Sunday, May 25 began as a restful, relaxing bedrest day. Daniel was working, so his family took Mara to church with them, where she could be watched in the nursery. She ate lunch with them too, so I didn’t see much of anyone that day.
I had contacted someone in a local moms group about a changing table she was offering. My e-mail to her on Sunday afternoon reflected my skepticism that this whole preterm labor thing was really an issue.
“I have not been coming out to playgroup the past few weeks,” I wrote her. “I actually was put on bedrest a couple weeks ago, because I was having so many contractions. One day I had 10/hr for about 12 hours, and at 29 weeks, the drs wanted to play it safe. . . .now I’m 31 weeks, and still having contractions, but much fewer, so I’m hoping they will let me off bedrest at my next appt! All that to say, I can’t go anywhere (being on bedrest), so my husband will be coming by for the changing table. . . ” We decided that Daniel could pick it up that evening on the way home from church.
Daniel’s mom called in the afternoon and offered to pick up the laundry that night when they dropped Mara back off after the evening service. I thought it would be great for Daniel to have his mom washing his clothes, as opposed to a random girl from our church. 
So I thought, ‘I’ve rested a lot. I’ll sort the laundry and treat all the stains that Mara’s clothes inevitably have.’ And I did. But that was all it took for my contractions to come back strong.
I had no idea my body would respond that way. But for about three hours, I couldn’t ignore it: my contractions were now 2-3 minutes apart. Daniel texted from church, asking if he could stay for the dinner and church meeting afterwards. I wanted him to stay. He was constantly so busy with Mara and things around the house, every moment he wasn’t working, so I knew it would be a little break for him to get to interact with friends from church. I texted back, reminding him to pick up the changing table afterwards, and he said he would.
Daniel’s mom came to get the laundry, and I told her about it. My contractions had sobered me up quite a bit. We decided I should rest for an hour, drink lots of water, and if they were still frequent and strong, I should call the resident on call again.
It was “deja vu, all over again,” as they say! My mind wrestled and argued just like the first time I went up to the hospital. I didn’t want to go up there, be monitored for an hour and sent home. I didn’t want to be put on even stricter bedrest. I didn’t want to overreact and run up to the hospital at any sign of labor. But there was no mistaking it. My contractions were close and strong.
When Daniel finally got home, he, his mom and I sat in our bedroom and decided that I definitely should call the resident, who very predictably instructed me to come in right away and get checked out. We walked out to the car–my first time to walk outside since Tuesday! One of the neighbors saw me and asked “How’s that baby?”
We stopped on our way to the car. “Actually,” Daniel said. “She’s having a lot of contractions, so we’re going up to the hospital now. But it’s still about 9 weeks early.”
Occasionally, it would hit me: This could be serious. And I think that was one of those moments.
Once again, a weekend/late-evening drive to the hospital was so much faster than a morning rush hour or lunchtime commute! I was hoping the contractions would lessen as we drove, but they didn’t. Not at all. I was thankful to have Daniel with me this time. Somehow it was starting to seem a little more serious.
We arrived at the hospital and found a great parking spot on the ground level. Went inside. Same drill. To lighten the minor tension, I amused myself, by telling Daniel ahead of time what was next, so he wouldn’t be surprised. Take the elevator to fourth floor. Check in with the nurses in Labor and Delivery triage. Put on hospital gown. Take samples. Lie down. Begin monitoring the baby’s heartbeat and my contractions. Drink lots of water.
But this time, when they checked me, I was 3 cm and 70% effaced, meaning things are definitely progressing toward active labor. And this is where things were different. Everyone suddenly treated me as if the baby were coming tonight. I wasn’t really expecting that. I was fully expecting to be monitored for an hour, contractions lessen, go home, strict bedrest. . . It was very good to have Daniel there with me. “We need to think of a name,” he said. I think the realization was hitting him too, that we could have a baby ‘way sooner than we had anticipated.
I loved the female resident who was working with me. I had met her once before during a doctor’s visit and was impressed with her positive outlook, her professionalism, her peppy (but not giddy) personality, the way she made eye contact and asked if we had any questions, and the way she presented difficult things.
My contractions were close enough and strong enough that she didn’t have me wait an hour to see what happened. Right away she called for a steroid shot with the hopes that it would help the baby’s lungs mature, in case he was born quite early. I was also given procardia right away, with the hopes of delaying my labor as long as possible. She brought in her laptop, with an amazing ultrasound feature, and showed us the baby right there. That’s when she said, “Okay, he is breeched. So if he comes tonight, you will be having a c-section.”
At my last doctor’s appointment, I had been told his head was down, so I was quite disappointed, if not shocked, to hear her announcement. I was willing to have a c-section, if the baby’s life and health depended on it, but it was definitely not my preference. Moments like that, though, are so crystal clear, you don’t even get to wonder what to do, you just know what God has willed is what is best. So while the thought of having a c-section always disturbed me previously, I didn’t even give it a second thought. I did wince a little though. I was given all sorts of paperwork to sign. I signed for the c-section.
The resident told us it was very likely that our baby would come in the early morning, but it would ideal if he could stay inside at least 24 hours or so in order to get the second steroid shot, which provided a chance to strengthen his lungs and prepare him to enter the world. We were hoping. . . We were praying. And the most beautiful part: we were trusting! I did not really feel anxious, although I deeply understood what this could mean for us, for our baby. But God gave me His unspeakable peace, passing all understanding. Thank you, Father!
The procardia began messing with me. I began struggling to focus on what the doctor was saying, feeling very dizzy, light-headed, like I was going to pass out. The resident said the initial dosage was intentionally high to try to get my body to stop labor. But they would back off on subsequent doses, she said, since apparently my body couldn’t handle that much procardia.
After an hour or so, they checked me again, and while my contractions were still strong and just as frequent, I was still only a 3. That was God answering our prayers.
Around 1 a.m., after about seven hours of strong contractions 2-3 minutes apart, my contractions finally slowed to 3-5 minutes apart. The procardia was working! The resident told Daniel, if he wanted to go home and get some sleep, he could, since it looked like I would not be delivering tonight. They told him to be ready to come back though, if we called him during the night. I breathed a sigh of relief. They moved me out of triage, into my own room, in labor and delivery. They said it was still possible that I was in labor, just much slower now because of the medication, so they wanted to monitor me for at least 24 hours.
Daniel left and I actually slept. I was used to contractions now, after several weeks of them. But I was abruptly awakened at 5:35 a.m. by a resident coming in to “check,” saying I was still a 3, and could go back to sleep. How do you go “back to sleep” after a pelvic exam?
I was a little annoyed with this resident when he told me that the reason I went into preterm labor was dehydration, because the two main causes of preterm labor are infection and dehydration, and the lab work showed that I didn’t have an infection. I respect medical professionals, and usually I’m on board. But, with all due respect, I wasn’t dehydrated. I had been drinking a gallon of water or more each day, and I intentionally drank almost a gallon of water before coming into the hospital last night, to rule out dehydration. I had preterm labor, for some other reason, a reason that we may never know. But it wasn’t dehydration.
I definitely missed the resident from last night, and unfortunately, I didn’t see her again. I received conflicting information from the nurses, the techs, the residents, the chief resident.
Someone told me I would be in the hospital until at least week 34. Someone else said I would go home later that night. I should have learned right away not to get my heart set on anything anyone told me, but I didn’t. Which caused Daniel and me both frustration as I reported back to him what I was hearing, so we could plan child care for Mara in a constantly dynamic scenario.
On Monday night, I received my second steroid shot to strengthen the baby’s lungs. What a huge answer to prayer, having made it 24 hours without delivering! Every single day is crucial in the development of preemies at this age.
As I continued taking the procardia, my contractions did space out again, more like 5 – 6 per hour. The resident was comfortable enough with that to send me to the Mom Unit. The Mom Unit is where you go when you’re not in active labor, but you’re close enough–or high risk enough–that it’s ill-advised to send you home. So I went, not knowing if I would be there overnight, or until week 34 or 36.
When Micah was first born, I got him a blue Carter onesie that says, “The Cutest.” Actually, I got two: one in newborn size, the other in 12 months. When he was born premature at 32 weeks, it seemed incredibly encouraging to think past the baby stage and to imagine him as a one-year-old little boy. I think buying a 12-month set of onesies gave me a sense of hope and confidence that there really was an end to all the preemie craziness
