The Rest of the Story...

Today, Baby G is a month old. It hardly seems like it's been that long. In honor of her one-month birthday, I finally finished The Rest of the Story, continued from this.

First, you have to read the other side of the rest of the story: here and here.

I was three weeks shy of my 17th birthday when I almost died. It is an experience I will not soon forget, the harrowing panic that streamed through me is etched upon my soul forever.

I didn’t realize then that how the events of that day would profoundly affect my life – often in ways unknown to others. Always high-strung and anxious, I began having minor panic attacks. These attacks, which diminished in frequency, increased in intensity, as I grew older. I required more control over details of my life – any situation in which I felt out of control would produce sheer panic. Sometimes it would lead to migraines, hyperventilation and a complete meltdown.

It was then that my greatest fear manifested itself.

While we were dating, I confessed to Himself one night what my greatest fear in life was – a fear I had never vocalized. I was mortally terrified of childbirth, and the complete surrender of all control that I felt was requisite.

It was not something I dwelled on; preferring to bury it in the dark recesses of my mind, rather than stare it in the face. It grew dusty, covered in mental cobwebs, like a forgotten box in the back corner of an aged, dim attic.

It didn’t help that I had never heard one good labor and delivery story. I heard horror stories, mediocre stories and stories that either began or ended with, "I would do it differently next time,” or “I felt like I had no choice.”

When I found out we were going to have a baby, I had relatively few opinions on labor and delivery other than the fact that I didn’t want to go through it. I was forced to reach back in the dark corners and dust off my paralyzing fear – being in a situation in which I would seemingly have very little control. Over the course of my pregnancy through research, reading, speaking to friends and professionals, I began to slowly craft a vision of what I wanted Baby Girl's birth experience to be like. Still, it seemed I was probably crazy for doing so - no one I had spoken to had a birth experience that seemed to go the way they wanted it to. Nature, in all her capriciousness, seemed to dole out experiences at random. I continued to panic, fear gripping me in the sleepless hours of early morning.

After we moved to The Frontier, Heidi made an offer - to attend Baby Girl's birth, if I needed a shoulder to lean on. While closer to family than we were in Virginia, I was still far enough away to feel isolated. Through the course of my research and reading, I had determined that labor is best shared with a woman. It was at that point I took Heidi up on her offer.

As noted, I arrived at the hospital COMPLETELY overwhelmed and unprepared physically, emotionally and mentally for labor. My arrival wasn't at all how I had envisioned it, which is ridiculous because I was overdue. There wasn’t a single reason for me not to be ready to give birth.

I was a nightmare of a patient. I questioned everything. I asked hundreds of questions. I took agonizing minutes, in one case, hours, to make decisions. I paced the halls of the hospital in my backless nightie and fuzzy socks. I purposely avoided anything to do with Labor and Delivery during my excursion, afraid I would be apprehended, stuck with a needle and strapped down to a bed until Baby G arrived.

I steadfastly refused to be in bed. I paced, sat on, leaned over and draped myself on an exercise ball. I tried to run the hospital out of hot water in the shower. I held a running conversation with myself and anyone else present – hoping that the sound of my voice would drown out the pounding reality that I had arrived at the point most feared since that fateful day 12 years ago.

I don’t remember everything I babbled about – to Heidi, to my nurse, to Himself, after he returned to the hospital. What I do know, is that I felt a powerful sense of calm, a beautiful sense of clarity and peace.

Through all this, I managed to maintain the mental control I needed to stare down my greatest fear – my 20 questions about every drug, every procedure, every suggestion helped. Truly, I only made it because of two remarkable women and Himself: a miraculous nurse who approved of my feisty refusal to be conventional, a friend who that night became family and the man I shared my little girl and my heart with.

When it came time for Baby G to arrive, I was anxious to meet her. The first glimpse of her beautiful, blonde hair, made me want to work even harder to bring her into the world.

The moment she arrived will be engraved on my soul forever – just like the day 12 years before when I thought I had died. At that moment, time stood still, the world faded away and all I could see through my tears was Himself, his tears and a glimpse of our tiny little daughter.

But something was wrong. I didn’t realize then, like everyone else, that the cord had been wrapped around her neck. What I did know was that there was an airbag, there was no baby on my chest and she wasn’t crying. My tears of absolute joy and relief turned to tears of fear as I begged to know what was going on.

Repeatedly assured that she was all right, I refused to believe it, because the growing silence and efficiency of the hospital room pounded a message in my brain, “Not crying. Needs air. Not quite right.”

In the end, everything was fine, as I knew, deep down, it would be. The little girl with blond hair and enormous blue eyes that shown with remarkable intelligence, snuggled into my arms. Her daddy sported her footprint on his forearm and a subtle grin on his face. I had made it. We had made it. More than that, I had made it with memories I could take out and cherish once in awhile – memories that would brighten my day and replace the forgotten box in the dark corners of the attic. My greatest fear had become my greatest joy.

Our little family felt, for the moment, complete.