Our Birth Story: The Princess

John Dempsey Hospital at the UCONN Health Center, where The Princess was born.

This is the final post in a series of 3. This is The Princess' birth story, as best I can remember it 20 months later.


In 2007, we decided to try for more children. Ok, so "we" in this case means myself and God. I had become what I felt was stronger in my faith, and while I trusted God for a multitude of things, I did not trust Him to give me only as many children as He had planned. I convinced Mr. P. that it'd be a fine idea to give up birth control and trust God for our fertility.
That year had been fairly good for us. Mr. P. was working hard and we were on the verge of being able to get off of welfare. Both our marriage and our family life were growing stronger each day. Faith in God gave us a sense of peace about our lives. It seemed a good time to add to our family.

Given how both our sons were conceived during times when I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant, we both assumed our newest blessing would be on the way in short order. We had officially begun TTC (trying to conceive) in the autumn of '07. In late winter of '08, I did become pregnant but miscarried shortly after that positive home pregnancy test.
I thought it best to learn more about fertility and how a woman's cycle functions. I began taking my basal body temperature (BBT) and charting my cycle. It did not take long to see that there was something out of the ordinary. Although I was incredibly "regular" at 26 day cycle, I had a very short luteal phase. Too short to allow a fertilized egg to implant as it turned out. My BBTs were always on the low side as well, averaging around 96 degrees pre-ovulation and 97 degrees post-ovulation. Most women average in the 97-99 degree range. A degree or 2 may not seem like much but it can make a huge difference. Some online searches suggested that a low BBT could be a sign of thyroid troubles. Because of a family history of low thyroid, I asked my regular doctor to check. The bloodwork came back as "borderline". Not much to do about that.
Both Mr. P. and I felt that resorting to fertility treatment was not for us. In an effort to lengthen my luteal phase and improve cervical mucus, I began taking evening primrose oil capsules, extra vitamins with an emphasis on B6, guaifenesin (Robitussin), and natural progesterone cream. As anyone who has experienced infertility can tell you, marital relations lose their sparkle after awhile. I felt so wrapped up in this effort to have another baby. I felt like I must have done something wrong to anger God. Why else would He not be giving us a baby? It sent my faith into a tailspin.
As we headed into 2010, I was heartbroken. 3 years of secondary infertility had taken its toll on both my faith and the way I viewed myself. Infertility, whether primary or secondary, is something I would never wish on someone. Most of the time, if there's something you desperately want with all your heart, you can work hard to get it. Fertility is not like that at all. Even using ARTs (assisted reproductive technologies) does not guarantee you a baby. In February of '10, in my heart I had given up on the dream of having another child. To heal my ragged emotions, I decided to enjoy all the things that parents of new babies cannot easily do. A night out at Mohegan Sun casino solidified for me the idea that we were meant to be a family of 4.
My doctor had requested bloodwork to check my liver due to medication I was regularly taking. On March 1, I decided to quit putting it off and go get the bloodwork done. I always have a hard time staying hydrated for fasting labs, and that morning I felt "off" as I chugged a bottle of water before leaving the house. After an uneventful trip to the lab, I headed to Walmart with my mother. I felt like I had a yeast infection brewing, and decided to pick up a kit while I was in the aisle to purchase my "monthly supplies". I was 2 days late but it was not terribly unusual. After all the things I had pumped into my body the last few years, my cycle had become slightly unpredictable. I don't know what made me turn over the box for the Monistat kit, but I noticed it said not to use if pregnant and consult a doctor. I plopped a test into my cart, thinking to myself about how much I apparently enjoyed the self-torture of a negative result.
Unwilling to wait to start the yeast infection treatment, I headed into the bathroom after paying for my stuff. I did my thing, and set the test off to the side while finishing my business and getting the medication ready. I glanced at the test after putting myself back together, and my heart leapt into my throat. It was positive! I felt like I could not breathe. I burst into tears, and my mother who was just a few stalls down called out, asking if I was ok. She later told me she assumed the tears were from starting my period. She knew how badly infertility had hurt me. I called out, "Mom? I'm pregnant!", and started crying even harder. A chorus of "Congrats!" came from the other bathroom goers. As I was washing my hands, an older lady asked if I was ok, and if this was a wanted pregnancy. I told her my tears were complete joy, and that we had just endured 3 years of infertility. She hugged me.
After making it through the 1st trimester, my worries of another miscarriage faded. I chose to go to the women's health group that my insurance covered. Our little baby was healthy, and my pregnancy was easy. The hard part was trying to decide how this child would be born. Because the hospital I chose was equipped with a fabulous NICU, and had everything and everyone on hand in case of an emergency, I could choose to attempt a VBA2C (vaginal birth after 2 cesareans). Obviously, a repeat c-section birth was always a choice as well. For most women, this would be a fabulous thing.
The saying "A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing" definitely applied to my situation. In the circles I ran in at the time, there was an unspoken right way to parent, and a wrong way as well. The right way was natural unmedicated birth preferably at home, extended and exclusive breastfeeding, cloth diapering, baby wearing, co-sleeping and so on. After 2 failures at giving birth, something all women were supposedly capable of doing, I felt like I had to redeem myself by having a vaginal delivery. After much reading around on the internet, I began to believe my only way to do that would be to birth at home.
Mr. P. would never allow a home birth. I can count on 1 hand the times he's denied me what I want in our marriage. I can honestly say that the only times he has put his foot down has been when I wanted something out of the ordinary for our kids. I felt like the only way I would get a natural birth would be if I deceived him, and had an "accidental" unassisted home birth. It was something I began to deeply consider. At my next prenatal appointment, I asked my favorite doctor what his thoughts were on both natural hospital birth and VBAC. I think he knew something was up because I had not brought up method of delivery in any of my previous appointments. He asked if there were any concerns I had, and I mentioned my thoughts of trying for a home birth so as to avoid the cascade of hospital interventions that lead to c-section. He took a few moments to read through my charts, and then told me that if I wanted to attempt a trial of labor, I was more than welcome to do so but would possibly have to transfer care to the high risk MFM specialists. He said that given my history of failure to progress, he did not think a TOL would end in vaginal birth, but if it was something I wanted, he would fight for my ideal birth alongside me. He said he would support me 100%, and encouraged me to birth in hospital. He told me that they have had experience with VBAC, and even VBAMC. Best of all, he told me to take my time making a choice, and to feel free to contact him with any questions or concerns I may have. I left that appointment with a lot to consider.
I talked over my options with everyone I could think of. My husband and my mother, strangers and friends alike on the internet, 2 of the OBs in the women's health group, and of course God as well. It was one of the harder choices I've ever had to make. I ultimately decided to go for the repeat c-section. At my next appointment after deciding, I booked my daughter's birth for 2 days before my EDD.
The day of her birth, I was to be at the hospital for 6am. Mr. P., our sons, and I were all up by 5am but still ended up running late. I snuck in an apple danish, and nervously grabbed my packed bag before herding my family into the car. When we arrived, we met our nurse who would be with us for the surgery, and got hooked up to the monitors for a half hour. Once it was confirmed that our baby was doing just fine, our sons said their goodbyes and went out to breakfast with my mom. The anesthesiologist came in to take a quick history, and explain what would be happening. He answered all my questions quite well. As the 8am scheduled time arrived, my nurse prepped me for surgery, gave Mr. P. his scrubs, and placed my IV. Once everyone was ready to go, we walked down to the OR.
It was so surreal to me to be walking down there by my own choice. It was equally odd to be having a baby with no pain at all prior to the birth. My nerves were shot. I climbed up onto the table, and I told my nurse that I was feeling a bit scared without my husband. She came over and held my hands while the spinal block was placed. It was amazing compared to my previous experiences with epidurals. I was quite pleased with how effective it was. They got me all set up with oxygen and by my request, they strapped my arms to the boards. I knew that I get the shakes really bad during surgery and had no desire to try to still myself if I did not have to. Mr. P. came in and took his place by my left side. Then the surgery began. It took a little longer than with our boys because of the amassed scar tissue. They had to use the vacuum extraction to pop the baby out. We had been told to expect a baby who weighed at least 8 pounds. When I glimpsed our bundle being whisked out for her first exam and cleaning, I knew that little peanut was nowhere near what they guessed.
Having learned from our previous births, I had a private talk with my nurse when we first arrived about my history of childhood sexual abuse. I told her that breastfeeding was a priority for me, and wanted to do so as soon as I could. She was wonderful, making sure that everyone who took care of me knew about my past so I would not have to repeat myself. She also advocated for our baby, putting off her first bath in favor of her first nursing. When we were brought back to our room for recovery, The Princess was finally placed in my arms at 30 minutes old. She was so alert! I was absolutely in tears. This was the culmination of years of heart ache. I will never forget the first thing I said to her- "We waited so long for you!". By the time she was 45 minutes old, she was having her first feed. Our nurse was amazing at helping me to get her latched and make sure I was doing well emotionally. I feel so lucky to have had an easy time with breastfeeding this last time around.
During our stay, we roomed in and had phenomenal support and care. The food was wonderful, and having a private room was too. The staff were some of the most caring people I've ever dealt with in a medical setting. We were respected and treated very well. We had breastfeeding down pat by the time we left. On our last day, the kitchen sent up a gift for us. Everything to make a spaghetti dinner and a stuffed ducky for the baby!
Today, The Princess is 20 months old and can be a holy terror. She is adored by her brothers, and as far as she's concerned they are the reason the world turns. Like any toddler she is at times sweet and cuddly, then a power packed bundle of rage and frustration. Our family is complete now that she's here. Her birth was the best of my 3. I learned to overcome fears of failing, and discovered that sometimes making the best choice is worth the time and frustration. I must admit that I loved the ease of planning that came with a scheduled c-section. My recovery was not very difficult, and most of the discomforts I experienced with my boys were not there after this birth. All in all, we ended our childbearing years on a high note. I'm glad we were able to have another child, and am equally glad to be done with worrying about birth for myself.