We had done a lot of reading and watched documentaries on birth; however, between my classes, travels, the foster children, and the election, we had not been able to squeeze in childbirth classes. In the last weeks we found a local doula to give us a “crash course” at home. Our plan was to stay home as long as possible, because the hospital was only fifteen minutes away.
I had a scheduled checkup one day after my due date. I had gained only thirty pounds during my pregnancy thanks to my LAP-BAND, but one of the other doctors had worried that my belly was measuring too small. Darlean listened to our little boy’s heart. “He sounds fine, but let’s get an ultrasound.”
Darlean watched the screen carefully. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, but I want Dr. Reyes to check something.”
I could see the baby moving; therefore, I tried not to panic. Darlean came back after consulting with Dr. Reyes, and she helped me sit up on the ultrasound table. “You know we’ve been monitoring the amniotic fluid,” he said. “Today there’s almost no amniotic fluid in the pockets around the baby.”
Darlean rubbed my back. “That means you are going to have your baby today.”
“But—” I was taken completely off guard. This was supposed to be a routine checkup, and Erick wasn’t even with me. “I’m not ready. I haven’t made plans for my other children.”
“I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily,” she said, “but oligohydramnios—the technical term for this condition—requires immediate delivery. You need to go to the hospital right away.”
“Does this mean I’m having a C-section?” I asked with a tremulous voice.
“Not necessarily, but we will need to induce you.”
“Do I have time to go home first?” I asked. “I need to pack and make arrangements for our foster children.”
“We really would prefer for you to go straight from here to the hospital, and I’ll meet you there,” Darlean said.
I stayed around for a few more instructions, which I barely heard. I felt like I had come to swim a few laps in a gentle pool but found myself pulled out to sea by an undertow that I couldn’t overcome.
The minute I got out of the elevator, I called Gay. “I’m having the baby today!” I started to sob. Gay and Phil had been part of the natural childbirth movement in the 1970s and had produced a series of films on birth and breastfeeding. Gay had attended many births and even delivered a few babies, and so I was counting on having her by my side during labor and delivery.
“Are you in labor?” she asked.
“No! It’s low amniotic fluid . . . they said the baby has to be born today . . . or something bad could happen to him!”
“Hold on, honey. If that were true, you would be in an ambulance. Let me get Ruth’s opinion. Meanwhile, go home and get ready to go just in case.”
“Really?” I asked timidly. “I haven’t even shaved my legs!”
“Do whatever you have to do. Phil and I will meet you at the hospital.”
I rushed home and filled Erick in. We contacted his parents and our standby babysitters, who could stay at our house over the next few days. Once we knew our foster kids had coverage and our bags were packed, we headed to the hospital.
“What did Ruth say?” I asked Gay the minute she walked into my birthing suite.
“Not to panic. You don’t have any other risk factors and you are full term at forty weeks. It’s a more problematic issue when you’re overdue.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I muttered just as Darlean arrived.
“We had a meeting after you left,” Darlean said. “I told the doctor how much you wanted a natural birth.” She told me about a stress test to check on the baby before a final decision, and then left the room to write up the orders.
“I wanted to labor at home,” I said mournfully to Erick.
He looked around at the birthing suite. “At least this place is probably quieter than our house.”
The room was huge, with a view over the bay. There was a sofa bed and comfortable chairs for family members, and a private bath.
Gay pulled back a curtain. “Ta-da!”
“Oh!” Tears flowed when I saw the baby’s station and bassinet.
A nurse came into the room and handed me a gown. “When you are ready, get in bed, and I’ll get you prepped.”
Showtime, I thought wryly, with the worst case of stage fright I’d ever experienced.
Erick was busy on the phone, organizing his parents to pick up the foster children and the three friends who had volunteered to stay days or nights while I was in the hospital. Luckily, it was a Friday, and everyone was available that weekend.
“You okay, honey?” Phil asked.
“It’s weird to be lying in a hospital bed when I feel fine.”
“I know you’re disappointed,” Gay said.
“I feel everything is out of my control—and you know how much I hate that!”
“What else is worrying you?”
“All the books say induction is the slippery slope that leads to cesareans.”
Gay was uncharacteristically silent for a few beats. “I know many of your friends have had cesareans after scheduling inductions for convenience, but this situation is different.”
Darlean came in and checked that the monitors and IV were in place. “I’m going to give you something to ripen your cervix gradually.” The next part was slightly uncomfortable. “You probably won’t go into labor for about twelve hours.” I looked at the large clock on the opposite wall. It was just past two in the afternoon.
After an hour, I vented. “I hate lying here attached to all these machines. I feel like a corpse waiting to be dissected!”
“Sorry, babe,” Erick said.
“Whoa!” I called out. “Is this a contraction?”
“What does it feel like?” Erick asked.
“Like pain!”
“The doula said it would be like a wave that builds up and then tapers off. Is that it?”
I gulped. “No! More like being stabbed with a—”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Erick said, trying to remember the instructions.
I took a long breath. “That’s another one.”
“I thought you were supposed to have more of a break,” Erick said, more to Gay than to me.
“There’s a blip on the monitor,” Phil said to prove something was really happening.
The guys watched the screen while Gay tried to get me into a more comfortable position. Another contraction tumbled over me five minutes later.
At four the nurse came to check my progress. I knew my cervix eventually had to dilate to ten centimeters. “You’re at four,” the nurse reported. “That’s really an excellent start. How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.”
“Good job!” I felt like a teacher had just commended me. Two hours later, though, my tolerable contractions turned into cramps that were so torturous I would have confessed to anything to have them end.
Erick attempted massages and coached my breathing. Gay handed him an orange. “The aroma of citrus is supposed to help with pain,” she said.
I knocked it out of his hand. “Shove it up your nose.” Erick had the nerve to laugh. “Not funny!” I gasped.
“The contraction’s almost over,” he said.
“No, it isn’t!”
“Does this help?” He rubbed my lower back.
“No, no!”
Darlean arrived. “Let me check you,” she said softly.
I panted and clutched the sheet through the exam.
“Good progress. You’re already five centimeters.”
“I—can’t—catch—a—break. Nothing is helping! I want an epidural!” I said as the pain started to crest again.
Erick was rubbing my shoulders. “You said you didn’t want one.”
“How did I know what it was going to be like?” I murmured.
“But—” I had told him to stand firm if I caved, mostly because I had been terrified of the long n
eedle in my back. I’d never, however, imagined such intense, excruciating, continuous pain.
“So, shall I call for an anesthesiologist?” Darlean asked.
“Yes!” I no longer cared whether anyone thought I had wimped out; I couldn’t take this pain, which felt like I was being torn internally and never eased completely.
The prick of the needle—two, actually, because the first did not numb one side of my body—was nothing compared to the searing contractions.
“It’s magical,” I sighed, when moments later the agony completely subsided.
Darlean turned down the lights. “Okay, Ashley, try to get some rest.” She turned to Erick and pointed to the sofa. “There are pillows and blankets in the closet.”
Gay and Phil met Erick’s parents, Sharon and Rob, in the waiting room. Jasper and Penelope were also standing by. The Smiths tiptoed in to see me. I was just stirring. They wished me well and ducked out again. The hospital had a rule that only two people—not including the father—could be in the room simultaneously, so Gay and Phil came back in.
“You’re doing great, hon,” Gay said.
“Do you want something cool to sip?” Erick asked.
“Are there any of those ice chips left?”
“I’ll get some from the nurse,” he said before leaving the room.
Just after he departed, a nurse came in to check on my progress. “Oh goodness, you’re ready to push!” she cried.
“Phil, get Erick!” Gay said.
A lot seemed to happen at once. Lights flicked on, the bed was repositioned, and all sorts of equipment—including the baby bassinet—was rolled near me. Darlean made an adjustment to reduce the epidural medication, and suddenly I felt a long, tumbling wave rolling through me.
Phil was stationed at my head to film the birth. Erick was on the other side, supporting me. Gay was helping me keep my legs in position.
“Anyone else you want in the room?” Darlean asked.
“We are already at the limit,” Erick said.
“I’m the boss now,” she said with a laugh. “You want us to get your mother from out there?”
“Ash?” he asked.
I nodded. “That’d be great,” I said.
I tried to follow the instructions to push, but apparently I wasn’t making enough progress. Darlean insisted I get into various positions to help move the baby down. More people were called, including someone for the baby and Dr. Reyes, who I later learned had been standing by in case I needed an emergency cesarean. A nurse put me on oxygen. Darlean helped me turn on my side and Dr. Reyes used his skill to help the baby get into position. Then Darlean took over for the delivery.
I didn’t care who was in the room or that Gay and my mother-in-law were holding my legs up or that Phil was filming or that the machines were pinging. Suddenly Sharon, who is usually reserved and quiet, shouted, “There he is! There he is!”
The baby . . . almost there . . . A wave of energy coursed through my body as I pressed down with all my might.
“Look, Ashley,” Darlean said. She lifted our son onto my chest. Erick reached around to steady the baby. Phil filmed his first breaths.
Erick kissed me. “Ethan, right?”
“Yes. Ethan Philip Smith. And he’s just perfect.”
15.
breaking bonds
There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The morning after Ethan was born, Erick texted Lorraine and told her she was welcome to visit that afternoon. Gay and Phil arrived early and spent some time holding Ethan and taking pictures of our new family.
“I didn’t expect to still be so sore after the delivery,” I confessed to Gay. “I have shooting pains when I move, and I can’t sit easily.”
“Sounds like you may have broken your tailbone,” Gay said. “It happens to some women.”
When Darlean came in to check me, she agreed it could be a possibility and prescribed some medication that I could take while breastfeeding.
Then Josh and Giulia arrived to cuddle their first nephew.
“Everything will go better if I’m not here when Lorraine is,” Gay said, grabbing the backpack she used as a purse. “I intimidate her.”
“You intimidate most people,” Josh said with a grin.
I took a nap while Erick called more friends and family. Giulia saw Lorraine and Autumn coming down the hall and stopped them at my door. “Ashley’s resting. Let’s go have a coffee until she wakes up.”
“I can’t wait to tell Ashley how well I’ve been doing,” Lorraine said. “I’ve been sober for a year this month—today’s my anniversary, actually—and now I’m a leader in my Alcoholics Anonymous group.”
Giulia congratulated her on her achievement.
“When do you think I can see Ashley? We left a new puppy at home.”
“I got him for my birthday!” Autumn crowed. “I’ll be thirteen next week.”
“And now you’re also an aunt for the first time, just like me,” Giulia replied to her.
Josh cracked open the door to see if I was awake and then signaled for Lorraine and Autumn to come in. Autumn carried a huge stuffed animal that was longer than my hospital bed, and Lorraine gave me a gift bag, which held a Harley-Davidson onesie and matching cap.
“Aw!” I said. “His first biker ‘gear.’ ”
“Aw!” Lorraine mimicked, but more sarcastically. “Is it too redneck for you?”
“No, it’s really cute,” I said, but she still seemed annoyed. She mistook my physical discomfort for a lack of interest.
Lorraine held Ethan. “He looks like a Rhodes.”
“Can I have a turn?” Autumn asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good—” Lorraine started.
“Just sit in a chair,” Erick said kindly. “I’ll hand him to you.”
Autumn glowed as she stared down at her nephew.
“Well,” Lorraine said, “I was worried because she can be clumsy. Besides,” she continued, “we have to get back to your puppy.”
Autumn handed Ethan to Erick.
Lorraine hovered over the transfer. “He’s so beautiful!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I never thought I would be lucky enough to see this,” she said. “I’m sorry I made so many mistakes.” She reached for her purse. “Is it okay if I take a few pictures for the family?”
Erick said, “Sure, but please don’t post them on any social media sites.”
“Whatever you say.”
When she left, I said, “That came off better than I expected.”
“She looked like she’s doing well, don’t you think?”
“Hard to know for sure,” I said. “I don’t see or hear from her enough to tell.”
The media thought that the confluence of my due date and Election Day made for good copy, so many articles about me mentioned my pregnancy. Luke might have also seen a post on the Internet that the baby had arrived, and he called while we were still at the hospital.
“Hey, what’s new?” he asked.
“You’re an uncle.”
“Yeah, cool. I’m going to vote for you, and I can pay other people to vote for you.”
“That’s not legal,” I told him, “and the election is over.”
I started to tell him the baby’s name, but he cut me off. “You should have told me about the election sooner, because I could have paid for your whole campaign.” Then he said, “Oh, gotta go!” and hung up.
When I got off the phone, I told Erick about the disappointing conversation. “Well, don’t worry,” Erick said. “Our son has plenty of family on all sides to balance the scales.”
Ethan Philip was both our first and our thirteenth child. We had briefly provided respite for other foster children, and we thought we knew everything about babies—but discovered we knew nothing. Plus, we had underestimated how much more time this “homemade” baby would take. We had parented three
infants—Lance, Dakota, and Skyler—but we were able to get them sleeping through most of the night shortly after they arrived. Ethan was up every two hours and sometimes more frequently. Nursing didn’t come naturally to either of us, and so I ended up with an exhaustive pumping schedule. All the complaints doctors said would go away after birth still remained. My fractured tailbone hurt whether I was sitting or lying down, and my postpartum hormones allowed me to indulge in a pity party. Still, while I bemoaned my physical aches and pains, I was also thrilled at Ethan’s every burp or smile.
Breastfeeding was important to me. Gay had breastfed both her sons, and Erick’s mother also nursed her four children. I knew this was the healthiest, most natural food and that it held endless benefits for the baby and me.
Ethan, though, had not read the memo on what he was supposed to do and refused—and I do mean adamantly refused—to latch on. Was it possible my baby was rejecting me, or was I doing something wrong? Early on, nurses came in and out of my postpartum room, each with their own set of instructions. The lactation specialist was called, but Ethan didn’t appreciate her prodding. I was hooked up to a breast pump, because the sooner my real milk arrived, the more interested the baby would be. In the meantime, he was given a bottle with what little I did produce.
Just after a late dinner, a nurse came in and claimed our insurance was only giving us a few more hours before we had to be discharged. Since Ethan wasn’t “feeding,” they said I would have to give him a bottle of formula or face leaving my baby behind. I begged the lactation specialist to rent us the hospital-grade breast pump, but she said she didn’t want to do the paperwork. I called Erick’s mother, and Sharon somehow found a place to buy a good pump at that late hour. I was overcome with gratefulness for having his parents in my life. Most people don’t know the feeling of thinking you are never going to have anyone to permanently love or support you. It is because of this that I appreciate the tiniest gestures.
Gay told me that Blake, her older son, refused to nurse for the first five days. Her pediatrician sister, Robin, reminded me that her first son also was a slow starter. Plus, she talked about the myriad of patients she counsels on breastfeeding and encouraged me to continue. I called La Leche League, but nothing they suggested worked. I found a private lactation specialist, who also could not get the youngest member of our team to do his part.
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