It all started on Thursday morning, July 7th. I was 38 weeks, four days, and scheduled to go in for my weekly checkup with Dr. Laura Bradford. Because of my sketchy delivery history (as well as the unexplained double miscarriages the summer before), she had been keeping a keen and particular eye on this pregnancy. I truly think the woman was a literal God-send to me during this time. I had been so upset because, due to some insurance issues, I had to switch ob-gyns mid-stream and hadn’t even met her until half-way through. However, my very first appointment with her I immediately felt at peace and in good hands; how true this turned out to be!
Dr. Bradford had told me we would be doing a biophysical on the baby that day –a more in-depth sonogram to check his activity, blood work, and an extended hookup to the cardiac strip test machine to really evaluate his status. It was a precaution, she said, and probably wouldn’t change anything; to be honest, it was mostly to make both she and I feel better about the end of his “belly time”. Pack a bag just in case, she said, but it probably won’t be necessary. Prepare yourself just in case, she said, but I really think we’ll deliver him on the 15th as scheduled. Get your act together, Katie, JUST IN CASE, but did I do it? Of course not. I was totally convinced that I had another week: to prepare mentally, clean house, get to those last-minute nesting projects, etc. There was a brief moment the night before when Lee and I had discussed whether we should actually do all these just-in-case things, and we just looked at each other, shrugged, and said “Nah”. Our babies have always had to be evicted. As it was, the booked 15th date was a week before my due date; Lily and Grace had both been overdue; there was NO WAY this baby would come early.
At the last minute, my mom volunteered to go to the appointment with me. I was annoyed. Truthfully, I had been enjoying my solo two-hour one-way trips in peace and quiet. It was some last calm before the storm. But when I flippantly mentioned her offer to my hubby, he just raised an eyebrow and quietly suggested that it might be a really good idea. You ARE pregnant and at the end of this, he said. Sigh.
As it turned out, Mom’s presence was the first in the long string of God events that day, because as soon as Dr. Bradford read the baby’s cardiac strip, she announced that we had a problem. She explained that Luke’s heartrate was dipping significantly every time he moved. In fact, it was dipping an equal distance below the mid line as it was raising above the mid line while he was in motion. Could be nothing, she said, or it could be something bad (“concerning” was the doctor word). As of right now, he was technically okay, but that could change. Either way, though, in her opinion it was time. “I want to take him today.” My response? I literally said “Excuse me?” WHAT?! Mom and I had just been finalizing our errand list and talking about the big plan for the hyper-scheduled arrival next week. Luke was rolling around and happy as a clam (in fact he had turned breach three days prior, the little scamp). There was still stuff to do! And plan! And oh my gosh, I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE MY BAG!
Well, I said, can we wait until tomorrow? My husband is not here. I’ve got nothing I need. (I’m panicking). Her exact words were “Well, you can wait until tomorrow, but if you walk out of here I will lie awake worrying about you tonight.” That’s all I had to hear. The thought of making it (finally) to the end of this pregnancy and having something catastrophic happen in the eleventh hour was plenty enough motivation to get me off high center.
Long story short, Mom made the fastest trip back to Graham ever on her record (Yay mom!) while I frantically called Lee and filled him in. My best friend, Katie, bailed me out by emailing me her hospital list she had saved. With that in hand, as well as the scribbled notes I had written on the back of scrap paper in the car, I went in to turbo speed. In three hours time, I packed, showered, counseled my emotionally wrought older two children, coordinated grandparents (Lee’s mom and dad graciously kept Lily because we all thought the process might be too much for her), plucked my eyebrows, painted my toenails (important stuff, here, people. C-section mamas are in bed a long time and have to have pretty feet.), and took big-pregnant belly photos with the girls (yeah, I hadn’t done that yet either. It was a project for the infamous “week”). Lee and I were on the road and back two hours south at Harris by 5:20. It had been less than 6 hours since the delivery decision had been made.
I will spare you the gory details of surgery prep. One nice, and strangely calm, moment in the middle of that was my brother Eric showing up and shooting some beautiful tummy pictures in my hospital room; I was so thankful for that timing also. I would have cried not having those memories documented.
Now, some background info on my craziness is prudent here. I am claustrophobic. I have clinically diagnosed anxiety issues. I do not do well when I am not in control, or at least think I am. I detest the feeling a spinal gives you – trapped in your own body. I was exhausted, worried, shocked, starving, scared, and in general, a complete mess. In retrospect, I realize the adrenaline high of that entire day only served to make all those things worse. And I also think I hadn’t really even begun to process any of this emotionally, because there had truly not been time to do so. Add all of this together, and you get one of the worst hours of my life.
I was excited of course. This little guy was so wanted, prayed for, and loved already. But remember, I was also coming from a place of self-induced semi-detachment. Losing our two someday babies almost exactly a year before had taught me to be more guarded. I would love this baby, but it all wasn’t “real” yet.
If I’m honest, the joy of the moment was, at the beginning of the surgery, TOTALLY lost on me. I don’t even know how to describe the agony I was in; just thinking about the memory of it makes me break out in a sweat. In truth, I had a full blown panic attack on the table. I could not escape the feeling of being trapped, of wanting to jump up and run away. This internal and mental struggle was so strong, that my doctor and the surgical tech even remarked that my body was twitching and trying to move, despite all the anesthesia. The part of me that was not numb and/or tied down writhed. They had secured both my hands at first but finally allowed one of my hands to be freed, which I think is the only reason I kept it at all together. I remember closing my eyes, and putting my free hand over them, and begging God to help me through this. I knew I wasn’t going to die, but that is not how I felt. Poor Lee was wonderful, but there wasn’t much he could do. At one point, I seriously considered asking the anesthesiologist to knock me completely out, because I wasn’t sure I could bear it, but I could not fathom missing the birth of our son.
Somehow, I made it to the point of the baby’s actual delivery, and remember hearing them say they were turning him and pulling him out. I was so out of it, though, Lee had to tell me to open my eyes and look up when they held him over the drape. I’m crying as I write this, because I don’t even know what, or if, I even said anything to my sweet baby. I was too busy trying to cope.
In the middle of all that, the source of Luke’s cardiac distress was discovered. His umbilical cord had a true knot in it! At some point early on in the pregnancy, he had managed to swim around in such a way to cause that. My doctor told me while she was sewing me up that she was 100% confident that the decision to take him early had been the right one. (That statement would later be one of the few things that would bring me peace.) More time with that knot having pressure on it or getting tighter, and we might very well have gone home with NO baby. Luke’s neonatologist later told me, verbatim, that had we waited until his scheduled delivery date, we would have had a dead baby. God’s infinitely wise timing again! (I have to also say here, that I wonder if Luke’s someday siblings actually helped to save his life. Had there not been so much inexplicable hinkyness and testing done because of their losses, I’m not at all sure that any doctor would have been so extraordinarily vigilant. This side of heaven I will not know for sure, but I suspect that is one of the major reasons we were allowed to travel that painful path…)
Soon after Luke’s delivery, I was able to have an additional sedative, and that helped my nerves immensely while they closed me. I remember Lee going over to look at Luke and cooing over him while taking pictures.
I remember hearing Luke breathing a little “funny” and them telling Lee that he was having “just a little trouble” oxygenating, but it was "no big deal". I remember them weighing him and remarking about his unusual stats: born on 7-7-11 at 7:07 p.m., 7 lbs., 14 oz.
I remember them wrapping him up and bringing him over so we could have a family picture.
All of a sudden, they were done and sending us back to the recovery room. I remember them nestling new little Luke against me and me leaning over and just inhaling him in.
I remember one last picture of the three of us before they pushed open the door to the room and hearing exclaims over the baby. Grace saying “He’s finally here!” I remember watching everyone's faces as Lee announced his name "Luke Alexander Biebighauser".
The next several minutes were so precious, watching the people I love most (minus a few) enjoy my new baby. It's one of my favorite things about the birth of another child - laying back and watching the bonding of the newest family member that only moments before was inside me!
Particularly adorable was big sister Grace, who all along “knew that it would be a boy and that he would have dark, curly hair”. She immediately went into “mama mode”, fussing over him, rearranging his cap, and instructing others on how to treat her baby brother.
Luke was passed around and photographed, kissed on a bunch, and well-loved. All the while, he was making the sweetest little breathy noises; at the time, we just thought they were cute. We had no idea they were an indication of things to come. I didn’t mind that I had basically not held him at all, I would have plenty of snuggle time later. How wrong that turned out to be!
Eventually, Luke made his way back to my arms.
It was so amazing to actually put my hands on him and realize that he was really there. Part of my broken heart's pain from the past year began to heal in that moment, I think, which was good, because things were about to get bad quickly.
Really, really bad…
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