Stats: born 29 January, 1998, weighing 7 lbs, 4 oz, and was 19 inches long

I got pregnant with Patrick when Sam was 13 months old, and Tommy was almost 3.  We were actively trying not to conceive, but our birth control failed.  I was a little shocked, but not really upset.  I knew he was meant to be.  I was an apprentice midwife, so I got great prenatal care since I talked to my midwife, Stephanie, almost every day!  We decided rather early on, though, that with my history of preterm labor I would be better off seeing a doctor. So I started seeing her OB regularly, always with the knowledge that if I actually made it past 36 weeks and there were no problems, I would have a homebirth.

I felt movement very early, at 17 weeks, and since I was quite sure of my dates, became convinced I was having twins.  (My father is a twin.)  When I was over at Stephanie's one day, we decided to listen for two heartbeats.  We knew it was nearly impossible to diagnose twins this way, but we couldn't help but try.  We never did hear two heartbeats, but we did hear a very significant deceleration.  We tried to call my OB, but it was late on a Friday, and the OB on call blew us off, said that we'd just lost the rhythm momentarily or picked up my heartbeat (it was so slow I'd have been unconscious.)  So I had to wait and agonize, wondering if I was about to lose my baby, until Monday.  In the mean time, we picked up another deceleration, this one even worse, on Sunday.  I prayed that he was just grabbing his cord, though I couldn't figure out why he'd hold it for that long!  On Monday, my OB ordered an ultrasound for me, though he wasn't too thrilled with the idea.  It was too early to induce if there was a problem, so why bother?  But in my mind, I had to know.  If the ultrasound showed nothing, I would still have to worry, but at least it could rule out some of the more serious problems.  The technician was very thorough, I was there for an hour while she looked at everything.  She showed me my little boy, who I'd been calling "she" all this time!  I was so excited, though... 3 boys!  The ultrasound showed no problems, and the technician told me there was a 95% certainty that my baby had no heart problems.

I was still a bit concerned, but decided there was no use fretting over it.  The rest of the pregnancy was pretty uneventful; I wound up on bedrest again, but surprisingly at a later period than with my other two; I was only on bedrest two weeks this time, the 35th and the 36th.  I attribute this to my excellent diet; I followed the Brewer diet much more closely this time than I had with my previous pregnancies.  Although I was eating more, I actually gained 20 pounds LESS than I had with my others, and I had lost that weight in six months, simply with breastfeeding.  When I reached 37 weeks, I stopped the bedrest and spent a week and a half in very early labor.  I had mild contractions that didn't interfere with my daily life much, every 10 to 15 minutes, and was 3 cm. dilated.  For a week and a half.  I felt rather silly, after making such a fuss about preterm labor and all, but at least now I know with my next baby not to worry so much about it! Finally, I woke up one morning with the same contractions, except that I could now feel a little pain in my back with each one.  I decided to wait and see, and I had a lovely day, went out to eat, that sort of thing, without telling anyone I thought I was in labor.  It was also the day before my sister's birthday, and she was very excited about the idea that I might deliver on her birthday.  That night at around 9:00, after my mom and my sister had gone home, I told my husband, Scott, that I thought I was going to have the baby tonight.  I called Stephanie, and she called another midwife she works with sometimes, Kim, who came out and brought her apprentice, Shanna.  When Stephanie showed up she checked me, and said she wasn't too sure... I was still only a little dilated.  I was having a lot of back pain with the contractions by that time, though, and I told her to stay.  We had a funny conversation.  Scott and I had been considering getting "fixed" after this baby, and I'd discussed the possibility with Stephanie.  After a contraction she asked, "How's that tubal looking, now, Debbie?"  and I smiled and told her "Not only am I getting a tubal, Scott's getting a vasectomy!"

A friend came over to help with my older boys, Tommy and Sam, but Sam got scared, so my mom took him.  She promised to bring him back as soon as we called after the baby was born.

Things went rather quickly.  I listened to my music (Metallica, again), and sat on the birth ball.  I got frustrated because I wasn't feeling very powerful at all the way I had with my second son (Sam).  The contractions were strong and came very close together, and I cried instead of laughed.  I felt very disappointed that I wasn't "on top" of this labor.   Then it came time to push.  I wound up on my hands and knees again, though I tried so hard not to, because I wanted to catch him myself, it was just the only position I could tolerate.  I had a slight urge to push with a contraction and told them I was going to push.  I started to push, just going to try it a little, to see how it felt, and my little push took control.  I heard Stephanie tell me if I didn't slow down I would tear.  I took a breath.  And then it was like I had two little voices talking to me; one was the apprentice in me telling me to stop pushing until the next contraction, telling me I didn't want to tear, and the other one was screaming "What are you waiting for?!  PUSH!  Push and you'll be done, finished, sitting in bed holding your baby, push!"  And of course I pushed, and the baby was born, and I finally felt that lovely powerful sensation again.  Stephanie said I went from not being able to see any of the baby's head to delivery in one contraction, with those two pushes.  My husband put it a little less gloriously: "You SHOT him out!"  And I didn't tear, after all.  And Patrick was born at twenty minutes after midnight, on my sister's birthday!

Tommy was in the front room with our friend during the birth, but ran in right afterward, once I was on the bed.  He said "It's Baby Ricky!  Baby Ricky's here!"  We offered to let him cut the cord, but he refused.  My mom brought Sam back, and he was only a little interested in the baby. I had a lovely bath, first by myself, then with Patrick.  Stephanie and I sang him this lovely song, which we sing to all the babies whose births we attend:
 

I am a child of God and He has sent me here has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me help me find the way teach me all that I must do to live with him some day.

We had a good night's rest and a relaxing day the next day.  Stephanie came over that evening to say "hi," and talk.  While we were talking, I nursed the baby, and we both noticed at the same time that he was turning blue.  I pulled him away and started talking to him, rubbing his back.  He didn't look like Sam had, though.  He wasn't completely limp, but he had his eyes open and was looking right at Stephanie, and he wasn't even trying to breathe, he just had this serene look on his face. I didn't think he would start breathing again.  He just didn't seem to care. Stephanie started flicking his foot, and almost took him from me so she could start breathing for him when he very calmly began breathing.  He didn't gasp or take a deep breath, just started again as if he'd never stopped.  I was so horrified; all I could think was "Not again!"  We took him to a different hospital this time, because they had a new NICU which was much more baby-friendly.  We called our pediatrician, so when we got there we went straight to the NICU, totally bypassing the emergency room.  Ricky got his own room, and the visiting hours were much more flexible.  We were there for five days, and I stayed with him the whole time.  They finally got tired of seeing me sleep in the chair in his room and gave us a post partum room.  I used it as little as possible.  My mom stayed with the boys so Scott could spend more time at the hospital.  The boys were brought up to see me once a day, and they did very well.  They ran a few tests and couldn't figure out what was wrong.  He did have reflux, but it wasn't causing the apnea.  The doctor put him on caffeine, because he felt that it was something called immature respiratory response and that was how they treated it, but I've never felt comfortable with that diagnosis.  Patrick was not premature, and this is usually related to prematurity.  The test for this condition was also negative.  The only reason he was diagnosed with this is because he responded to the treatment for it.  He was sent home on the caffeine and another drug called Reglan, for reflux, because while his reflux was not that bad, caffeine makes reflux worse.  So he was given a drug to counter the effects of another drug.  About a week later we missed a dose of the Reglan and noticed he actually spit up less without it.  So we quit giving him the Reglan, and his personality improved, too.  He was slowly weaned off the caffeine over a period of about six weeks.  He was on an apnea monitor for seven months.  It didn't go off very often.  Early one morning it went off and when we turned the light on, he had that same peaceful look on his face.  I yelled his name and he started breathing again, the same as before, as if he'd never stopped.
 

At the time of this writing, he has been off the monitor for three days.  It has been weeks since there was an alarm.  He is "healed," all better, healthy.  I still have questions and doubts, but only time will tell.  Besides, that is another story.  ~ Debbie (Debbiemom)

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