juice. I felt bad that I was eating, but I was so hungry I was shaking. My soaking robe was bagged and warm fuzzy socks pulled over my swollen feet. Pictures were taken of me and my husband for the baby's bed. Pictures were taken of him for me. I didn't have his face memorized. Just a vague blur of deep deep blue and floppy arms and legs.

Soon I got up and walked halfway across the ER to meet my son halfway in his isolette. "Hello baby" I sputtered, and the tears immediately blurred my vision. Damnit. I wanted to see him, I wanted to take a picture by blinking my eyes that would burn his image into my brain. It wouldn't stick. I wanted to explore him, every part of him, and know him as my own. There wasn't time. A small door was opened and a nurse put my hand on my sons tiny arm. He just lay still. "I (sob) love you" I managed to sputter dripping tears down his door in massive amounts. My God I thought, how in the world did this end up like this? And once again, Oliver was whisked from my side. I was handed his blankets. The three receiving blankets he had been wrapped in. Theres a creamy spot where his head had laid, covered in the wax from my womb. I smell my baby's smell and I just cry.

I stood in the middle of the ER-once again feeling lost. All my Willows were around me, minus my mom, I was not alone, but I was lost in my soul. I scribbled my name on some papers. I thanked some nurses for their dedication to my baby, and for the delicious turkey sandwich. I shuffled slowly out of a foreign hospital to a parking lot I had never seen. The breeze blew the trees around me. I stood and waited with my husband as the midwife and assistant went to get the car and drive us home. My thin hospital gown allowed a welcome breeze that cooled my body. My husband and I stared at each other. What do you say? Our baby was sick, very sick. We rode home planning what was next, eating a protein bar from the midwife's car. The big hospital downtown. That was next, as soon as we can. An hour at most.

I pleaded with God that Oliver would make the trip safely. I prayed he would get help. I prayed he would live. My new baby. God, Please.