A Baby Story: Hallie, part 3

Once we proved that we were not actively sick, they sent us up to L & D. We got up to L & D around the shift change, so we saw a myriad of nurses/providers before we settled in to the crew that would be with us for my surgery. For a while, we just hung out while early prep stuff got started. I think the first thing that happened was getting my COVID test. Gosh. Those are NO FUN, right?? And I learned from the nurses that all of the COVID positive mamas they'd had come through had been asymptomatic. All of them! Isn't that nuts? Obviously, this made me nervous that I was going to come back positive, too.

Got into my fancy gear, and they hooked me up to a bunch of monitors under my gown. 

Remember how I said a couple posts back that, because of the high-risk nature of my pregnancy/delivery, I would have to have two OB's present? One of the OB's that would be in on my delivery was actually a doctor from a sister practice. I had never met her before, but I instantly liked her because when the nurse came in for my COVID test (in her scary hazmat suit), Dr. W came to stand by me, held out her hand, and told me to squeeze until it was over. That's a solid human being right there. (And yeah, I did squeeze her fingers until it was over.)

Once that got sent off for a rush result, things started moving very quickly. I found out that I was being moved to the top of the schedule and even displacing two other women who were already scheduled for c-sections that morning, thanks to my being higher-risk than they were. I felt a tiny bit bad about that, just because I knew that they had been fasting and prepping for their scheduled sections...only to learn that they'd gotten bumped. 

My doctor showed up shortly after that, stood in the doorway for a second, sighed a heavily sarcastic sigh, and said, "Oh, you."

I'm always causing trouble.

One nurse put an IV line in my left hand while the nurse anesthetist put one in my right. Again, high-risk pregnancy = extra precautions like two IV ports, which was no fun. Because there had been no time for my Group B Strep test results to come back, they went ahead and gave me preventative antibiotics in one of those IV's. My COVID test came back negative (WHEW), the anesthesiologist and OB went through all of the you-know-you-could-die-but-you-can't-sue-us waivers that I needed to sign, and my doctor did a quick ultrasound to make sure that the baby and all of her accessories were where they were expected to be before the incisions were made.

Fun note: the nurse anesthetist was Nigerian and had worked as a midwife in Nigeria for 25 years before moving to the States. She was delightful and definitely lifted the mood for me. The Lord knew that a West African friend would give me a needed boost. (If you haven't known me for very long, I should maybe mention that I lived in Senegal for a while after high school and have a super special place in my heart for West Africa.)

My entourage and I then walked down to the OR, getting a round of encouragement from the nurses' station on the way. Brad was given his special suit, hat, mask, and shoe covers so that he could come in after they put me under (because, like all of my previous deliveries, I was getting general anesthesia. I have a very long story and complicated history revolving around anesthesia.). 

Once we were in the OR, I really started feeling the nerves and anxiety. All at the same time, the following took place:
1. They began taping the drape over me.
2. The anesthesiologists were clamping oxygen over my mouth and nose, blocking my ability to see anything other than a hand over my face, which made me VERY claustrophobic. And, the oxygen is so concentrated that you can't exactly breathe normally.
3. They began strapping my arms down and flushing both IV's (which made me even more claustrophobic, knowing I couldn't breathe OR move).
4. One nurse started prepping my incision site, which was fairly uncomfortable.
5. Another nurse began inserting my catheter, which was wildly uncomfortable (they usually put in catheters after the patient's spinal block has been inserted and taken effect, meaning that most people don't feel the catheter.). To be fair, the nurse apologized repeatedly and tried to get it done quickly. But gosh, that's miserable.

It was all very overwhelming and quite a bit of it was really uncomfortable and/or painful. I started tearing up just a bit from the overwhelm. I tried to blink the tears back without anyone seeing, but apparently, everyone saw. Both the nurse anesthetist and the anesthesiologist started patting my hands. Thankfully, they also realized I was struggling to breathe normally and adjusted the oxygen mask a bit to make it easier. My doctor (and Dr. W, the second doctor) also realized I was crying and came up to my head to reassure me and encourage me. I think they thought I was primarily scared, which wasn't actually my biggest issue, but it was kind of them to care. Lots of head and hand patting. Which, somehow, made it harder for me to stop crying (I'm blaming the hormones and lack of sleep). I wasn't really able to acknowledge them and their kind words much, as my arms were strapped down and my face was covered and immobilized, but I thought kind thoughts toward them which counts, right?

Mercifully, they started my anesthesia, and I was finally unconscious.

I have to cobble together the next bits of the story from Brad's info and subsequent pictures, as I wasn't conscious again for the next couple hours. But, roughly: they brought Brad in, and he sat by my head until they got Hallie out. At that point, he went with Hallie and her care team while mine put me back together.

This particular doctor is quite petite, and when Brad met her before Brynna was born, he asked me if she would have to stand on a stool for the delivery. I had said that was silly. Then wouldn't you know? She DID. This time, he got photographic evidence.


So funny!

I came to a bit later and was crying-again (I promise I never cry this much!)- this time because my incision HURT and my throat was aching from having been intubated. Little fact about general anesthesia for a c-section: when you come to, you FEEL it. Because there's no spinal block, the pain isn't actually blocked- it's just put on hold. Thankfully, they got some serious pain meds going very soon, and I finally woke up more, pulled myself together, and stopped crying.

The good stuff (you know...when you push that green button)

And once I did those things, I was able to meet my baby!

A Baby Story: Hallie, part 2

After leaving the doctor's office, I called my mom from the car, and we worked out a new plan for her arrival/our childcare needs. My mother-in-law, Barbara, was actually in town at the moment to help with childcare over the weekend for other plans we had, but she needed to head back to Tennessee on Sunday (before the new c-section date on Wednesday). Thankfully, while I had been working out scheduling at the doctor's office, Mom had been working out flights into Durham. That was a HUGE relief; I had felt kind of panicky over the change in schedule, primarily because of Claire, Lily, and Brynna. 

When I got home, Brad and I started working out other details that we needed to deal with. I had so many things that I still needed/wanted to get done before the baby came that I couldn't quite figure out where to start. So, I started a load of laundry and got to work making breakfast burritos.

Yes. Breakfast burritos. 

When I have gdm, I eat the exact same thing for breakfast every day; homemade breakfast burritos that are balanced perfectly for my blood sugar. I figured this out during my pregnancy with Lily and have stuck to it very devotedly while pregnant since then. I had run out of burritos that morning, so making burritos that evening made sense to me.

I also spent some time readjusting our lesson plans for the coming weeks, so I wouldn't feel too overwhelmed about Claire's schooling. With those two things checked off my list, I felt like I could figure out a game plan over the next few days.

We all headed to bed, and I slept TERRIBLY. I generally sleep poorly while pregnant, but this particular night was truly awful. I was up to use the bathroom every half hour and had so much hip/pelvic pain that I could not get comfortable. I remember thinking, during one of my bathroom trips, that I really needed to make a point to wash my hair every day between then and Delivery Day, just in case Hallie decided to come early. 

Well well well.

At 4:00 am, I was getting up to go to the bathroom (again), and MY WATER BROKE.

This is notable for a few reasons, but the biggest reason was that I've never gone into labor on my own. With Claire, I went in for an induction because of pre-eclampsia. With both Lily and Brynna, I went in for scheduled c-sections. I've never, not once, gone into any form of labor spontaneously.

"Brad. BRAD."

"Hm?"

"My water just broke."

"Oh, did it?" said so calmly and not at all in the bewildered tone that I had...

"Yep. It wasn't supposed to do that!!"

We started hustling at that point. We checked in with the midwife on call, Brad started gathering things for the hospital, and I dealt with all that comes along with broken water. I'll spare you the details.

I called my parents to let them know. It was at this point I had the realization that: I didn't have a hospital bag packed, but I DID have a freezer full of burritos. So...there's that.

I got a shower, put a bunch of things in a bag for Hallie and me, and rushed to get the gifts that I had been acquiring for the big girls put in gift bags + write them a quick note before we headed out. 

Brad woke up his mom and let her know the big news: she was now, with no warning, solely in charge of the older three. GOD BLESS HER HEART. She's a great sport and took it all in stride, and she has earned stars in her crown, for sure.

Now for one of my favorite parts of Hallie's birth story:
I had previously delivered two of my babies through this OB practice and at this hospital. Different doctors delivered each of those babies and were the right doctor for each situation. However, the doctor who delivered Brynna is my favorite doctor in the practice. We clicked from the very beginning, and I had such a great experience with her. I very much wanted her to deliver Hallie, but I knew that I didn't get to choose the provider; it would be whoever was the doctor on-call. With both of my c-section dates for Hallie, yet a third doctor (actually, two doctors; the high-risk nature of my pregnancy and delivery meant I had to have two doctors in on my surgery) was the one scheduled. I like her a lot, too, but even liking her, I still really wanted Dr. S. 

While we were talking with the midwife on call and getting my instructions, she looked at the time and said, "Ok, by the time you get to the hospital and get checked in...who will be the doc on call? Let me see...Dr. S. Do you know her?" 

I just looked at Brad and started crying happy tears. God answered a prayer that I hadn't even bothered to pray; I just assumed there was no reason to ask. But WON'T HE DO IT?

We got out of the house a little before 6:00 and made our way to the hospital, wherein we had to wait in line, six feet from the folks in front of and behind us, winding outside the building, while I continued the beginning stages of labor...just waiting to get our temperatures taken so we could actually get into the hospital. 

Oh, COVID. How weird you have made our lives...

But before we move on in the story, let's do a quick "Answered Prayer Count:"
1. Childcare for children: CHECK
2. The exact doctor I wanted: CHECK
Neither of these were ever the original plan, and it blows my mind a bit!
3. Make it safely to 37 weeks before needing to deliver: CHECK. My water broke on the very day I reached 37 weeks.

This entire story is just riddled with prayers answered perfectly- and yet most of them were answered in ways I never thought to ask for.

A Baby Story: Hallie, part 1

Just a little note: I write up all of my birth stories primarily for my own memory-keeping purposes, so I don't even pretend that I'm going to keep them short or concise. I won't go into super graphic details, but I will mention a decent amount of medical situations. There are a lot of those situations involved in this story. So, all of that being said, if you like birth stories, enjoy this little series! If not, I'll be back in a few days with my regularly-scheduled content about the children's shenanigans.

Hallie, as my fourth pregnancy and c-section, was never going to be born on her official due date, which was September 18. Because she was always going to be a planned Caesarean, we knew that she was going to be born around September 11. Planned sections that aren't following a former emergency section are scheduled for 39 weeks; they don't really want you to go into labor on your own when you've had multiple c-sections. Basically, her given due date never meant anything outside of measurement/sizing purposes.

At my 34-week appointment, they went ahead and officially put me on the hospital's calendar. At that point, I knew which doctor would be scheduled to do my surgery (a doctor I like!) and what day to officially work toward for childcare and general planning purposes.

At my 36-week appointment (which was actually when I was 36 weeks, 6 days... Almost 37 weeks), things took a turn. I had spent the entire pregnancy expecting my diabetes to eventually take a nosedive and become much more severe, like it did during my pregnancy with Brynna. In a surprise twist, it never did! It remained entirely under control just through diet the whole time, which surprised and impressed everyone. What ended up causing problems and adjusting the birth plan was actually my blood pressure.

I developed pre-eclampsia with Claire at 38 weeks, so I'm always very sensitive to my BP readings at my prenatal appointments. In my non-pregnant life, my normal BP is naturally very low, and I never get stressed about having it taken. I'm much more anxious about it while pregnant.

Around 32-weeks, I started running quite high numbers. That particular week, I was fighting a migraine during my appointment, so the doctor I saw that week largely attributed my BP to feeling so bad. She did, however, run several labs just to verify that I wasn't actually pre-eclamptic (which I wasn't). She asked me to check my blood pressure at home over the next couple of weeks to check and see if it was becoming a pattern or if it really was just because of my migraine that day.

It proved to be a pattern. Each time I checked it at home, it was high. At my next few appointments, it was even higher. It just kept climbing.

So, at my 36 (+ 6) week appointment, everything changed. I was set to see a doctor that I had never met before (because he joined the practice after my pregnancy with Brynna), and my first meeting with him went like this:

Doc: "Hi! Sorry to leave you waiting in here for so long, but I've been working on your situation. How would you like to have a baby next week, instead of in two?"

Those are the first words we exchanged, guys.

My response?

"Uh... I'm going to need to get some childcare worked out."

(Please remember that we haven't even done real introductions.)

"Yep. You should get on that quickly. We've rescheduled your c-section for September 2nd, instead of the 11th. Your bp is just getting too high, and we're concerned. We need to deliver your baby."

While he was talking, I was shooting off a text to Brad. I was also realizing that the phrasing of "how would you like [to have a baby earlier]?" was, in fact, less of a question about my interest and definitely his way of informing me that they were making big changes.

Brad wasn't texting me back, so I also started texting my mom, as she had been set to be our childcare. Note: I wasn't just being rude and texting while the doctor was speaking; I told him I was trying to let my husband know. He understood and continued to talk details with me: blood work, glucose things, more blood pressure things, scheduling details through the hospital, pre-op COVID test. 

It all came at me FAST. It was so fast...on top of the fact that I was suddenly processing nerves over the information that they found my bp dangerous enough to make these moves so quickly. I'd been nervous about it for weeks at this point, and it was all becoming super real. 

OOF.

Before I could head home, I had to get a blood panel and also make a pre-op appointment. Getting my appointment took almost 20 minutes to hammer out because there was no time to work me in before my new c-section date. The poor receptionist had to run all over the office, tracking down doctors and rearranging schedules. We finally got something worked out, and I was able to head home and start getting my ducks in a row. I got in the car and took a deep breath before starting to make phone calls. 

Before all the craziness set in at my appointment, though, I had a growth scan and got to see this picture of my baby smiling for the camera:

I'm usually a little weirded out by these ultrasound photos, but look! She was smiling! I definitely think she was smiling because she knew that all the "craziness" of the day was about to get crazier. 

Naming Baby No. 4

In a very unusual turn of events, Brad and I actually named Baby No. 4 during my 2nd trimester.

It's shocking, I know.

But we did! We both just KNEW, from the day I took the pregnancy test, that the baby was another girl. Then we really did know that she was a girl around 10/11 weeks when we took the blood test to find out. (And then we got confirmation again at her anatomy scan at 20 weeks.) So, like our other pregnancies, we accepted that we would have to sift through all kinds of girls' names until we found the right one, going back and forth, discussing the merits of this one or that one and just hoping we'd choose the right one.

Our method over the years has evolved into:

1. Starting a list on a note in my phone. Any time one of us thinks of a name, we add it to the list, unless the other one has a firm "no." (It's usually Brad with the firm no, by the way.)

2. Every few months or so, we revisit the list and read through the names on it, culling some and adding a few others. The list never gets super long.

3. Some of the names on the list have been contenders since we were expecting Lily. We just have to keep saying them, writing them, mulling them over, and seeing if it works for this particular baby.

We got this same system up and going not long after we found out- officially- that we were expecting another girl (because we've had a boy's name set since our honeymoon. There would never have been any debate on that.).

Fast forward to around 5 months into pregnancy when I started having kidney issues. I was miserable and in excruciating pain for days before having a concrete diagnosis. My pain management options were Tylenol and a heating pad, which did *almost* nothing, leaving me to just constantly change positions, praying for relief.

In an effort to take my mind off of what was happening in my body, I pulled up our name list to look through things again. I read down through the list, reviewing names that we'd been talking about for several years and landed on one that I hadn't spent much time thinking about before. It had been on the list for ages; it had never really been a top favorite, but it had never gotten the axe, either. I decided to look it up and see its popularity ranking and meaning.

We've never chosen any of our girls' names because of their given meanings. All of our children's names are meaningful to us, but they weren't chosen specifically because of their meanings. That said, I always look them up to see what the meanings are.

So, I looked up the name Hallie.

The first definition that came up was "a diminutive of 'hallelujah,' which means praise the Lord."

Two things happened in my brain, simultaneously:

1. I remembered a passage from Genesis 29 and 

2. I was very aware that I did not feel like praising the Lord right in that moment.

The moment that I read "diminutive of 'hallelujah,'" my mind cast back to a piece of the story of Leah, Jacob's wife. This is the passage I remembered:

Genesis 29:32-35 (ESV)

32 And Leah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Reuben,[c] for she said, “Because the Lord has looked upon my affliction; for now my husband will love me.” 33 She conceived again and bore a son, and said, “Because the Lord has heard that I am hated, he has given me this son also.” And she called his name Simeon.[d] 34 Again she conceived and bore a son, and said, “Now this time my husband will be attached to me, because I have borne him three sons.” Therefore his name was called Levi.[e] 35 And she conceived again and bore a son, and said, “This time I will praise the Lord.” Therefore she called his name Judah.[f] Then she ceased bearing.

I had remembered that when she had Judah, her fourth child, she simply praised the Lord. She was no longer trying to prove or earn anything; she was just going to praise the Lord. (Note: the rest of her story does not mimic mine; I haven't been trying to prove or earn anything with my other children. I just connected with the praising-the-Lord-about-a-fourth-child part.)

(Second note: It was also not lost on me that the very last part of this passage is that she ceased bearing children...)

At the same time that I remembered this story, I was in a real-time place in life wherein I did not feel much like praising the Lord. I was in so much pain and catching no breaks. I was so fearful because of said pain and so many unknowns and no relief in sight. And all of this was happening during a pregnancy that had surprised and shocked me with it's very existence...I was deeply struggling.

And yet? Reading the meaning of the name Hallie + processing all of these thoughts was deeply meaningful for me. I mulled it over during my sleepless night.

The next day, my doctors got me worked in to an imaging center to find out what was happening. On the drive there, I told Brad about my research and thoughts on the name Hallie. It was a no-pressure conversation; I just wanted to share my thoughts. I didn't expect him to like it a whole lot, just given that the name had been sitting on our list, untouched, for so long. But he asked me some questions and began to think about it, too.

That afternoon's appointment confirmed a kidney stone and accompanying renal swelling, leaving me to hope and pray that I would survive the long weekend (Memorial Day) while everything but the ER was closed and ideally, pass that kidney stone.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that the next day was one of the top three worst days of my life. The pain from my kidneys was unbelievably bad, and I had no recourse for any relief because of being pregnant. On top of that, there was a tropical storm off the coast of the Carolinas, the pressure from which gave me a migraine I could not shift. I eventually gave up any hope of relieving any pain and just settled for trying to manage the pain-induced nausea. I was stuck in the dark, in pain, on the constant verge of vomiting, and feeling so much despair. I was drinking tons of water, trying to flush out the stone, and every (FREQUENT) trip to the bathroom felt impossible to accomplish with the pain... And I just found myself, again, having the hardest time praising the Lord for anything. Frankly, it felt like my desperate prayers for help and relief weren't being heard or, worse, were being ignored.

At some point during the day, Brad brought me yet another water refill. While he was checking on me and encouraging me, he paused and told me that he'd been thinking about our discussion of "Hallie." 

"If you think it would help you get through this [kidney stone] to have something to hang on to, I'm happy to go ahead and decide to name her Hallie. I like the name and the story, and I'm happy to decide on it, especially if it would help you right now."

I had to cry a bit at that, obviously. It was so thoughtful and kind... And really, it was helpful for me. We didn't make a firm decision in that moment (I thought it wise to hang onto some wiggle room for a bit, just in case), but I think we both decided that day that Hallie was her name.

I told our friend, Amanda, a few weeks later that we'd decided on Hallie, and Amanda said that as soon as she heard me say it, she thought, "Of course her name is Hallie. That's perfect, and I feel like I've always known Hallie Boswell." She also said something that has stayed with me: "I think her name was written on your heart. And it's perfect."

I think she was right. I believe that the Lord gave us her name and its meaning and that he gave it to us at the perfectly-timed moment, as a marker in my own faith journey. 

While her name isn't "Hallelujah," every time I hear or say her name, I think about praising the Lord. And of the long process I've been through to come to a point of praising Him during this season.

A couple weeks ago, my brother- and sister-in-law were able to visit for one day (from Minnesota- we almost never get to see them in person, so this was a treat), and Jenna, our sister-in-law, gave me a baby gift. I opened it and nearly cried. She'd had a special onesie made for Hallie, based on the background of her name:

Can you even handle that? I can't. It's a perfect physical reminder of our journey. And I couldn't love it more.

Full birth story coming soon. This story was just so special to me that I got it written first.