I've written Colden's birth story out in my mind a hundred times, maybe even a million....but I've avoided putting it out on digital paper until now. I've just been scared. What happened leading up to Colden's birth was dramatic in how fast it all went, but it's really what happened after he was born that makes my stomach flop each and every time I think about it, let alone talk about it. What happened after was when the real drama unfolded.
Here's the full story of how our sweet Colden entered this world.
In the very wee hours of April 4th, 2012 I went into labor. At only 37 weeks, our little boy was ready to burst onto the scene! It was certainly sooner than any of us had imagined.
I started having contractions around 1:30 AM that morning. Like any typically pregnant person (if the phrase typically pregnant can even exist), I attributed the pain to my pregnancy as a whole- meaning towards the end I was fatigued, uncomfortable, and my body ached frequently. I just assumed the discomfort stemmed from growing pains- so I whimpered my way back into bed, and fought to find my way back to the peaceful dreamland I so desperately yearned for.
This yearning was in vain.
3:30 AM: I decided to wake Matt. He was very used to me getting up during the night (my preggo bladder to blame), and wasn't alarmed. This time was different, however. My pain was coming in waves, and he realized quickly we should be timing its peaks. Twenty minutes later, he determined my contractions were coming every 10 minutes.
The next few hours were a wretched blur of pain, pain, and more pain. I never made it back to dreamland, that's for sure.
Somewhere between 330 and 430 AM my contractions jumped to every seven minutes or so- at which point Matt called my doctor. Prior to the call, I was hoping and praying this was false labor, as my water never broke, and there were no other indicators of labor aside from the blinding pain rising and falling in my abdomen (I forgot to mention I was already 2 cm dilated). Based on Matt's description however, my doctor calmly relayed that she thought I was in labor and to make our way to the hospital when I felt I was ready - BUT, there was no need to rush as my contractions weren't yet five minutes apart.
5:30 AM: Matt does the dishes.
Ok- yes. We took the super redundant, first time parent, 'we're going to scare you into going' birth class at our hospital. From the 18 outdated videos we were forced to watch, all of them had us convinced of one thing: labor takes FOREVER. Stay at home for as long as possible before heading to the hospital for fear of arriving too early and being sent home. Despite my pain, Matt thought we should wait a while before leaving to avoid said scenario. Alas, what is a man to do while is wife is lying in bed writhing in labor pains?!?
DO THE DISHES.
I'll never forget the sound of the water rushing, the pots and pans clanking, and thinking: what in the hell is he doing?? Months later....we can have a laugh about it. Really. Haha :) But at the time, I was convinced my husband was clinically insane.
6:00 AM: Somewhere between last night's dinner being scrubbed down the drain, and my screaming into a pillow (yes, we've moved to screaming), my contractions darted to 5 minutes apart, and were wickedly intense. It was time to GO! With our bags partially packed (they say to have them packed by 35 weeks), and my trusty pillow in tow, we began the 30 minute journey to our delivering hospital.
That was the longest car ride of my life.
Upon arrival, Matt left our car right out front with the flashers on (something they tell you NOT to do at the birth class, schmirth class). I'm pretty sure nothing could have stopped us in that situation, anyway. They could have towed the car and it wouldn't have mattered- I needed to get inside.
Clad in a wheelchair, we entered the labor and delivery wing around 6:45 AM. The pillow I made sure to bring remained glued to my face, continuing to absorb each and every contraction induced scream. Aside from my muffled shrieking, I think Matt and I played it pretty cool. We weren't frantic, on edge, or unreasonable. Matt simply relayed we thought I was in labor, and that was it. Given this cool, calm, and collected demeanor (and the fact that I was only 37 weeks), I think the hospital staff assumed we had a lot of time to play with....
It wasn't until later that we realized arriving at 645 in the morning meant we were right on the cusp of the 12 hour, 7 pm to 7 am shift change. The staff departing at 7 am didn't want to be responsible for me; although the 7 am staff had yet to clock in. To get me out of the reception area, I was placed in a triage waiting room and told someone would be in to check on me once they found an available nurse.
The next 45 minutes we spent alone in the triage room. In a word, my physical experience in that room was ghastly. With no pain medication, rapid contractions, and a Dr's office style stump instead of a actual bed to lie on- I thought I was going to die in that room. After such a long time of waiting, I reached for Matt, and told him that he HAD to go find someone. We couldn't wait any longer.
8:15 AM: Matt returned with a nurse/midwife that had just come on duty. Finally.
Taking in the scene, she checked me right away, and blurted out: "You're 8 to 9 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced- we're going to need a delivery room immediately." As soon as I heard these words, I let my head drop back on the table in a complete sigh of relief that someone was here to take care of me, and that this was REALLY happening. I had not imagined it all as false - this was real, active labor and this baby was coming, now!!
Like most pain intolerant human beings, my first question on the way to the delivery room was to ask if there was time for an epidural. The nurse placed her hand on my shoulder, and relayed that she wasn't sure. Now, it was not in my plan to have an un-medicated birth. The goal was to avoid a c-section, but I didn't feel the need to be a hero. I was ready for the juice. At this point I wanted the juice.
Thankfully, there was a small window of time. Literally, the tiniest window as 30 minutes after I got the epidural I was pushing. I could still feel the right side of my body, but the medicine had taken enough of the edge off that I no longer thought it was certain that I was going to die. I just thought I might.
Before it was time to push, Colden's heart rate dropped to a scary level and in a matter of seconds the feeling in my delivery room went from anxious excitement to an awful fear of the unknown. I wasn't oblivious to the drop, and knew that getting Colden out as soon as possible was residing on my shoulders. An oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth and my doctor told me it was time to give it all I had. We didn't have a minute to spare; we were playing with seconds.
Nearly eight pushes later our sweet little boy was born at 10:23 AM (the 23 being Matt's lucky number), and weighed in at 5 lbs 14.9 oz. He measured in at 19 inches long.
We named him Colden Matthew (Colden after a shared love of literary character Holden Caufield, and Matthew after dad, with the bonus meaning of gift from God). The very first thing Matt said as soon as Colden was born was how cute he thought he was. I couldn't agree more. He was then, and is now our perfect little boy.
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| First family photo |
The joy we felt in those first few moments after Colden's birth will most likely never be surpassed. Nearly 30 seconds after he was born however, our doctor noticed something different. Somewhere during the commotion, the scurrying around the room, and the hushed comments, I heard the phrase...'characteristics of down syndrome..' Were they talking about Colden? In an instant the number of people in the room doubled. What was going on? Still on the table with my legs in the air, I knew something was wrong. The feel in the room had changed. No one was smiling. No one would make eye contact with me. I remember repeating myself several times and saying 'Is he ok? Is he ok? Is he ok?' Yet, no one said anything.
As my doctor delivered the placenta, the neonatologist in the room came over to my husband and I. I'll never forget his utter lack of bedside manner as he looked at the two of us with my blood all over his hands and said in a strong monotone voice: "Have you heard of down syndrome? Do you know what down syndrome is? Colden is displaying characteristics of trisomy 21, also referred to as down syndrome."
WHAT?
What was he talking about? Up until this point I had had a perfectly healthy pregnancy, was not over 35, and was not as risk for anything related to down syndrome. What did he mean by displaying characteristics?
Matt asked him to explain. What did we need to do to confirm? How did he know? Was this really happening? I had SO many questions. My thoughts were scattered and I felt like I had stopped breathing. Confusion, doubt, anger, and total fear all burrowed their way into my chest. Right up to my throat. For once in my life I was rendered completely speechless. I remember just staring at the neonatogist as if he had just told me our son had died. I honestly could not process anything he was trying to tell us.
He said they would need to do a blood test to confirm it, but that he was 99% sure that Colden had down syndrome. To make matters worse, Colden's early delivery was cause for everything to not quite work as well as it could have, if he had stayed baking a little longer. My heart broke as they took Colden from my arms and sent him up to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit).
For the next 24 hours Matt and I held each other, wept, and prayed like hell that WE would be in that 1%. That somewhere in this nightmare there would be a ray of sunshine. I called my parents in Colorado, and the joy of welcoming Colden was overshadowed by complete fear. I remember saying to my mom "They think he has down syndrome," as hot streams of tears ran down my face. Her response: "We'll just love him even more."
The next day the neonatologist confirmed our worst fears. Colden had down syndrome. So much for the 1%, right? The irony was beyond comprehensible. We had less than a 1% chance of conceiving a child with down syndrome, yet when we needed the odds to be in our favor we came up short. The very first question that came to my mind was, what did I do wrong? Was this my fault? The neonatologist reassured me that this had nothing to do with what I did or didn't do during my pregnancy. It wasn't the latte I had or didn't have, or the prenatal pilates class I had taken. It had happened at conception, entirely outside of my control. But it didn't matter. I had stopped listening. I immediately blamed myself, and I felt like throwing up.
It's funny sometimes how things are meant to be. For the last several years I have been searching for a cause. Something to feel really passionate about. Something that mattered to me, and carried special meaning for my family. I wasn't quite sure what that was; but I also never expected God to slap me in the face with it. I know now that this special gift happened for a reason. Colden was meant to have his extra chromosome, and this was the child God had planned for us all along.
The next several days were a flood of emotion. I found myself balling up, withdrawing, and unable to talk to anyone. I was in shock. I was in denial. I had no idea how to even have a conversation with someone about Colden, let alone reveal the news that he had down syndrome. As the calls/texts/emails came pouring in, I shut down. I stopped responding, and eventually everyone got the message that something was going on, and that we needed some space. I regret this partially now, but there was no way I could joyfully have a conversation about Colden with out completely losing it.
Two days after delivery I was released, yet Colden remained in the NICU. Although we would sleep at home, Matt and I spent nearly 12 hours a day by his side as he grew stronger inside his little glass house at hotel NICU. I breastfed while he stayed plugged into all of his monitors and machines. At home I breast pumped throughout the night and found a great sense of pride knowing that even though he was stuck in a little box away from me at night, I was still providing the best nutrition I could. Matt would frequently make midnight runs with my milk, just to make sure he never had to have any formula.
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| Our little Easter bunny - born 4 days shy of Easter Sunday |
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| Father, son, and raffi wubbanub |
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| Proud grandparents in from Colorado |
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| Grammy's Heaven |
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| Colden's glass house |
He was severely jaundiced, unable to control his own temperature, occasionally needed oxygen, and sometimes needed an extra helping of my milk through a tube if he didn't take the minimum amount of breast milk from the bottle at night.
Every morning when Matt and I arrived we yearned to hear a good progress report from the nighttime nursing staff. This was only ever sometimes the case. Several days in a row his bilirubin sky rocketed and we weren't allowed to remove him from the light for more than 15-20 minutes at a time. It was really just to feed and that was it.
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| Making sure his tan is even |
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| Is it hot in here? |
The day Colden detached from a few of the monitors because he didn't need them anymore was a HUGE milestone. We started calling him cordless Colden, as we no longer had to thread 6 different wires through his diaper. Talk about challenging as a first time parent. You think changing a typical diaper is tough the first go around? Imagine the fear of disconnecting his oxygen or another important monitor with one flick of your wrist as you delicately snake your way around all his cords. This is on top of reaching through the six inch hand/arm slots on the isolette. Brutal.
This song and dance when on for 15 days.
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| beautiful blue eyes + yummy milk |
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| Cordless Colden - getting a peek |
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| Mama and her boy |
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| Who wouldn't love this squishy face? |
In the late afternoon of April 19th, (15 days after he was born), we were allowed to bring Colden home. What a day to be thankful. He was still super tiny, hovering right around 6 lbs, but we were relieved to finally be bringing our son home, to Colden's house.
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| Getting ready to go home! |
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| First car ride - go CU! |
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| 'It's a boy' decorations courtesy of Grammy |
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| A pear tree for Colden from our wonderful friends |
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| Looking tired, but so happy to have Colden home! |
Despite our gut wrenching experience of not knowing, and how we found out, we would not trade Colden for anything. In fact, I'm glad he has down syndrome (well not the associated health risks of course- we can skip those). The diagnosis has humbled us as a family and reminded me that I'm not in charge. No matter how much I plan, it's still the big guy upstairs that holds all the cards. God has a wonderful plan for our sweet little boy. Colden's already working his magic, as he weaves his heart around all of us. He has forever changed our family....for the good.
Remember that passion I was searching for? Well I've found it. It's a little boy named Colden. He has inspired me to be a huge advocate of down syndrome awareness and education. So many of our friends responded with "I'm so sorry" when they learned of his diagnosis. That should never be the case. Every child is a miracle. And Colden is a special gift. In their defense, our friends just didn't know. They have an inaccurate and scary picture of what down syndrome really is. I want to change that. I want our friends, family, and especially expectant mothers to know this is NOT a scary thing. Finding out the way we did was scary, but Colden is not at all a mistake. He is a beautiful addition to our lives. More importantly, he's helped us to see the beauty and richness that already exists in our every day lives; a beauty we never seemed to notice before.
We love our sweet Colden more than anything; and we feel ever so blessed to have received this special surprise delivery.
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| First pic @ Colden's House |
Beautiful story of your family's journey Tiff. Thank you so much for sharing it!
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