Ford's Birth Story

Now that Ford is five months old, I figured it was high time that I pen his birth story. I actually started writing it on August 3 … which happens to be about the time that his colic set in. And that, my friends, is why only now have I found a moment to gather my thoughts and write clearly how special and amazing Ford’s birthday, July 31, 2011, is to me, and how God showed up MANY times over the course of the labor and delivery.

July 25

I’ll start with Ford’s due date: July 25. I had a fabulous pregnancy. Yes, I was one of those annoying people who never felt sore, nauseous or fatigued. I really loved every moment of carrying my baby, and it was such a special time for me and Brad as we waited with eagerness to welcome our son. We cherished those last months and days as a family of two, and I remember feeling so close to God, knowing that he had chosen me for something very special… to be a mom to this sweet little life, and with Brad, to shepherd this baby’s heart from infancy to adulthood. In a way, it felt really magical. Charmed.

Because of how wonderful I felt as a pregnant person, it was easy for me to wait for Ford’s arrival. I was excited to “meet” him, but not in a hurry to rush him along before my body and his were ready. My due date came and went, as I had a feeling it would (I had not had any contractions – not even Braxton Hicks – so I assumed I would go past July 25, despite that my doctor assured me Ford would be on time or early).

July 28

I had a doctor’s appointment on July 28, and I expected my doctor to check things out, tell me all is well, then send me on my way until Ford decided he was ready to join the ranks of the un-umbilicaled. However, many of you may remember that my OB-GYN was very concerned that I hadn’t delivered yet. He explained to me that not only did he believe we would need to schedule an induction, but based on my Bishop score, he felt confident an induction would fail and result in a C-section.

I had not been big on the whole “birth plan” thing. I figured things would happen as they happened, and I wasn’t going to be particular about the lighting, whether or not I was okay with frequent fetal monitoring, or if I would be reclining, semi-reclining, side-lying, etc. during the labor process. The ONLY things I had been specific about were that 1) I would prefer not to be induced (no Pitocin if at all possible) 2) I DEFINITELY did not want a C-section unless it were an absolute emergency for me or the baby 3) I wanted to feed Ford as soon as possible after he was born to start the bonding process.

So to hear I was not only facing an induction, but very likely a C-section, was frustrating. I felt like I had been trying EVERYTHING I should, and suddenly, once my due date neared and then passed, everyone started telling me what worked for them, or their cousin, or their best friend’s sister’s college roommate. And for the most part, I had already tried everything. It was discouraging. And the thing is, I trusted my body to do what it needed to do. I believed Ford would start the labor process when it was time for him to. I didn’t start getting anxious or discouraged until my doctor and seemingly everyone else I encountered started telling me something must be wrong and I needed to fix it. I started keeping a list of everything I had tried to jump start labor and wake little Ford up from his womb nap. Here’s a partial list:

spicy food, pedicure, black cohosh, blue cohosh, evening primrose oil, red raspberry leaf, walking (miles in the heat of the summer), warm baths, jogging, exercise bike, cleaning the entire house, squats, Swiss ball exercises, yoga… and more.

So when the doctor gave me the “bad” news on July 28 and scheduled my induction for the following Thursday, August 4, I had a good cry and decided to pull out all the stops. We asked many people we love and trust to pray specifically that I would go into labor on my own and that I would avoid C-section. Brad bought me two pineapples and I ate them both within 24 hours. I went that very afternoon to a chiropractor (first time ever!) to see if my pelvis was out of alignment and get an adjustment. Turns out, everything was already perfectly aligned, and the chiropractor – who specialized in pediatrics and prenatal chiropractic – said she couldn’t pinpoint why the baby hadn’t dropped yet. Brad and I went to get the spiciest Indian food possible that night. Even the Indians who worked at the restaurant watched us in awe as we ate every morsel and every drop of spicy sauce on our plate (funny story – at first they refused to serve me such spicy food, because we asked for the very spiciest thing they could possibly make, and I must have looked a little scary at 9+ months pregnant… but we convinced them. They literally stood around our table, mouths agape, as we determinedly ate our food).

July 29

The next morning I went to my (first ever!) acupuncture appointment. A very nice Chinese man named Bush Zhang (who was in my insurance network and has a great reputation) poked me with 10 needles, hooked me up to some sort of electric thing, flipped a switch and let me lie in a dark room for 20 minutes getting electrical impulses at various pressure points. As I was leaving, he gave me a bag of bark tea and instructions for preparing it, then told me confidently in a thick Chinese accent: “You have your baby tonight… maybe tomorrow morning.” I laughed and told him that I had a feeling I would still be pregnant tomorrow, so he encouraged me to come back in if I hadn’t had the baby within 12 – 16 hours.

July 30

Early on the morning of July 30, around 3:30 a.m., I woke up with what I later would realize were my first contractions. It really just felt like indigestion. I decided to take a warm bath, and then was able to go back to sleep. I woke up a few hours later feeling much more encouraged. I still was in a bit of denial that I could have possibly had contractions that night, after hearing from my doctor there was no way I would have the baby on my own. But I was hopeful. I called Dr. Zhang’s office again and went in for another treatment at 10 a.m. on July 30. (Sidenote: Dr. Zhang and his assistant were shocked – shocked – that I hadn’t had the baby yet. :)  We repeated the same drill as the day before, then I decided to run errands and see if I could get some contractions going. I went to Target and bought a few groceries, including the ingredients to make cupcakes. I went home and speed-walked for about an hour around the neighborhood in 105-degree weather. Then I returned to the house and started fixing my cupcakes. As I was in the middle of making them, I thought to myself, “Oh my goodness… these could end up being “birth-day” cupcakes!” For the most part, however, I didn’t believe that I could really be in labor. I felt occasional cramps, which was definitely new, but I really think they were contractions. I hadn’t even told Brad anything yet. We were sort of in an unspoken “don’t talk about it lest we get discouraged or impatient” mode, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up only to learn that, in fact, nothing was happening. Around 4 p.m., I texted my cousin, Shelly, who had been a constant source of helpful advice and a listening ear for me throughout my pregnancy, and I told her I THOUGHT I might be having contractions and to pray that I was. We shared a moment of giddiness over text, and I decided to start getting dinner ready… and start timing my contractions (there’s an app for that, as you might imagine!). As I was making spaghetti and meatballs, I cautiously told Brad, “I MIGHT be having contractions, but don’t get excited until I tell you to.” Always good at following instructions, Brad simply shrugged and said, “Okay.” I teased him and said I thought he’d be a little excited, and he matter-of-factly replied, “Well you said don’t get excited yet, so I won’t.” We did pray that God would start the labor process in his time and in his way, then we enjoyed a yummy meal.

That night, we watched the movie JFK. That’s nearly a three-and-a-half hour film, and at the beginning of it, I thought “I could be having some serious contractions by the end of this movie!” Sure enough, about halfway through, I started to get pretty uncomfortable. I started doing some exercises on the Swiss ball and really trying to focus through the pain. I noticed Brad was sitting on the couch, watching the movie and giggling at some chat he was having on his computer. At that point, I sort of snapped at him… I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was something to the effect of, “Well I’m glad you’re having so much fun right now.” Totally uncalled for… and totally cliché, right? He calmly asked me if I was still timing my contractions. I told him I was, and he asked me how far apart they were. I checked and they were only four minutes apart. My doctor had told me to call when they were five minutes apart. Brad encouraged me to call the doctor.

It was a Saturday, and my doctor is never on call over the weekend, so I knew Dr. Norwood wouldn’t be at the hospital. I was still somehow really not willing to acknowledge that I was in labor. I wasn’t scared or nervous; I just didn’t believe it could be true, after how badly my doctor’s appointment had gone only two days earlier. I had hoped that the only other doctor I had seen in the practice – Dr. McCants, who I liked a lot – would be on call. Sure enough, once I finally decided to phone the hospital (around 11:30 p.m.), Dr. McCants was the doctor on call! Out of something like 10 doctors in the practice, she was the one working that weekend. Amazing, and such a “God thing.” I explained to Dr. McCants what was going on, but I also filled her in on what Dr. Norwood had said Thursday, and that I REALLY didn’t think it was possible that I was in labor. She said it sounds like early labor; if it’s not, they can send me home or have me walk around the hospital a few times, but either way, I should probably come in.

July 31 (THE BIG DAY!)

Brad and I decided to wait a while before heading in. We tidied up the house, took showers, I did my hair and makeup, and Brad threw the last of his things into our already-packed hospital bag. We took a few videos to document the “getting ready” process, prayed and did a devotion, and decided to leave for the hospital around 1:30 a.m. I checked in at 2 a.m., and Brad and I were so giddy, it was silly. We were excited to be at the hospital, and so hopeful. Dr. McCants gave me a quick examination. She asked me how dilated and effaced I was at my appointment two days earlier. I told her I was barely .5 cm dilated and 50 percent effaced, to which she replied, “How happy would you be if I told you that you were now 2 cm dilated and 80 percent effaced?” I was ecstatic, of course. She told me I had gone from basically a 0 or 1 on the Bishop scale to a 9 in about 48 hours, and that I was a “keeper,” meaning they weren’t going to send me home. By her math, I should be dilating about a centimeter every hour, so the baby would be here by 11 a.m. or noon.

Brad and I waited around in the very nice labor and delivery suite, listened to music, watched TV, talked, took pictures and videos, prayed and thanked God for answering our prayers to have labor start without artificial hormones, and just enjoyed our time. We didn’t want to text or email anyone until 5 or 6 a.m. Of course, when we finally told our parents that we were at the hospital, they were overjoyed! It was a really great moment.

Around 5 a.m., when I was very much in the active stage of labor and dilated to about 5.5 centimeters, I decided it was time for an epidural. Great decision. My pain was gone, but I still was able to feel pressure, move my legs around, have sensation in my toes, etc. However, when the doctor came back to check my progress, I had stalled. She checked again an hour later, and my labor had basically stopped progressing. I was still having contractions, but they weren’t productive. Suddenly, this wasn’t “fun” anymore. She had a sincere talk with me and told me she understood my desire to avoid C-section, but if I don’t have the baby by 5 p.m. (it was now about 9 a.m.), we would have to do a C-section. They advised me to allow them to start me on a slow drip of Pitocin. I had really wanted to avoid Pit, but it was more important to me that I avoid C-section. I just wanted to test my body’s limits and prove to myself that I could have the kind of birth that I had ever so vaguely envisioned. The doctor also broke my water for me. Brad and I summoned our prayer warriors again and started praying furiously as well. I couldn’t believe that God would answer this many prayers and take me this far only to have me deliver Ford by C-section.

An hour and a half later, Dr. McCants returned to check on me. I had told Brad I would be thrilled if she told me I was 7 centimeters dilated. He thought it would be great if I were at an 8. Dr. McCants started laughing during the examination. She shook her head and said, “Not only have you made progress… you are complete (10 cm dilated, 100 percent effaced), the baby is at +2 station, and it looks like you’ve been that way for about an hour!” So in as little as 30 minutes, I had gone from “You’re probably going to have a C-section after all,” to “It’s time to push, girl!”

My amazing nurse, Susan, coached me on how to push. And push I did. They told me that it’s not unusual for first time moms to have to push for 1 - 2 hours, so don’t be discouraged if it takes some time. “Fine,” I thought. I was just excited that this was happening! The doctor told me I was a “pro pusher” and that I was doing everything right. However, after 1.5 hours of pushing, the baby hadn’t moved an inch downward. Not a good sign. At this point, I had to have my epidural topped off, because I was feeling a lot of pain in my back. The doctor decided to see what could be going on, and…

Here’s where it gets interesting.

The baby was facing the wrong way. Sunny-side up, occiput posterior, OP, whatever you want to call it. His head was down, but his face was pointed toward my front instead of toward my back. God designed it so that the baby’s head, facing toward the mother’s back, would tuck perfectly under the pelvic bone. As it was, Ford’s skull was ramming up against my pelvic bone and unable to tuck under. Which meant, according to the doctor, that I had three options:

1) C-section

2) Forceps to turn the baby so that his face was pointing toward my back

3) Vacuum to the top of his head so that the doctor could forcefully guide him under the bone

Obviously 1) was out, so it was between 2) and 3). The doctor was hesitant to tell me what to do – presumably for liability purposes – so the nurse told me if it were her baby, she’d go with the forceps since vacuum extraction may pose some risk to the baby’s brain. Okay then! Dr. McCants tried to turn the baby with the forceps, and that didn’t work. Then she tried to turn him with her hands (can I just say at this point: THANK GOD FOR EPIDURALS). That didn’t work, though I did learn from Dr. McCants that Ford would have hair and a “righteous conehead.” So with that method failing, I said, “Okay, let’s do the vacuum after all.” No dice. Apparently once you try the forceps, you can’t try the vacuum because it’s too risky. It’s one or the other (I didn’t know that). So once AGAIN, for the third? fourth? time, I was facing a C-section. Okay, there is ONE more option, Dr. McCants said. We can use a different type of forceps to pull him out while you push (instead of just trying to turn him the proper direction).

Of course, we decided to do that. I pushed for another two hours. Brad and Susan each held my feet while I gave it everything I had. The chief resident, Dr. Newman, operated the forceps while Dr. McCants gave her guidance. I just kept being told I was doing everything right but that the baby didn’t want to come out. After nearly four hours of pushing, Dr. McCants whispered to Dr. Newman, “How much longer are you going to let this go on?” Meaning, “How long until we wheel her in for a C-section?” Dr. Newman replied, “Two more pushes.” Fortunately, I didn’t hear this exchange. Brad and Susan, however, did, and suddenly started being super-hyper-cheerleader types. “COME ON, KATIE! You’ve got this! PUSH, PUSH, PUSH! You really need to push!” “Duh, guys,” I thought. “I’ve been pushing for four hours, I know this is what I ‘need’ to be doing.” So I kept pushing as hard as I could.

Nothing.

I pushed one more time… the last push, though I didn’t know it, that Drs. Newman and McCants would allow me before I went in for an emergency C-section.

And Ford came out, my slippery little babe, in that one push.

One push. The last push. And Ford entered our lives, the baby we had prayed for and loved while he was still just a dream in our hearts, was here in the flesh.

For the first time in more than 36 hours of labor, I started to cry. I was overwhelmed with gratitude toward my doctors and nurses and just kept saying over and over again, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Dr. McCants started crying too, hugging me and saying, “You did it, you really did it!” I would learn later that she had delivered nine babies that weekend, two of which were OP (sunny-side up), and the tears may have been more out of exhaustion than joy. Regardless, it was such an incredible moment.

The NICU team had been brought in, as is protocol when forceps are used. They tossed our boy across the room and started cleaning him up and suctioning his mouth. He had swallowed meconium on his way out, so they were concerned about his lungs. I heard him whimpering, trying to cry… it sounded like a kitten mewing. So sweet, I thought. I didn’t realize, probably due to all of the endorphins, that he should have been shrieking. I called out to Brad and asked cheerfully, “How is he? How does he look?”

Now Brad at this point had been through more of an ordeal than I had. He would tell me later that the doctor had been leaning back with all of her weight on the forceps—which looked like giant salad tongs—trying to pull Ford out, and that he thought she was breaking his neck. That was fairly horrifying, I’m told.

(Note: I learned later that Dr. Newman was herself pregnant, and that’s probably why she allowed me to go so long without a C-section. My own doctor, Dr. Norwood, told me the next day that he would have been “sharpening the knives,” as he put it, much earlier.)

So to answer my question about how Ford is and what he looks like, Brad—looking at Ford’s “righteous,” teradactyl-esque conehead, seeing him manhandled by the NICU team, and hearing our baby’s feeble little whimpers—did what any good husband would and should do, and answered tentatively, “Uhhh… good… ?”

And truth be told, despite swallowing meconium and making a rather dramatic entry into the world, Ford was, in fact, “good.” He scored and 8 and a 9 on his Apgar tests, but as a precaution he was sent to the nursery for observation before I was allowed to get more than just a picture with him. Brad was the only person besides members of the clinical team who was allowed to hold Ford during this time, giving them some really sweet bonding time. As Brad put it, Ford was the first baby he felt very natural holding—and the first baby who didn’t fuss as soon as he was placed in Brad’s arms. The doctors and nurses still needed to attend to me for about four hours before I was allowed to move from the labor and delivery room to the post-partum unit, and when I finally made my way up to the seventh floor of Baylor’s Truett Hospital where I would be reunited with Ford, our little guy had a ferocious appetite. It was such a special honor getting to really hold him and feed him for the first time. Truly surreal. I counted his fingers and toes and admired his sweet little creaseless face and long eyelashes. I couldn’t believe his thick head of dark hair and I remember thinking he looked so much like Brad, but with my dark hair and olive-toned skin.

Even though it wasn’t exactly the birth I expected to have, and my recovery took longer than I expected, I wouldn’t change a thing about the circumstances of Ford’s birth. God moved so many times, over and over, answering prayers and reminding us that his plan is perfect and he is more than worthy of our trust. I believe the medical team—my nurses, the on-call OB-GYN, and the chief resident—were perfectly appointed by him to be in that room with us and usher Ford safely into the world.

To close this story, I want to share one of the more magical moments of that day. First, you should know that I am a huge fan of the Beatles. I was raised on the Fab Four and know just about every beat and syllable to every one of their songs. I listened to the Beatles more often than any other music while I was pregnant, and I looked forward to introducing my son to their music someday. As fate would have it, Ford met the Beatles at birth. You see, when I was pretty early in the labor process, I played a Beatles mix I had made. We listened to it while we were just waiting around in the middle of the night at the hospital. The music stopped at some point, but I don't remember turning it off. I assume the playlist reached its end and didn’t repeat.

As the NICU team swept him across the room and the doctors attended to me, I realized that the stereo was back on and the song "Across the Universe" was playing. I swear the sound system had been off for hours, and suddenly my favorite band ever was welcoming my baby boy into the world. I felt like it was the soundtrack in a movie about one of the most important moments in my life.

I keep that moment close to my heart. I know there will be many more such moments, sort of out-of-body experiences where I feel like I’m watching my little one grow—too quickly, I’m sure. And I can’t wait to drink them all in.

Sounds of laughter, shades of life
are ringing through my open ears,
exciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love which
shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe...

A few pictures of Ford at one week old