Which is harder?

 I found myself in tears tonight while doing the dishes.  This tends to happen every August as we inch closer to the 19th, Tessa's birthday.  My emotions run high at odd times during the day, usually while I'm alone in the car or alone in the house (which does not really happen these days 😩).  A friend once asked me which day is harder for me, Tessa's birthday or the anniversary of her death (August 22).  

Without a doubt, I find that I grieve the hardest every August 19th, on Tessa's birthday. 

Birthdays obviously are a celebration of life and yet that day is just a horrible reminder that she's not here with us.  The girls see Tessa's birthday as a celebration because birthdays, to them, equal happiness, cake, parties, gifts, and adding one to the previous age. Each year as they get older, I think they make a little more sense out of the situation.  We sometimes have cupcakes, we have released balloons for the last many years, but still for mom and dad it's a sad day.  

Another reason I always find Tessa's birthday tricky is because it generally falls on or around the first day of school.  When it's a staff development day, I find myself having to leave the room/staff meeting/training to let myself release the tears.  When it's the first day of school with students, I force myself to limit my grief to before and after school hours.  My people, my best friends, are all there with me at work and they give me the warm smiles and big hugs that I need, but I have to flip a switch when I'm with my brand new class of 3rd graders (or previously 4th graders).  This year, although the 19th is the day before school starts, I'll be greeting my new students in a car line to distribute materials as we start the year in distance learning.  I'll be genuinely excited and eager to meet them,  but then I'll retreat to the safety of my classroom to process the immense sorrow that I always feel on her birthday.  

Now August 22nd is complicated.  Some years I'm hit hard by the anniversary of Tessa's death and other years it feels just like any other day.  Honestly, I think I've blocked out a lot of the details of that day.  I remember being called in to the hospital early in the morning, Mike and I looking at each other with panic.  I remember later in the day meeting with a team of doctors who told us she had developed a pretty serious post-surgery infection.  I remember the decision we made with the team to transfer her to Stanford by ambulance (we joked that she must be super smart to be admitted to Stanford at such a young age), and then I remember the team telling us she likely would not make it through the ambulance ride.  I remembering looking at Mike, both of us knowing the decision that needed to be made.  I remember holding her as she was disconnected from all the tubes and supports, and I remember thinking, "How do I know when to stop holding her?"  After that, I really don't remember much.  I know a lot of things happened that day, but I can't recall them clearly.  Maybe it's because the details are kind of fuzzy in my brain that this day isn't usually a huge struggle for me.  I'm not sure.  

With my brain currently swirling with back-to-school thoughts, I felt the need to just get this out.  As I've said before, writing this stuff down is more for my sake than anyone else, but I'll share because I know that people have said they appreciate it and it helps them understand.  So please know that while the beginning of the school year is always exciting, happy, stressful, and busy, it's also my biggest time of sorrow, especially on August 19.  

Reliving the memories

Facebook memories reminds me every year around this time of the excitement and anticipation Mike and I were feeling as we waited for our first baby to arrive.  We had furnished and decorated the nursery (painted a very light green as we didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl), packed the hospital bag, unwrapped a stack of diapers, taken and posted bump pictures, unwrapped numerous shower gifts and written thank you notes, and I had prepared sub plans for my new class of 4th graders.

I had one strange test result (low estriol) from my 13 week NT ultrasound, and after some genetic counseling, we decided to follow up with amniocentesis.  The waiting period between the amnio and the results was a little stressful, but all our results came back normal and there was no explanation for my low estriol.  We assumed that whenever he or she was ready to arrive, a healthy baby would emerge.

Every time I look at these pictures pop up, I think, "Wow, you were just a young soon-to-be-mom with absolutely no idea what was about to hit you."

I look back on these Facebook messages and pictures and am slammed hard by the shock of all that unfolded between August 19 and August 22, 2011.  To be honest, it is still really hard to believe that our baby who seemed so healthy and perfect in her first moments of life would slip away from us mere days later. 

I still frequently find myself thinking of Tessa and trying to remember what it felt like to hold her. I still remember the pain and agony of those days in the hospital, wishing we could just take our baby home rather than have conversation after conversation with doctors and specialists, all of us searching for answers.  I still remember the devastation I felt when we first believed Tessa would need to stay in the NICU for about a month. I still remember feeling hopeful after meeting with the surgeon who successfully repaired a tear in her colon.  I still remember staring at my baby through her isolette and whispering, "I'm here, sweet girl.  You are so, so strong."  I still remember being jolted awake by the phone ringing the morning of August 22, 2011.  We scrambled to get to the hospital as quickly as we could.  It wasn't looking good.  I remember the room we sat in as the doctors explained Tessa's current condition and the new complication of a post-surgery infection.  And I remember what may be the most pivotal and heartbreaking moment of our lives, when Mike and I looked at each other after talking to the doctors. Our hearts shattered as we held Tessa for the last time.   

Tomorrow, Tessa would be turning eight years old.  She'd be going into 3rd grade, the grade I currently teach.  While I really try hard to not dwell on the "what ifs," I can't help but wonder what she would be like at this age.  

While I can't help but to relive the painful memories each August, I also feel really proud of what our family looks like eight years later.  I'm proud that we can talk about Tessa to her sisters.  I'm proud that we have friends and family who support us in keeping her memory alive.  I'm proud to have four beautiful daughters. 

Preparing Elise for August 19

Tonight while putting Elise to bed I told her that Tessa's birthday is in two days.  I wanted to help prepare her for our emotions on that day, but I also just told her because it's normal for us to prepare her for things a few days in advance.

Her first question was, "Will she be there?"  She looked confused as she asked this, as she knows Tessa has died.  I said, "No, she won't be here on her birthday because she died when she was just a baby."  We went over the details again.  She kept saying, "Can you tell me more about what happened?"  I told her pretty much everything . . . how mommy and daddy decided they wanted to have a baby, how she grew big in my belly, how we didn't know if it was going to be a boy or girl, how she arrived on August 19, how happy we were that it was a girl, how we named her Tessa Bunny (which got some giggles), and how she started to get sick because a part of her brain didn't grow, how Tessa rode in an ambulance to a different hospital where they could take better care of her, and then that she died.

I explained to Elise that on Tessa's birthday, mommy and daddy might be sad because we miss Tessa so much and we wish she could be with us on her birthday (and every day).  I started to cry while explaining this to her and she got out from under her covers and enveloped me in her arms.  For a while we just sat there holding each other in this hug, and neither of us said a word.  It's a moment I will never forget.

Then I reminded Elise that her middle name is Tessa so she can always have a little piece of her sister with her.  We made a plan to look at pictures and talk more about Tessa on the 19th.   These conversations are becoming so special to me and each time we talk, I become less scared to broach these kinds of topics with Elise.

"I miss her."

About a month ago Elise and I were laying in her bed at night and she was playing with her stuffed animals (one of them she calls Daddy . . . he's a panda).  She said something about "Daddy (panda) had a brother who died."  I have no idea where she came up with this or why she said it, but I responded with, "Did you know you have a big sister, Tessa, who died?"

Elise just looked at me very thoughtfully and asked why she died.  I thought for a split second about what to say and then I decided the most truthful answer would be best.  "Tessa had a part of her brain that didn't grow and that made it very hard for her to stay alive.  You and Rosie have big, healthy brains."  She was quiet for a few moments.  Here's how the rest of the conversation went:

"I miss her.  I want her to come and live in this house with me and Rosie," Elise said. (These were her EXACT words.  I start a steady stream of tears at this point.  I mean, seriously?  Could there be any more loving response than this?)

"I miss her too.  But we can remember her by looking at pictures of her."

"I know!  We have a picture of her in Rosie's room."

I asked Elise if she would like a picture of Tessa in her room and she said, "Yes."  We talked about it a little bit longer, although I don't remember exactly what was said, and then it was over.

It turned out to be simple and so much less scary than I thought.  Of course, it stirred up all sorts of emotions for me.  I held it together fairly well until I got downstairs and told Mike about the conversation.  We both had a good cry and I felt a huge wave of relief.  It's like I had been holding this conversation inside for so long, worrying about what to say, when to say it, how Elise would respond, how I would respond.  And it just happened.  Naturally and perfectly.  Exhale.

Thanks to Joel and Jenn Corcoran for this picture

Fear of the Questions

A few weeks ago I went to dinner with a friend.  She told me that she was talking to her daughters about the new baby that is joining our Walton family when she decided to remind her daughters that Elise already has a big sister, Tessa, who is in heaven.  She was really proud of herself for bringing it up to her girls because it just isn't easy to bring up or talk about.  I was so appreciative that she told me this and that she's talking about Tessa to her girls, when it would be much easier to say nothing.  It got me thinking, though.

I've written a little bit before about talking to Elise about her big sister, Tessa, and I've always felt like I was doing a good job.  Elise and I used to sing a song every night to Tessa.  We would look at her picture in Elise's room (next to pictures of her cousins) and talk about it.  If I asked Elise who her sister is, she would say "Tessie" but I know she didn't really understand.

For many reasons, talking about Tessa to Elise has become harder for me.  First, Elise moved into a "big girl room" and the pictures of her cousins and Tessa are still in the baby room.  But that's really not the main reason it's gotten harder.  Now that Elise is extremely verbal and is questioning everything (yes, we are in the "why?" stage), I'm a bit fearful of talking to her about Tessa.  I'm worried about the questions she might ask.  I'm just not sure how to respond to any of them.  I'm worried that she WILL understand what happened or that it will somehow cause her fear.

If Elise were to ask, "Where is she?" . . .  I'd like to respond, "She's in heaven" . . . but it feels a little wrong to say that and not know if I fully believe it or not.   I'd love to think there's a heaven out there and that's where Tessa is, but I also didn't grow up with that kind of faith.

If Elise were to ask, "Why is she in heaven?" . . .  I don't even know how to start with that one.  Talking death with a toddler is not my idea of fun, and I don't know how to boil down the medical reasons Tessa died into toddler language.

I can think of so many other questions that might pop up, big and small, and they all scare me to different degrees.  I've never been good at "on-the-spot" thinking, so I know this is something I need to think more about and research.   I know of some good resources to turn to, but I wanted to write about it because it's been on my mind a lot lately.  For now, I've set a small goal for myself: to move the pictures of Tessa and the cousins into Elise's new room.  Baby steps . . .

Thank You #2

After Tessa died, we had many questions about what happens to her body.  It was not something we were prepared to deal with and I definitely was not in the right emotional state to start making arrangements.  We spoke with a social worker from Kaiser about different options (burial, cremation, memorial service, mass, etc.).  We knew there would probably be some people who expected us to have some sort of service, but it really didn't feel right to us at the time.  We ended up deciding to have Tessa cremated, but I had no idea how to go about that.

Fortunately my sister, Lexy, graciously volunteered to make all the phone calls and investigate how to get the cremation process started.  In her research, she found a man named John O'Connor, a local funeral director for 50 years.  Lexy told him about our situation and he said he would take care of the cremation free of charge.  Mike and I met with him that week and were overwhelmed by his kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. O'Connor,
Exactly four years ago, our sweet daughter Tessa passed away.  She had lived only three days and my husband and I were torn apart with grief.  My sister spoke with you about our wishes to cremate our daughter and you told her you would take care of it, free of charge.

I wanted to sincerely thank you for such an enormous gesture of kindness.  When my husband and I met with you to fill out paperwork, you told us, "No parent should ever have to go through losing a child."  You approached the difficult conversation about cremation with such care and sensitivity. Then, you took care of everything for us, like picking her body up from Oakland after the autopsy, taking her to be cremated, making sure we gave you a blanket for her to be wrapped in, and then bringing her remains back to us.  You made us feel comfortable with the whole process.

We are so lucky to have met you and I can't thank you enough for taking care of us and for taking such good care of Tessa.  Your generosity and kindness will never be forgotten.

Sincerely,
Georgia Walton

Thank You #1

At the writing retreat I attended in January, one of the assignments we had was to write a letter to someone.  It could be something we intended to send to the recipient or a letter that would remain totally private.  I didn't even have to think twice about who I would write to.  Since Tessa's death, I've thought a lot about the people we came in contact with over the three days of her life.  For some reason, I often find myself thinking of the man and woman who transported me via ambulance from Kaiser Redwood City to Kaiser Santa Clara so I could join Tessa (who had been transported earlier in the day) during her stay in the NICU.  I've wanted to thank them for so long (you'll see why in the letter), but I always put it off.

One day I mustered up some motivation to start investigating.  I couldn't remember the names of the ambulance folks, so I e-mailed my doctor and asked if there was any way she could find out their names by looking back at my medical records.  Now, I can't even begin to tell you how often my medical team goes above and beyond for me (like taking time out of their busy days to investigate a request like this), but I told her why I wanted to know and she got right on it!  The next day, she e-mailed me their last names and the name of the company they work for.  Incredible!  I haven't officially tracked them down (who knows, they may not still work for the ambulance company), but I fully intend to get this thank you letter to them.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear DB and JH, 

You met me once, a couple of years ago, on August 20, 2011.  I had just given birth to my first baby the day before.  You had a simple job . . . to transfer me onto a gurney at Kaiser Redwood City, load me into the back of an ambulance, drive me to Kaiser Santa Clara, and leave me with the lovely folks in the Mothers and Babies unit.  You ended up doing so much more than just your job.

You made me laugh during one of the scariest days of my life.  You told me about how you two had just become partners and how you got along so well from the start.  You teased one another, which made me relax and giggle along with you.  When we arrived at the hospital in Santa Clara, you didn't have the faintest idea where to take me.  You rolled me around the quiet hospital wings.  It was deserted (I remember it was a Sunday), and we were clearly in the wrong place.  It turned into a funny game and our laughter echoed through the empty patient waiting room areas.  We tried one hallway, only to reach a dead end and have to turn around.  You must have been rolling me around on that silly gurney for a good 15 minutes before we found the Mothers and Babies Unit.  

I can't explain why I think of the two of you so often.  I think it's because it was the only time I laughed that day and in many days and weeks to come.  I've always wanted to say thank you to you.  You gave me two amazing gifts that day: you gave me laughter and you delivered me to be with my daughter, Tessa, before she died two days later.   These two simple gifts made such a big difference to me. 

I am forever grateful.

Sincerely,

Georgia Walton

A Thankful Heart

It's so hard for me to believe that Tessa would be four years old today.  Last night Mike and I were talking about imagining her as a four year old and how hard it is to think about all the things she would be doing.  It's painful to think about those things so we don't spend too much mental energy going there.  Instead, as her birthday approaches each year, I spend a lot of time thinking about our days with her, rereading cards and e-mails from our friends and family, looking at her picture, and letting out healthy doses of tears.

No doubt, 2011 was the most challenging year of my life.  The transition from joy to heartache and grief was so dramatic and sudden that it's hard for me to wrap my head around those three short days.  There were moments where everything seemed perfect (like right after she was born), moments that seemed like the worst thing in the world (like when we were told Tessa might have to be in the NICU for a few days), and moments that absolutely were the worst in the world (like when we decided to let her go and when we had to share this heartbreaking news with our families and friends).  There will never be a day that goes by where I don't think of sweet Tessa.  She has forever changed me as a person and as a mom.

A few days ago, I saw this sign at a farm/restaurant in Baja . . .

It's a slightly modified version of the original quote, "A thankful heart is not only the greatest virtue, but the parent of all other virtues."  ~Cicero

I stayed up late the night I saw this thinking about everything I have to be thankful for, but it also helped me to remember some of the incredible people who supported us during our stay in the hospital and beyond.  I've decided that I'd like to honor the three days Tessa lived by writing thank you notes.  Just three for now, one for each day until the 22nd of August (the anniversary of Tessa's death).  I'll share two of the three with you and with the people I am writing about (something I have intended to do for so long).  The third one is for Mike, because really there is no one that I am more thankful for.  That letter will be just for him because events like this touch and change a relationship so deeply that it just feels too personal to share.

My heart is wounded and imperfect, but also so much bigger and more thankful just by having the privilege of being Tessa's mom.   Happy birthday to our beautiful and strong daughter.

How to Support a Grieving Parent

Recently the circle of people I know who have experienced the loss of a child has grown wider.  It's never easy to know what to do or say to friends or family after the death of a child, but here are some things that were helpful to me***:

***Disclaimer: I am not a grief expert, I just know what I found to be comforting and helpful from my own personal experience.

-Reach out to the family right away.  Send that e-mail, write that letter, make the phone call (and leave a message if no one answers, because they probably won't).  There's a huge void when your child dies and when people don't say anything, that void feels even bigger.  I remember feeling so lonely in the weeks after Tessa died.  I didn't hear from so many people I expected to hear from and I wondered why.  Deep down I knew they didn't know what to say, but it hurt more that they said nothing.

-It's okay to not know what to say.  It can be awkward and uncomfortable to talk to someone who has lost a baby, but PLEASE work up some courage, even if it's just to say, "I'm so sorry for your loss and I'm thinking of you and your family."

-For me it was helpful to hear stories of hope (ex. "I got pregnant again within a year after our loss.").  Mike and I knew we wanted to be pregnant again soon, so I held on to these stories to keep myself positive about the future.  I know not everyone will feel ready to even think to the future right away, so this tip totally depends on the person and how well you know him/her.  Some people aren't ready to hear about your experiences with loss, but we were (if the outcome was eventually positive).

-Related to the last one, DO NOT tell your story of loss right away if it is does not have a positive outcome.  I remember someone telling me of their own (several) miscarriages and losses.  While I now see that this was an attempt to connect and relate, it not only scared me about the future, it also made me feel like I didn't have the right to grieve my one loss when someone had experienced "more."

-Say/write the baby's name.  If you don't know the baby's name, please ask.  I shouldn't even have to add this part, although it did happen: Don't comment negatively about the baby's name.  Seriously, a parent made fun of Tessa's middle name (Bunny) to my face.  So. Not. Cool.  

-Don't tell them it's better this way.  It's just not.

-Tell them when you think of the baby.  There are several people in my life who still send me little e-mails or texts when they think of Tessa and it means the world to me.  Yes, it's been several years now since she died.  Yes, it still means so much to me.  Why?  Because I'm still thinking about her too.  Every day.  Thank you for remembering her (and for letting me know so we can remember her together).

-Make a freezer-friendly meal and bring it by.  Bonus points for putting it in a disposable container so they don't have to remember to give it back to you.  Meal delivery gift certificates or organizing a calendar for meal deliveries are also nice gestures.

-Put the baby's birthday and date of death on your calendar.  Send a card or e-mail on those anniversaries.   These days will always be hard.  Yes, even years later.  Same thing applies for Mother's Day and Father's Day.  My first Mother's Day without Tessa was incredibly painful, but my friends and family were there with flowers, hugs, cards, and most importantly the acknowledgement that I was a mom.

-Don't ask what they need.  Just think of something helpful and do it!  Some people will tell you what they need, but I was never willing to ask for help, nor did I really know what help I needed.  Ideas: help with gardening, dishes, laundry, funeral/cremation arrangements.  A few of the most helpful things for me: My sister offered to call several places to ask about cremation costs and procedures and my mom volunteered to draft an obituary.  I was in no state of mind to handle these things on my own.

Every parent's grieves differently so please don't take these tips as universal.  I am so incredibly thankful for the support Mike and I received right away and still to this day.  

Spark Writing Retreat

This weekend, my friend and I went down to Ojai for the Spark Women's Writing Retreat hosted by Kelle Hampton, Claire Bidwell Smith, and Annie Flavin.  I chose to go for two main reasons:   One, I knew I had some writing about Tessa's birth and death that I needed to get out, but I don't ever devote time to it.  Two, I wanted to start writing more in order to remember more.  I always get teased for my terrible memory, but it's true . . . I can't remember really important things in my life, not just from my childhood, but from today.  I suppose I should get this checked out by my doctor, but for now, I am going to try to write more so I don't lose out on some incredible memories.

The retreat was incredible.  I walked into the house extremely nervous, but I could quickly tell that everyone who attended had something in common . . . we were all there to share and to write.  The women I met this weekend are remarkable.  There were lots of amazing stories — big stories and little stories, sad stories and happy stories, stories of fear and hope.  So many incredible stories.

Claire, Kelle, and Annie led us in some writing exercises during our workshop time.  This time was so valuable to me, as I'm not an experienced writer.  I was actually shocked at some of the writing that flowed from my pen onto the pages in my notebook:

• A present tense account of Tessa's birth, before I knew anything bad was coming, that made the experience so much more joyful than writing it in the past tense, which is all I had done before.  I forced myself to go back to the moments leading up to her birth and write as I remember things happening, the moments of sheer joy, anticipation, and nerves.   It's a HAPPY story in the present tense.

• A letter to Ambulance Driver and Ambulance Driver's Partner, who drove me from one hospital to the other when Tessa was transferred to the NICU.  I've thought of them often because I simply remember laughing my guts out in the back of that ambulance.  Laughter did not come back into my life for many weeks, maybe even months, but those two showed me a good time during my darkest days.  I intend to track them down and deliver my written thanks. 

• Writing about the ordinary . . . this is for my memory and this is what I hope to do more often.  I wrote a simple account about giving Elise a bath these days.  She does some pretty hilarious things in the bath that I want to remember in the future.  

• Writing short!  This is Annie Flavin's area of expertise and I found her workshops to be so very helpful.  The truth is, I really don't have a ton of time to write, but what I learned is that I don't have to write much.  Even one short paragraph or poem every so often is enough.  I wish I had time to write more, and I know there are things I spend time on that I could give up, but the reminder that writing doesn't have to be long was a good one!  (The only reason I have time to write this LONG post is because I'm home sick.)

Here's one of the short pieces of writing I did this weekend . . .

In the quiet of the evening
before your sister falls into a deep slumber,
we sit in the rocking chair and look up
at your brave, angelic face
and we say your name.
You watch over us.
To show you our love,
we sing to you . . .
silly songs, lullabies to wish you a good night.
May our voices, our smiles, our warm snuggles
our eskimo kisses, our love
reach across the dark, starry night
to connect with you.
Good night.

Tessa's birth ~ August 19, 2011

Friday, August 19, 2011
(All quotations are from Mike's written notes of the night's events)

Around 12:30 AM I woke up a a team of nurses rushing in.  Immediately, there was an oxygen mask on my face.  Apparently I had a "double contraction" (one contraction right after another with no break) and the "baby no like" (Mike's notes).  They kept the mask on me for while and monitored the baby until all was back to normal.

2:20 AM  "Water broke Woohoo!!!"

2:45 AM I was given Fentanyl.  Mike's notes: "Mini-Drunkness flowing through body"  At this point, the contractions were really painful.

Around 4:00 AM I started to become desperate and I asked for an epidural.  The anesthesiologist was not available at the moment, but they said he would come shortly.  Around 5:00 I was BEGGING for him to get there.  This was the only time I was really pissed off.  Don't make a lady wait for an epidural!

5:15 AM "Epidural Dan.  Much better Ahhhh"

At 5:35 AM the doctors examined me.  I was "7cm !!!!!!! 90% effaced.  Baby still high."

6:00 AM "Sleepy time!"

Mike also wrote here, "Your cervix is like butter."  Hmmm.  I don't remember this, but weird.

7:45 AM "Mucus plug out."

8:00 AM  "Check, 10 cm, head down"

At 8:57 AM I was given the go ahead to start pushing.  Honestly, my epidural was SO strong, I couldn't even feel anything.  I was in no pain and I had to ask to make sure I was actually pushing. 

About fifteen minutes later, at 9:13 AM, our sweet BABY GIRL arrived. 

Tessa's birth ~ August 18, 2011

Thursday, August 18, 2011
On August 18, two years ago, I went in to my OB/Gyn for an appointment at 9:30 AM.  My due date was 8/12/11, so they wanted to do a check up to see how things were coming along (or not, I guess).  The appointment was quick, because we saw on an ultrasound that my amniotic fluid level was low.  My doctor asked if we were ready to be induced.  We said okay (with some excitement and hesitation), and were off to the Labor and Delivery floor!

As we were entering our labor and delivery room, Mike and I noticed a picture of a bunny outside the door.  We didn't know the sex of our baby, but one of the girl middle names we had been talking about was Bunny, in honor of Mike's grandma.  We took note and thought that maybe it was a sign we would be having a girl.  :)

We got checked in to a room by the most awful nurse EVER who not only was coughing and blowing her nose and then not washing her hands, but who told me that she doesn't normally get to work with patients . . . she's normally at the nurses station doing paperwork.  How very comforting (NOT!). Mike and I exchanged panicked looks with each other.   She then attempted to put in my IV, but missed the vein multiple times.  OUCH!  In hindsight, I should have asked for a different nurse, but we rolled with it and counted the minutes until her shift was over.  Side note: Every other nurse we dealt with was beyond amazing.

I got my first dose of Misoprostol/Cytotec to start the induction.  By 11:30 AM, I was having very minor and erratic contractions.  After my second dose at 3:35 PM, I almost immediately had a super painful contraction.  Then there was lots and lots of waiting.  My mom and sister came to hang out and, at some point, Mike and I watched the movie 27 Dresses.  One of the main characters is named Tess . . . another sign?  We knew if we had a girl, we were going to name her Tessa after my great grandma.

Around 9:00 PM, I decided to take a shower.  Mike's notes about this day (I have such a bad memory that I asked him to write down everything that happened) say, "Love, love, love."  I don't remember much from my labor, but I must have LOVED this shower.  :) 

At 10:30 PM they started me on Pitocin and apparently (again, according to Mike's notes) I "got a donut."  I think it was one of those donut pillows that are more comfortable for sitting on.

At 11:00 PM Mike wrote, "Morphine in the ass — Amazeballz"  No joke. 

Around 11:30 PM, we got a new nurse and then it was time to sleep. 

Elise's Birth Story

I've been meaning to write down the details of Elise's birth for a while now.  We have told the story so many times and each time it gets my heart racing.  While this all happened nearly two months ago, the details, the fear, the joy, and the pain are all still right there in my mind. 

On Friday, January 11, I decided to try out a new cookie recipe.  Mike was at Kaiser getting an MRI done on his knee, so I happily puttered around in the kitchen, tasting the delicious iced molasses cookies (inspired by a local bakery) as they came out of the oven.

Around 8 PM, somewhere in the middle of baking, I started having contractions.  Mike got home shortly after and then took NyQuil because he wasn't feeling well.  I had experienced 27 hours of contractions a couple days before, but the timing of them had been very irregular and they weren't very painful.  I started to time the new contractions and noticed they were irregular too.  Sometimes there would be 20 minutes between them, then 15, then 40.

I kept timing them on my phone, but I figured these were "rehearsal" contractions like the ones I had a few days earlier.  The only difference was that they started to get really painful.  Each one was lasting a minute to a minute and a half and as the night went on, I started to really notice the pain.  When I felt a contraction coming, I had to stop everything I was doing and focus on breathing.  I would lean on the bed, get down on the floor, brace myself against the wall, etc.  I was practicing all the techniques they teach you in the childbirth prep classes.  But the contractions were still really far apart (up to 59 minutes!).  So Mike and I went to bed (he passed out pretty quickly from the NyQuil).  I slept a little bit, but woke up as each contraction started, hopped out of bed to try to find a comfortable position, then hopped back into bed to try and sleep.

(Side note: Although Kaiser Redwood City is much closer to where we live, our geneticist and OB/Gyn decided we should have this baby at Kaiser Santa Clara so some additional tests after birth could be done.  Also, Santa Clara has a high level NICU, in case we experienced any complications.  Basically, knowing what we went through with Tessa, they wanted to make sure we had the highest level of care available should the need arise.)

Around 4 AM the contractions were extremely painful (but still so random) so I called Kaiser Santa Clara's Labor and Delivery line and asked if I should come in.  They said I should wait until the contractions were 5-7 minutes apart for an hour.  I told them I was in a lot of pain and asked if they had any advice.  The woman said to try to take a shower, so I hopped in the shower and gave Mike, who was still in bed, my phone so he could time my contractions for me. 

I got in the shower around 4:20 and immediately started up with contractions again.  I would yell out, "START!" and Mike would start the timer.  Then when it had subsided I'd yell, "STOP!"  Well pretty much from the start of the shower, the contractions became extremely close together, basically a minute and thirty seconds to two minutes apart.  I was yelling "START" and "STOP" with barely any pause in between.  After about four really close together contractions, I decided it was time to get out of the shower and call Kaiser again . . . this was getting serious!  We had skipped the 5-7 minute apart thingy!

I dialed up the Labor and Delivery department, but just as someone answered the phone, I felt another contraction coming on.  I threw the phone at Mike who explained to the woman that his wife was having really painful contractions that were now just a minute and a half to two minutes apart.  Meanwhile I was on all fours on the floor, writhing in pain, and being very vocal about it.  :)  The woman on the phone asked Mike if that was his wife she was hearing in the background.  He replied, "Yes," and the woman said that it sounded like I was in active labor (ya think?) and that we should definitely come in now.  She also asked if I had the urge to push (I did not) and if we thought we could make it to Santa Clara in time (we said yes).

After hanging up the phone, Mike and I scrambled to get everything ready.  I threw on whatever clothes were closest (turned out to be yoga pants, a t-shirt, and flip flops).  We grabbed the already packed hospital bag, the camera, our phones and chargers.  Mike even fed the cats and his class pet, a guinea pig named Applesauce that he chose to take care of that weekend (what awesome timing).  The contractions at this point were almost unbearably painful but I knew we'd be at the hospital soon.  As we were heading out the door, Mike stopped and said, "Should I go refill the cats' water bowl?"  I screamed at him, "Are you crazy?!  The cats have water!  We need to go NOW!"  So we hopped in the car and immediately upon sitting down, my water broke.

As soon as this happened I had the urge to push, and when you have the urge to push, you really can't NOT push.  So we pulled out of the driveway as my anxiety level and pain increased.  Since it was 4 AM on a cool morning, Mike's car windows were completely fogged up.  As he started to drive I started to scream, "Can you even see?  Do you even know where you're going?  How can you see?  This is NOT the time to get into an accident!"  Mike assured me that he could see fine and we continued on.  We still planned on heading to Santa Clara, but at this point we started toying with the idea of going to Redwood City instead.  As we got close to 101, I instructed Mike to go "North! North!  To Redwood City!"

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes!  I don't think I can make it to Santa Clara!"

I sat there in the passenger seat trying pretty unsuccessfully not to push while Mike picked up speed.  He later told me he was driving upwards of 95 miles per hour.  He also very calmly narrated the whole drive, trying to keep me as sane as possible.  "We're one exit away, we're getting closer and closer.  We're almost to Woodside Road" and so on.  Then we caught up to a car going pretty slow in the exit lane.  In reality, I'm sure this car was going the speed limit or higher, but we were in a hurry.  I told Mike it was okay, he could stay behind them.  He apparently didn't feel that was acceptable, so he veered across multiple lanes (I suppose there were a couple other cars), sped up, and then cut in front of the car.  As we exited on Woodside Road, I told Mike we had to go to the emergency room because it was 4:45 in the morning and told him how to get there.  We got stopped at two red lights, which panicked me briefly, but they changed to green quickly because it was so early in the morning.

Mike pulled the car up right outside the emergency room door, got out, and ran in to get some help.  He told the person at the registration window that his wife was in the car about to have a baby.  Mike came back out followed by a woman with a wheelchair who upon seeing me writhing in pain decided a wheelchair wasn't going to cut it.  She quickly went back inside, fetched two emergency room workers, and they came out to the car to help get me inside to a gurney.  I don't remember much from this except that they helped me walk inside, I immediately laid down on the gurney, and they wheeled me into the elevator to go to the second floor where Labor and Delivery is located.  I also remember the Emergency Room being strangely empty and quiet (which is incredibly fortunate!).  I only recall seeing two people sitting in the corner of the waiting room. Mike did not go up with me because he went back to the car to lock it and get our hospital bag. 

Upon arriving up at the second floor at 4:50 AM, they wheeled me into a delivery room, transferred me to the hospital bed, undressed me, and assembled a team of nurses and a midwife.  Redwood City had NOT been expecting us, so they asked if I was a Kaiser member and I somehow managed to spit out my membership number.  They tried to get a blood pressure band around my arm, but I was shaking so hard that they gave up pretty quickly.  A minute or two later, Mike arrived in the room.  An emergency room employee came to get Mike's keys so she could move his car forward so it wasn't blocking the ER entrance.  Kaiser goes above and beyond!   Thank goodness they didn't ask him to move his car to the parking lot or I'm sure he would have missed the birth.

The next eleven minutes are mostly a blur.  I do, however, remember saying two things:

1) I turned to Mike and said, "My mom is going to KILL me!"  I thought this because she wanted us to call when we were on our way to the hospital.  Obviously there was no time to do that, so I was sure she would be pissed when Mike called and said we had the baby!  Of course when he did actually call to explain the situation she was not pissed at all.  :)

2) I said to one of the nurses, "Is it too late for an epidural?"  I was pretty sure of the answer to that question, but the nurse confirmed.  She looked at me and said, "Honey, you're having this baby in minutes." 

As the team of nurses and the midwife were getting everything ready, they were trying to have me not push.  They wanted a pediatrician to be present for a couple reasons.  First, because we arrived so far in the process, they wanted a doctor there to check on the baby because she had not been monitored at all.  Normally they would have been watching her heart rate for hours.  Second, there was meconium in my amniotic fluid so they wanted to make sure the baby's airway wasn't blocked by having swallowed any of it.  So they tried to get me to slow down the whole process by asking me not to push, but really I couldn't control it.  I tried breathing in and out very quickly as they instructed me to, but it was no use.  The pediatrician was not there yet and I was ready to have this baby!  The midwife decided the process could not be delayed any longer so she told me I could push.  Then she asked Mike to help by holding one of my legs up (a nurse had the other one).  As soon as Mike held my leg, everything was easy.  Baby decided to make her appearance very quickly.  5:01 AM.  Eleven minutes after we got to the hospital.

The midwife immediately unwrapped the umbilical cord from the baby's neck, cut the cord, and she was whisked away by two other nurses.  Mike then looked at me, holding my hand, and said, "We have a baby! We have a baby!  You're done.  We have our baby girl."  He then shifted his focus to the baby as the nurses checked her lungs by patting on her chest and took her vitals.  The midwife, meanwhile, took care of me, but I started shaking pretty violently and got incredibly thirsty.  Mike fed me ice chips and one of the nurses brought in warm blankets to cover me up.  I'm pretty sure my body was in shock.  It seriously felt like a movie!

After a few minutes and making sure the baby was okay, the nurses brought her over for me to hold.  I just remember staring at her beautiful little face, her absolutely perfect little mouth.  One of the nurses asked if she had a name yet and Mike told them it was Elise.  Due to a "spontaneous birth" (that's what the Kaiser paperwork called it), they let us stay in the delivery room longer than usual to monitor the baby and give me time to recover.  This gave us some quality time to bond with and hold Elise.  Once the nurses were sure there were no immediate signs of trouble (they were now aware of our situation with Tessa), we were moved to a recovery room.

That day, Elise was showered with love from her mommy and daddy and twenty-one visitors!   Mike and I held and snuggled our baby girl a lot that day.  I remember thinking, after even just a couple of hours, how different this experience felt compared to Tessa's birth and the hours afterward. A different experience was really what I had hoped for and I sure got it!

Seven weeks have passed and I still look back on Elise's birth almost every day.  I remember how scared I was, thinking I could possibly deliver my baby in the car . . . we later joked that had this happened, we would have named her Honda.  I remember how amazing those first couple days in the hospital were . . . how sweet it felt to hold our baby, how relieved we were when all of her test results came back normal, how amazing I felt and how easy my recovery was.  I was also so happy that we ended up at Redwood City where I was familiar with the doctors and nurses, where we could be closer to our families, and where the level of care is incredible!

It was a dream of a birth!  A scary dream in some ways and an amazing dream in every way.  Finally, we have our baby girl!   :) 

Elise Tessa Walton

January 12, 2013

5:01 AM

7 pounds, 3 ounces

19 inches