Today my first born turns seven. It just so happens that my Dad also turns seventy, so we think it's pretty special. I remember seven years ago when my Dr picked the date to induce my labor. I was so excited that his granddaughter would be born on his birthday.
That morning we all went to the hospital, my husband and I, my parents, and my sister. Nothing went as planned, and after laboring all day. Sometime between 5 and 6 a little voice told me to get an epidural, even though the pain was still manageable. I listened and let the anesthesiologist give me the epidural. I finally convinced my parents and the Hubs to take a break and go get dinner, because I was not progressing and even the Dr had gone home to eat. Shortly after they left, a nurse rushed in my room and handed me the phone.
It was my Dr telling me she was on her way back and the nurses were goingto prep me for surgery. Jilly was in trouble and her heart rate had dropped to 60. I was utterly calm, but worried my family would miss the birth. Just as I asked a nurse for the phone, they walked in. I had a few moments to hug my parents before being given stronger drugs through the epidural. They told me later that the fact it was in place saved valuable time.
Within minutes I was in the OR with the Hubs. The Dr cut me from hipbone to hipbone to get my daughter out quickly. Her cord was wrapped around her neck and over her head, and so with each contraction it was both strangling her and cutting off the blood supply between her head and my cervix. Once I heard her cry, once I knew she was safe and the Hubs went with her to the nursery where they gave her oxygen I broke down and cryed until I was sick.
Later they brought her to me in the recovery room to nurse her, and my Mom snuck back to see us before anyone else.
I love you, Ladybug, and I bless the day the Goddess gave you to us.
