Kamdyn's birth story, part 1

Right now, ok, not right-right now, because I'm writing this right now.  But I am working on Kamdyn's birthday giveaway winners right now.  The winners are in, and as soon as I'm done writing this, I'll be writing the post that announces the winners.  After each of my kids was born, I wrote down their birth story.  I wrote this a while back about the day Kamdyn was born.  So for now, Kamdyn's birth story, exactly 3 years ago today:

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Here and there, I have filled in most of the details of Kamdyn's birth and diagnosis, but I decided I want to write it all down, in as much detail as I can remember, while I can still remember it. So here we go.

On April 27, 2010, I woke up, with my swollen pregnant belly. It was MOMS meeting day. Even though I'm never an enthusiastic riser, I was excited to get to attend a MOMS meeting at our church, because I had missed them all year long.  Since I went back to work as a fourth grade teacher just a couple of months before I became pregnant, I hadn't been able to go. My plan was to push through and work until my due date, which was late May, but as I trudged through the month of March, it was becoming clear that my body was not on my side. My classroom was in the basement of the school and walking up and down the steps was becoming a tiresome feat. Singing and teaching a lesson with my class had me winded and exhausted. Not to mention, the 2 and 3 year old I had at home, who were not going to slow down or cut their pregnant mommy a break. Brad saw how uncomfortable and tired I was, so he agreed, I should stop working. I bit the bullet and set the date for my maternity leave, which was a difficult decision, because I had been working for less than a year, discounting me for paid leave. But it was ok. It was only short term. We could do it.

Happy just to have some extra time with my other kids before the baby was born and go a MOMS meeting, I waddled out the door, buckled the kids into their seats and went to our meeting. As I dropped Austin off at his designated nursery room, the nursery worker asked me how I was feeling. "Oh I wish this baby would come today," I said. I sat through the MOMS meeting, sipping coffee, listening to the wise counsel of other young moms in my church. My round belly felt stretched and my lower half felt a pressure that was uncomfortable, but I had been feeling less than stellar for so long that it felt almost normal.

After the MOMS meeting, our family friend offered to take Madison and Austin to the playground, while I went to my weekly OB/GYN visit. It was my first weekly visit, hence the first dreaded internal exam, and I didn't want little eyes present, asking what was happening to mommy, while seeing my cringing face. As I lay on the table, spread wide, vulnerable and exposed, I heard the words, "What is that?" in utter confusion and shock. With surprise, my doctor said, "It's a foot. I can feel the baby's foot hanging down into your cervix." Okay. What does this mean? What do I do? Thoughts, questions, fears came running in. Bluntly and sharply, my doctor says, "Well, the baby isn't positioned right, so you'll probably have to have a c-section." C-section! I immediately burst out into tears. This wasn't how I wanted this happen. I had a plan, and this wasn't it. My doctor sensing, my emotionally fragile state assure me that it will be ok. She tells me that there have been times where the doctor can turn the baby and women still have a vaginal birth. Then, she tells me that I should go over to the hospital just to get checked out. Before I left the office, I called Brad on the phone. He answered, and I immediately burst out into tears, handing the phone to the office manager, who is also a close friend of ours. Nancy explained to Brad what Dr C had said and what the situation was.

I left the office and drove through the parking lot to the hospital entrance, because they were right next to each other. I thought I was just going to get looked at and sent home. I thought I'd get this over with real quick, and then go pick up Madison and Austin and go home. Clearly, I was delusional and scared.  I walked up to the Family Birth Place desk, told them who I was, and that Dr C sent me over. But they knew, and they were ready. "Ok, let's get you checked in and prepped," they said. "Wait. I didn't know this was going to happen." I had nothing. I wasn't ready. This could not be happening. They assured me this was it, and I followed them to Triage. As soon as I was settled in Triage, nurses came rushing in and out, asking questions, handing me papers to sign. I could sense the urgency. Brad arrived, and they handed him a scrub gown to put on. What is happening? This is it. I had no overnight bag. No toothbrush. No outfit to put the baby in. No soft blanket to wrap the baby in. No camera. "I don't even have the camera!" I cried to Brad. He took action and ran down to the hospital gift shop and bought a disposable, film camera. To my shock, they still sell those. A nurse pulled back the curtain and asks, "When's the last time you ate." I replied, "Right before my doctor's appointment, I ate at McDonald's." A look of disappointment fell on her face. "Oh, well, that's not good." She didn't think it was good, but she hadn't known my ever present cravings for Big Macs during this pregnancy. Trust me. It was good. Suddenly, things slowed to a halt. This baby needed to be born, but they couldn't do the surgery so soon after I had eaten. They came back with a putrid liquid that I had to drink and told us to hang tight, while the medicine worked. We used that time to call around and prepare everyone for this sudden and early delivery. We filled in the babysitter that had Madison and Austin. We called my mom, who was going to pick up Madison and Austin. We made calls or text messages to the rest of the family to let them know: Brad's brother, Mike, my brother's Josh and Kevin, Brad's mom, my dad, and Brad's dad, who was in Hawaii at the time.

After the medicine had time to settle, it was time. I stood up, wrapped in a white hospital gown, with an IV attached, and I walked down the hall to the OR. The room was cold and bright, yet in my mind it wasn't bright, because I didn't want to have to be in there. Dr. B would deliver the baby. All through high school and college I had worked at his OB/GYN office as a file clerk, so I felt comfortable with him. I knew he would take care of me and my baby. I trusted him. Before we got started, he asked, "Do you want to have your tubes tied when we're done. We'll be right there." "No," I said, thankful that Brad wasn't there to jump in and interject. We had talked about whether we were done or not, and while Brad would be ok with this being the last, I wasn't so sure. I sat on the cold table, shivering and nervous. A nurse handed me a pillow, and I held it to my stomach and leaned over while she wrapped her arms around me to hold me steady. While I'm not a fan of complete strangers invading my personal bubble and being so up close and personal, it felt good to be held. To have someone who was there at that moment, just for me, because Brad wasn't allowed into the sterile room yet. The epidural was very similar to the two others I had during my labors with Madison and Austin. There's a stick in the back, that makes me jump, and delivers the numbing medicine to the area. Then, there's another poke that is full of pressure and a dull burning that is the catheter being inserted between the spine, which delivers the medication through the hips and down the legs. Immediately my legs were heavy, and I need help swinging them over the side of the table as I lay down on my back. They pull up a blue drape to cover what will be happening on the other side, and they brought Brad in, where he took his spot next to my head. Brad wasn't content to just sit next to my head, though. He wanted to see what was going on, so he scooted his chair back a little and moved the curtain aside so he could watch. Talk about someone knowing you inside and out. Brad has definitely seen a part of me that not many people have. We were eager to meet our new baby and find out if we were having a boy or a girl, because we had decided to make it a surprise for the first time. As the procedure began, I could feel pressure and pulling. I wouldn't call it painful, but it is uncomfortable. As they continued, a tightness began creeping up my chest. As it rose, it grew more intense, until I had trouble breathing. I started getting scared. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted my baby. I grabbed Brad's hand and told him I couldn't breathe. "Dr. B," Brad said, "She can't breathe." Dr. B ordered a medicine to be given to help. It did a little, but the tightness, the pressure, the pulling were still intense. Please be over soon I pleaded. Then, the pace quickens, people start moving, words are flying, "It's a girl!" Oh, thank you, Lord. It's over. She's here. Wait, she didn't cry yet. Let her cry, let her cry, let her cry, I plead in my head. "Wha wha wha!" There it is. Not convinced, "Is everything ok? Is she ok?" I plead. Pause. Silence. No answer. "Yes, everything is ok," Dr B finally said. Relief floods. Our baby is here. Our baby girl is here. The name had been chosen months before: Camden for a boy, Kamdyn for a girl. Kamdyn was here. I don't remember much about what happened next. I was in a daze, as they finished and got me into recovery.

We were moved into a room, where we would stay for the next few days. Once we were settled into our new comfy room, I reached for my purse, opened it up, and to my surprise, found my camera stuffed inside, where it had been the whole time. I would have to settle for poor quality, disposable camera pictures for her first pictures, but at least I had it now. Kamdyn had some trouble maintaining her temperature and blood sugar levels, but other than that, everything was fine. I know we had visitors that night. Lots of visitors, but it was all a blur. Mrs. Kathy came. Brad's mom. At one point, in the midst of visits and talking, Brad stood by the side of my bed and leaned down. "She looks a little like she has Down syndrome.” "What!," I said. "No, she doesn't! All babies look funny right after they are born," I said, a little insulted. And I didn't even give it another thought. In my mind, something like that would never happen to us, or to me. It just wasn't possible. It wasn't in the plan. My mom brought Madison and Austin. That, I remember. Brad's mom held Kamdyn, as they entered the room. They walked in and straight toward Kamdyn. As they came closer, you could see the amazement in their eyes. With their eyes and mouths open wide in amazement, they looked at their little sister. They loved her already. They took turns holding her and having their pictures taken. They were so happy. We were too. It all seemed so perfect. So typical. That night, we went to bed, while the nurse took Kamdyn to the baby nursery to perform the newborn screenings she needed and get her cleaned up. They brought her in every 3-4 hours for a feeding, and I slept in between. The next morning, the nurse pushed her clear, plastic looking bassinet through the doors of our room. Kamdyn had a feeding, and then I laid her back down. Soon after, we had more visitors. It was two young pastors from our church, one the bus ministry pastor, the other the children's pastor. They looked at the baby, gave congratulations, and made small talk. They would have a full day of visits, and we were probably their first. As we talked, one of the doctors from the pediatrician's office came in. He said hi and introduced himself and said he would be doing an exam on Kamdyn. Normal stuff. But as our small talk with our pastor friends continued, I began to look past them, nodding and smiling like I was listening, but my attention was fixed on the bassinet at the end of the bed. The doctor seemed to examine a little closer, listen a little longer, investigate a little further. He lifted her hat and looked at her ear, then the other ear. It struck me. Why is he looking at her ears like that? He looked at her palms. Why is he looking at her palms like that? The doctor covered Kamdyn with the blankets and adjusted her head snugly onto her head. He turned to us, "I would like to speak to you in private for a moment," he said. Our pastor friends walked out to the hallway. There he stood, somber faced, at the foot of my bed. The tension in the room was thick. Nothing like this had ever happened with my other babies. We never had private meetings or somber faces. Something was very wrong. "We suspect your baby has Down syndrome," he said.

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Coming soon: part 2