Mariah Catherine Walker was born at 7:24 pm on Friday, the 27th of April. She is my third live birth and an amazing addition to our little family. She is beautiful, perfect and healthy. I adore her, as do her siblings and her daddy. I adore my other children of course, but I have an extra strong bond and devotion to Mariah. She was conceived in a new era of my life, being over 30 years old and having been diagnosed with some difficult and potentially debilitating conditions. I was warned that the pregnancy would be very difficult and that irreversible damage would be done to my body as I would be unable to continue my drug therapy regimen during the pregnancy. I was nervous, as was my husband James. I figured though, that if the Lord wanted us to have another child, He would also make it possible for us to get through whatever difficulties might arise.
Other than my fairly recent medical diagnoses of fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis, I was actually healthier and in far better physical condition than I had been when my other two children had been conceived. I had lost a lot of weight and built up my body’s physical endurance and abilities. The first trimester of my pregnancy went really well. I was sick but it was not overwhelming. The second trimester was quite a bit more difficult as the fatigue set in and I began to feel the effects of not having my regular medications. Plus I had a family to take care of. James went above and beyond his role to make up for what I was no longer able to do around the house. Somehow we were getting done what needed doing.
The third trimester found us both tired, worn out physically and mentally, and impatient. Because of an unwise decision I made to lift a large bag of flour, I ended up in the hospital at 31.5 weeks, in labor. It took a lot of medication and six hours, but luckily the progress was halted. I was put on bed rest which was incredibly frustrating for myself. I am a very active, independent person and cannot stand sitting around unproductively. James again stepped up and took on even more responsibility. We also had wonderful family, friends, and church members helping us. We were very blessed and felt a lot of love.
I went to modified bed rest and even got to go to the gym for a few light workouts. The workouts were difficult to accomplish but always helped my energy levels. I stayed as active as I could for as long as I was able. It soon became obvious that every little bit of activity was going to set off contractions, so the last month and a half of my pregnancy saw me very sedentary. That was a difficult time emotionally. I felt useless and helpless. James was always quick to assure me that he didn’t resent me and didn’t mind the extra work he had to do. Again we had lots of help from the outside, whenever I was willing to drop my pride and accept it.
For all of her trying to come early, when I finally reached the “safe” point in my pregnancy, my daughter decided she was staying put. I became increasingly uncomfortable, which happens with any pregnancy but was especially difficult this time around, as my body’s condition worsened. I realized all that the doctors had warned me of. We decided to induce at 39 weeks. I felt selfish for doing so, but had to admit that my body, my marriage, and my sanity, would not survive much longer with the pain I was in.
We were first in line on Friday, April 27th and were to be at the hospital at 6:15 am. I had a breakfast shake at 5 am and that would be the last food I would be allowed until after delivery. I would also not be allowed to drink anything. I could have only ice chips. Luckily, the hospital had a lovely array of syrup choices to top the ice chips with. James brought me cup after cup.
I was induced less than an hour after arrival. This was my first induction and I thought I had prepared myself sufficiently. I had no idea how it was going to turn out. Contractions kicked in quickly but reasons unknown at the time, I was not dilating. The Pitocin was increased to help me progress, which made the contractions very painful. I held off on getting pain relief, afraid it might slow down what little progress I was making. The pain just got worse and worse, and I was stuck at only a 2. The hours went by and we became increasingly more frustrated. My strength was sapped and I was very hungry. More than half way through the induction, my water was finally broken by an attending physician. My ob doctor had come down with a migraine and would not be delivering for me. His replacement was unable to get away from his office yet, so this other doctor stepped in. He was kind and did his job well and with good explanation.
Within 45 minutes of breaking my water, I was dilated to 7+. It was quick and very intense. I finally gave in and asked for an epidural. Before that was able to be prepared, the nurse gave me a different, fast acting iv drug that sent me flying to the moon, up and over my contractions. It was an amazing feeling but did not last long and soon the full force of the contractions was on again. I had another dose an hour later and enjoyed the brief respite from the pain.
My epidural went in easily and I was laid back in bed. Strangely, I did not feel any relief. I waited and waited some more, the nurse assuring me that I just needed to be patient. I knew something was wrong though, having had other, successful epidurals in the past. This barely took the edge off the contractions and I had not been prepared to experience this part of active labor. I waited an hour and then asked for the anesthesiologist to come back. He decided to insert another line for yet another epidural. I was in the middle of transition then and the pain was nearly overwhelming. I sat on the edge of the bed, bent over as best as I could. I leaned into my mom’s chest and she and James both held onto me, soothing me with kind words and encouragement.
It quickly became apparent that my arthritis had damaged my spine in such a way that the doctor had a very difficult time getting the line into place. It took 30 minutes and at least ten different jabs of the needle to get it in place. It was definitely the worst part of the whole experience.
I was laid back down when it was done and told that I would need to roll to each side every 45 minutes so that the medication could flow evenly to both sides of my body. I did as I was instructed and quickly became aware that again, the epidural was not right. My abdomen went numb and soon my chest became tight, yet I still had complete control of my legs and felt no pain relief. The nurse assured me again that I just needed to be patient. She told me I was lucky that I had control of my legs and that it would help when it came time to push. I knew she was wrong and asked James to scoot me up to a sitting position on the bed, thinking that might help the medication to flow down. We asked the nurse if it would help and she quickly advised us against it, saying that all I needed was to be turned to the other side. I was turned and it didn’t help, just as I had expected.
Again I asked the nurse if I could sit up. Again I was told no. I surprised myself by being able to take the unexpected pain in stride, losing control only once. My mom and James were very supportive and helped me through the contractions. I think it was only because of what I had went through to get the epidural in that I insisted that the doctor be called back in again to consult on my situation. When the anesthesiologist came in again, the first thing I asked him was if it would help for me to sit up. He said yes right away, that gravity was necessary to distribute the meds and was surprised that I hadn’t sat up sooner. I was incredibly frustrated but didn’t have time to yell at the ignorant nurse. James and the doctor scooted me up to a sitting position and the doctor put another full dose of the epidural into my line. Within minutes I was completely numb from the waist down and my chest no longer felt tight. It was also time to push.
My delivering doctor had arrived and we got into action right away. I had no feeling in my lower body and only the slightest inclinations to push so I had to rely on the doctor and nurses to tell me when to push. I held onto two small handles and pushed with all I had. A couple of minutes in, the medical personnel got very quiet. The nurse who had proven incompetent was asking the doctor, in subdued tones, what his back up plan was. She said words that terrified me, including ‘c-section.’
An oxygen mask was prepared and they were trying to put it on my face. No one was explaining anything to me and I was over come with fear. My mom was able to see what was going wrong from where she stood and yelled at me to just push and breathe in the oxygen. I did as I was told for a moment, but couldn’t take the not knowing. I yelled at the medical staff, demanding an explanation. I had been through a similar situation with my last delivery and was not going to be left in the dark this time around.
My angelic doctor quickly and calmly explained that my baby couldn’t breathe, her heart rate had disappeared and that I needed to breathe as deeply as possible so that the oxygen could get through the umbilical cord and sustain my baby. I was more scared than I had ever been in my life, but the urgency motivated me and I pushed with all I had in me. I wasn’t allowed any breaks between pushes. My baby had to come out now.
The doctor used a suction device during my last long push, and my sweet Mariah came into the world at 7:24 pm. Twelve hours after I had begun the induction process. Her cord was wrapped twice around her neck and also tightly around her little body. The doctor moved swiftly, freeing her from the tangle. She cried and I knew the world would keep on turning. All of the fear and terror dissipated immediately. Mariah Catherine was laid on my chest and I helped to clean off her beautiful little body. I held onto her tightly and was overwhelmed with emotions so deep and so powerful, beyond anything I had experienced in my life before.
In spite of all the drama and madness, Mariah was healthy and perfect. I reluctantly let her be taken away to the nursery to be cleaned up and measured and couldn’t wait till she could join me in my room. I distracted myself by finally satisfying my gnawing hunger with an assortment of cookies and crackers. Later, James would bring me a delicious cheeseburger, fries and milk shake from the café downstairs.
My baby was brought to my room and I felt so much love and so much calm. Recovery is turning out to be a long, bumpy road, but all I need to do is look into her tiny, perfect little face, and it is all worth it. We worked hard for this baby and so we appreciate her in ways that I don’t think we would have otherwise. I will likely not have any more children, as this body is just too damaged to sustain another pregnancy. I am grateful to be blessed with three wonderful, healthy children and a husband that would do anything to support and care for me and our little family.
The memories of the pain fade away and I am left only with the good stuff.
Other than my fairly recent medical diagnoses of fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis, I was actually healthier and in far better physical condition than I had been when my other two children had been conceived. I had lost a lot of weight and built up my body’s physical endurance and abilities. The first trimester of my pregnancy went really well. I was sick but it was not overwhelming. The second trimester was quite a bit more difficult as the fatigue set in and I began to feel the effects of not having my regular medications. Plus I had a family to take care of. James went above and beyond his role to make up for what I was no longer able to do around the house. Somehow we were getting done what needed doing.
The third trimester found us both tired, worn out physically and mentally, and impatient. Because of an unwise decision I made to lift a large bag of flour, I ended up in the hospital at 31.5 weeks, in labor. It took a lot of medication and six hours, but luckily the progress was halted. I was put on bed rest which was incredibly frustrating for myself. I am a very active, independent person and cannot stand sitting around unproductively. James again stepped up and took on even more responsibility. We also had wonderful family, friends, and church members helping us. We were very blessed and felt a lot of love.
I went to modified bed rest and even got to go to the gym for a few light workouts. The workouts were difficult to accomplish but always helped my energy levels. I stayed as active as I could for as long as I was able. It soon became obvious that every little bit of activity was going to set off contractions, so the last month and a half of my pregnancy saw me very sedentary. That was a difficult time emotionally. I felt useless and helpless. James was always quick to assure me that he didn’t resent me and didn’t mind the extra work he had to do. Again we had lots of help from the outside, whenever I was willing to drop my pride and accept it.
For all of her trying to come early, when I finally reached the “safe” point in my pregnancy, my daughter decided she was staying put. I became increasingly uncomfortable, which happens with any pregnancy but was especially difficult this time around, as my body’s condition worsened. I realized all that the doctors had warned me of. We decided to induce at 39 weeks. I felt selfish for doing so, but had to admit that my body, my marriage, and my sanity, would not survive much longer with the pain I was in.
We were first in line on Friday, April 27th and were to be at the hospital at 6:15 am. I had a breakfast shake at 5 am and that would be the last food I would be allowed until after delivery. I would also not be allowed to drink anything. I could have only ice chips. Luckily, the hospital had a lovely array of syrup choices to top the ice chips with. James brought me cup after cup.
I was induced less than an hour after arrival. This was my first induction and I thought I had prepared myself sufficiently. I had no idea how it was going to turn out. Contractions kicked in quickly but reasons unknown at the time, I was not dilating. The Pitocin was increased to help me progress, which made the contractions very painful. I held off on getting pain relief, afraid it might slow down what little progress I was making. The pain just got worse and worse, and I was stuck at only a 2. The hours went by and we became increasingly more frustrated. My strength was sapped and I was very hungry. More than half way through the induction, my water was finally broken by an attending physician. My ob doctor had come down with a migraine and would not be delivering for me. His replacement was unable to get away from his office yet, so this other doctor stepped in. He was kind and did his job well and with good explanation.
Within 45 minutes of breaking my water, I was dilated to 7+. It was quick and very intense. I finally gave in and asked for an epidural. Before that was able to be prepared, the nurse gave me a different, fast acting iv drug that sent me flying to the moon, up and over my contractions. It was an amazing feeling but did not last long and soon the full force of the contractions was on again. I had another dose an hour later and enjoyed the brief respite from the pain.
My epidural went in easily and I was laid back in bed. Strangely, I did not feel any relief. I waited and waited some more, the nurse assuring me that I just needed to be patient. I knew something was wrong though, having had other, successful epidurals in the past. This barely took the edge off the contractions and I had not been prepared to experience this part of active labor. I waited an hour and then asked for the anesthesiologist to come back. He decided to insert another line for yet another epidural. I was in the middle of transition then and the pain was nearly overwhelming. I sat on the edge of the bed, bent over as best as I could. I leaned into my mom’s chest and she and James both held onto me, soothing me with kind words and encouragement.
It quickly became apparent that my arthritis had damaged my spine in such a way that the doctor had a very difficult time getting the line into place. It took 30 minutes and at least ten different jabs of the needle to get it in place. It was definitely the worst part of the whole experience.
I was laid back down when it was done and told that I would need to roll to each side every 45 minutes so that the medication could flow evenly to both sides of my body. I did as I was instructed and quickly became aware that again, the epidural was not right. My abdomen went numb and soon my chest became tight, yet I still had complete control of my legs and felt no pain relief. The nurse assured me again that I just needed to be patient. She told me I was lucky that I had control of my legs and that it would help when it came time to push. I knew she was wrong and asked James to scoot me up to a sitting position on the bed, thinking that might help the medication to flow down. We asked the nurse if it would help and she quickly advised us against it, saying that all I needed was to be turned to the other side. I was turned and it didn’t help, just as I had expected.
Again I asked the nurse if I could sit up. Again I was told no. I surprised myself by being able to take the unexpected pain in stride, losing control only once. My mom and James were very supportive and helped me through the contractions. I think it was only because of what I had went through to get the epidural in that I insisted that the doctor be called back in again to consult on my situation. When the anesthesiologist came in again, the first thing I asked him was if it would help for me to sit up. He said yes right away, that gravity was necessary to distribute the meds and was surprised that I hadn’t sat up sooner. I was incredibly frustrated but didn’t have time to yell at the ignorant nurse. James and the doctor scooted me up to a sitting position and the doctor put another full dose of the epidural into my line. Within minutes I was completely numb from the waist down and my chest no longer felt tight. It was also time to push.
My delivering doctor had arrived and we got into action right away. I had no feeling in my lower body and only the slightest inclinations to push so I had to rely on the doctor and nurses to tell me when to push. I held onto two small handles and pushed with all I had. A couple of minutes in, the medical personnel got very quiet. The nurse who had proven incompetent was asking the doctor, in subdued tones, what his back up plan was. She said words that terrified me, including ‘c-section.’
An oxygen mask was prepared and they were trying to put it on my face. No one was explaining anything to me and I was over come with fear. My mom was able to see what was going wrong from where she stood and yelled at me to just push and breathe in the oxygen. I did as I was told for a moment, but couldn’t take the not knowing. I yelled at the medical staff, demanding an explanation. I had been through a similar situation with my last delivery and was not going to be left in the dark this time around.
My angelic doctor quickly and calmly explained that my baby couldn’t breathe, her heart rate had disappeared and that I needed to breathe as deeply as possible so that the oxygen could get through the umbilical cord and sustain my baby. I was more scared than I had ever been in my life, but the urgency motivated me and I pushed with all I had in me. I wasn’t allowed any breaks between pushes. My baby had to come out now.
The doctor used a suction device during my last long push, and my sweet Mariah came into the world at 7:24 pm. Twelve hours after I had begun the induction process. Her cord was wrapped twice around her neck and also tightly around her little body. The doctor moved swiftly, freeing her from the tangle. She cried and I knew the world would keep on turning. All of the fear and terror dissipated immediately. Mariah Catherine was laid on my chest and I helped to clean off her beautiful little body. I held onto her tightly and was overwhelmed with emotions so deep and so powerful, beyond anything I had experienced in my life before.
In spite of all the drama and madness, Mariah was healthy and perfect. I reluctantly let her be taken away to the nursery to be cleaned up and measured and couldn’t wait till she could join me in my room. I distracted myself by finally satisfying my gnawing hunger with an assortment of cookies and crackers. Later, James would bring me a delicious cheeseburger, fries and milk shake from the café downstairs.
My baby was brought to my room and I felt so much love and so much calm. Recovery is turning out to be a long, bumpy road, but all I need to do is look into her tiny, perfect little face, and it is all worth it. We worked hard for this baby and so we appreciate her in ways that I don’t think we would have otherwise. I will likely not have any more children, as this body is just too damaged to sustain another pregnancy. I am grateful to be blessed with three wonderful, healthy children and a husband that would do anything to support and care for me and our little family.
The memories of the pain fade away and I am left only with the good stuff.
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