A Daughter That Knows His Love (Ella's Birth Story)

When our first child was born, I was so excited to share the story of how he made his way into this world. His birth went so smoothly and the process was full of so much joy. However, I’ve held off sharing the full details of our daughter’s birth for several reasons. Firstly, because parts of it are hard to relive. Secondly, because I never want anyone to think that I’m sharing the story in need of sympathy. Despite her birth being incredibly difficult, perhaps even traumatic, we are so incredibly grateful that we were able to bring our baby girl home. We know that this is not the story for everyone, and so I feel almost shameful even telling her story. However, I know that so often mothers come home with their babies greeted with fanfare and excitement, but what they feel deep down is sometimes completely void of joy. I feel for these mothers who are expected to revel in gratitude when they have just overcome both physical and emotional trauma. To those mothers, you are not alone.

It was 2 days past my due date and I had seriously lost all hope that this baby would ever exit my body. Eddie and I had had several “it could be this week” kind of moments, only to be left disappointed when it didn’t come. When our son John Wayne was nearing his due date there was a sixth sense that the day was coming closer. I’d lost all sense of knowing with baby number 2. 

I woke up in the middle of the night, or rather early morning on Tuesday, October 22nd to go to the bathroom and had trouble going back to sleep. I felt some cramping but couldn’t quite discern whether or not it was different than the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d been feeling for 3 months. I started to try to time them and they seemed inconsistently consistent.

After about an hour of laying in bed, I realized things were getting consistent. Eddie and I decided to go ahead and get up to make sure everything was ready to go. We called my mom to have her come over, so that we wouldn’t have to wake up JW. We waved joyfully to her as we left the house and were in general excited to get to the hospital and begin the process. 

Once arriving at the hospital, little things began to go awry. This was to no fault of the hospital and certainly minor in the beginning, but it only adds to the frustration of our experience in welcoming our daughter. At first, the hospital could not find our registration. They took me into a room to be checked still unable to find our paperwork. By the time we arrived my contractions were already pretty intense and our doctor warned as that an epidural could take some time as the anesthesia department was understaffed, so we made the call to get an epidural early on. However, because our registration had not yet been found, they couldn’t even call the anesthesiologist to request the epidural, so we waited. 

Due to the pain that I was in, our nurse suggested that I get a little bit of pain relief medication. I was hesitant and told her no at first. I’d only taken an opioid pain reliever one other time in my life and it gave me pretty severe anxiety. After another serious contraction, our nurse again suggested it. At this time I had no idea how much longer it would take for them to get our paperwork figured out and for the anesthesiologist to get to us, so I agreed to take a partial dose. Within minutes I immediately was overcome with emotion. I began to start crying out of nowhere and explained what was going on to my husband and the nurse. I don’t know if anyone else has this type of reaction to medication, but my theory is that I typically try to keep my emotions behind closed doors and these medications have a way of opening every door… and every window.

When the nurse anesthetist finally did arrive it took him an unusual amount of time to put in the epidural. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it became clear later on that the epidural was not placed correctly. While I felt some numbness in my legs, I still very much felt contractions. 

Nurses came back to check me frequently and I progressed at a reasonable pace, until I reached 9 centimeters and everything stopped. I never dilated that extra centimeter and the pain and pressure had become so intense that I was in extreme pain. I honestly thought the doctor may never make the call for me to start pushing. It seemed like hours, but I really don’t know how long it was when he finally came in to start delivering our baby girl, Ella Rose.

I know that plenty of women deliver babies naturally and all the more power to them, but I did not plan to have such a painful delivery. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I was pushing and pushing and pushing and nothing was happening. The doctor eventually told me to stop pushing and very firmly told me that what I was doing was not helping. I tried to refocus and our little girl began to make some progress and then again nothing. I didn’t know all of this until later, but Ella and myself began to lose oxygen. They tried to roll me onto my side to relieve pressure, gave me an oxygen mask, and asked me to stop pushing temporarily. This only made things more painful. Eventually the pushing and the oxygen helped and Ella’s little head started to make an appearance. It then became clear why her oxygen rate had dropped, the cord had been wrapped around her neck. The doctor managed to maneuver the cord and get it unwrapped, but things only got worse.

The doctor eventually realized that Ella’s shoulder was stuck in my pelvic bone. This is a rare occurrence called shoulder dystocia. While my research shows that it happens in 1 in 200 births, none of the nurses present had ever seen it happen and our doctor did not indicate having dealt with it himself. This is an emergency, as the baby’s head has already exited. She cannot rely on the mother’s womb for protection and simultaneously cannot yet breathe independently. In order to quickly remedy the situation the doctor performed an episiotomy, but it wasn’t enough. In addition, during each contraction nurses began to press firmly on my stomach and pelvis to help push our baby girl out. I didn’t realize it at the time, but at least one of the nurses was on a stepping stool so that she could push firmly against my stomach. After a couple firm shoves to my abdomen, Ella Rose was born, but we were far from out of the woods.

Eddie describes the handoff from doctor to nurse as a one handed, over the shoulder maneuver. Ella had to be quickly handed off in order to get her breathing. While I lay on a table still delivering, I heard our daughter being given chest compressions. 

When a baby is born they are given a score from 0-10 that indicates their health. Ella was a 1. She was not breathing, she was blue, and had no muscle tone. Her only hope for life was an insignificant heartbeat of 60 beats per minute. These moments are the most painful for those of us in the delivery room. I’m sometimes shy when I pray, but in this moment I prayed out loud. I had no other words other than “please God”, but he knew the rest. I prayed fearfully that I would be able to take my baby girl home, yet simultaneously with peace that God may choose to take her home to Him instead. In that moment I had to be honest with myself that this could be the reality, because I truthfully did not know what the outcome would be.

After 2 incredibly painful minutes I heard the nurses log her first breath. 

Ella was brought to me briefly and then immediately taken to the nursery to be cared for. I laid on the table unable to process anything else for another 15 minutes while the doctor did extensive internal and external stitching to repair the damage from delivery. 

Not much after this matters except that the nurses and doctors at the hospital took significant measures to make sure that our daughter made a healthy recovery. She rapidly recovered breathing, color, and heart rate. She was taken to a larger hospital just in case she had a rebound, but thankfully she never did. I am beyond grateful to the one nurse who viciously pressed on my abdomen to save my daughter’s life, but also continuously looked me in the eyes and told me that I was doing a great job. Because in those moments it was too easy to feel like a failure. As women we are supposed to be made for these moments, and I felt as if I wasn’t. 

I count it pure joy that I was able to take my baby girl home after only a few days. I know that many do not get this opportunity. I don’t know why God chose me to experience this, but he did. I don’t know why he chose me to bring that baby home, but he did. I can only hope that by reading this other women can feel they are not alone. You are not alone if your only emotion after delivery was relief, because the waves of pain were finally gone. You are not alone if your only emotion after delivery was numbness, because you simply could not process the trauma. No matter your emotions they are valid and they are seen by a God that loves you. We have a God that does not mark us by our assumed failures but by the victory he achieved on the cross. I can only pray that my daughter comes to know that love and that victory.