A Perfect Ten

Tonight I go to bed reflecting about this same night ten years ago. (The scene fades away to the scene ten years ago....) Nathan was all of 18 months old and still hadn't slept through the night. I was very pregnant and trying to carry Nathan about while caring for Holly and Travis, who were six and eight, respectively. It was a Friday night and I had mowed, spending a lot of the time with Nathan on my lap. It was his favorite way to take a nap...on my lap on a mower or tractor. Please don't go into the safety issues. I was a pregnant woman desperate for this child to sleep. I took it how I could get it. If memory serves, I was on that mower for about three hours that day, riding in fields, up and down the road, just passing time so Nathan could sleep. I recall the Schwan's man coming and ordering a few things, while the kids played in the yard. The next thing I remember well was going to bed about 11:30 or 12, then waking up about 1:30 with Nathan crying. I tried to soothe him, walking, rocking, and laying on the sofa with him. I hadn't been up long when I felt a strong contraction.

The contractions weren't unusual, I had them with every pregnancy, and this one was no exception. As I wrestled Nathan, I noticed the contractions increasing in intensity. Finally, a bit after 2, Nathan dozed back off, and by then the contractions were coming with alarming frequency, especially given the baby wasn't due for a few weeks. The remedy that had worked the best had always been to take a shower. The warm water had always calmed me, body and spirit, enabling me to stop the contractions and get some much-needed sleep. After a few minutes in the shower, I realized they weren't going to stop. I had to get to the hospital.

My last two deliveries had gone rather quickly. Dialation from 4 cm to 10 cm had taken 15 minutes or less. Living 45 minutes from the hospital shed a new urgency on getting to the hospital. I dried off, threw on some clothes and grabbed a duffel bag. I hadn't packed for the hospital, thinking I had several weeks to come up with something. As I grabbed clothes and stuffed them into the bag, my husband, bleary eyed, asked what I was doing. When I told him I was going to the hospital, he woke up with a start. I explained the house was a mess, the other kids needed him here, and he should allow me to drive myself to the hospital. I had, after all, done it with Nathan (under somewhat different circumstances) and could do it again. Smart man that he is, he vetoed that plan in a hurry and called my dad. By that time, I was having trouble standing, the contractions were coming so fast and hard. Recognizing my typical signs of going through transition, he hurried me to the car and told me my dad was on the way, the kids were asleep and would be fine for the few minutes it would take my dad to arrive. We had to go. This baby is coming fast.

As soon as we were in motion, he called for an ambulance to meet us. We received instruction as to where to go for the rendezvous, where they hustled me into the white van and took off with my husband following. The ambulance EMT called the hospital and gave them updates while repeating to me, "Do that breathing stuff! I don't want to deliver this baby tonight! Do that breathing stuff!" By the time we reached the hospital, I could have delivered the baby many times over, but held off due to the insistence of the ambulance dude. I was checked by a nurse who promptly rolled me into the hospital to the maternity ward while barking instructions to people around and asking me questions faster than I could answer. Miss Annie was born about four minutes later at 4:03 am, with a cord around her neck and bruises everywhere. It had been a stressful delivery for her and it showed. They let me hold her, but I noticed that where my others had immediately turned a pretty pink color, her skin remained a purplish-blue. I knew something wasn't right. I looked at the nurse and said, "She is sick, isn't she?" The nurse, nodding, confirmed my suspicions and said they really needed to take her then. Little did I know it would be several days before I could hold that baby again.

Concerned about my baby, I was taken to my room, but not able to relax and rest much. Doctors came in and out, giving me updates as to her condition. My husband was gone, helping his folks put a roof on their house. It was a long day alone. Later in the evening, my husband brought the kids over and they were disappointed they couldn't see their new baby. They understood they needed to pray for her because she was really, really sick. Awhile after they left, at about 11:30, the doctor who had been by Annie's side all day came to my room. He explained that she wasn't doing well, and for her to have a chance to survive, they needed to air evac her to St. Louis, MO. They offered for a priest to come in, as she may not make it through the trip. I declined the offer, determined that losing this child wasn't an option, even though I knew it wasn't remotely in my control. I phoned my husband who headed over to the hospital to join me in what could have been the last few minutes we would spend with our child.

I was allowed to touch her one time before she left. My choice was to touch her silky black hair, because I had never had a baby with hair before. We took pictures, then as they loaded her to go, I went back to my room to pack and prepare for the journey. She left the hospital just before five, and we were out the door only minutes after. We drove while she flew to St. Louis, and I knew it would be the most exhausted I would ever be.

By Tuesday, they were giving her about a 50-50 chance. Her lungs were not developed, she had a hole in her lung, and this was just the most serious of her long list of conditions. They were going to try a procedure that they felt would make or break the situation. Either it would work and she would heal, or it wouldn't, and, well, she probably wouldn't make it. It was a terrifying 24 hours. Thankfully, the procedure was a success and she began to mend.

We spent eight days in this hospital in St. Louis in addition to the one day we spent in the hospital near our home. On Sunday, May 16, I brought home the newest little member of our family. Her first week at home included five baseball games. She has been on the go ever since.

My Annie. Ten years old. I just don't know how it happened. How very, very blessed I am.....