My COVID-19 Experience

  Because I've had to mention a few times that I'm quarantined for a bit, and I keep getting questions, I wanted to update everyone on what we've been going through this last week.

  On Friday the 13th (yes) I woke up tired but I hadn't been sleeping well the whole week. I went to physical therapy as scheduled, and was just way more fatigued than I had been for a long time. I was struggling so much that my therapist stopped me about halfway through to check my blood pressure and heart rate, which were fine. I chalked it up to lack of sleep and exercise that week.
  That afternoon I slowly kept turning the temperature in the house up warmer and warmer. Around dinner time I finally asked the kids if they were cold too. Sam looked at me like I was nuts. Crap. I had a fever. So did Milo and Caleb (who had been miserable all day). The next day, Caleb and I were still fevered, congested and tired. Milo ran a fever off and on too. Sunday was the same. But my fever got up to 101. Body aches, headache, chills, some congestion, a little bit of a dry cough, but I kept getting more and more short of breath. For several nights I couldn't sleep because I was just so uncomfortable. Monday the 16th it was so bad that I got winded just moving laundry from the washer to the dryer. I knew I needed to see someone.
  By the time David got home from work, I had to go to an urgent care facility. I chose CareNow because they've treated our kids really well, including catching pneumonia in Milo when all we could tell was he was running a fever some years ago. So I put on my N95 mask to try to keep from sharing germs, and went to CareNow. When I was finally seen by the doctor, he was not at all concerned with coronavirus concerns and he ordered X-rays, flu and strep swabs for me. When he came back he said everything looked "great" and so he was very concerned about a pulmonary embolism. "Any time I see someone struggling to breathe like you are, without any clear reasons why, I think you should go to the ER to make sure you don't have a blood clot." I called David. Since it had started slow and gotten worse over four days I didn't think it was really likely, but having a family history of clots it unfortunately wasn't something we thought we could blow off.
  I did what any rational person would do. I went home and changed into comfy clothes, helped David put the kids to bed, grabbed my phone charger and headphones, and went to Medical City of McKinney's ER. That's where the Twilight Zone began.

  At Medical City, nurses in masks greeted me. They asked me if I had recently traveled to China, New York, Los Angeles, Seattle (no), or if I had recently been in contact with someone who had been confirmed positive for COVID-19 (no). Then they put a bracelet on me that I later learned meant I wasn't a risk for COVID. I gave them the rundown, all my symptoms, my shortness of breath, the fact that the urgent care doc wanted me screened for a PE (pulmonary embolism). The nurses and doctor seemed as skeptical of that concern as I was - or more. The ER doctor was a very sweet man who had helped my dad last year, so I felt immediately thankful. I was eventually roomed and the nurse - Katrina - came in and started prepping me for flu and strep swabs - again - and bloodwork. She was so sweet kept me talking and totally kept me from worrying while she was in there. Then the RN came in and he did the swabs and asked me why I was there, so I went through it all again. He almost laughed at me, like my fever climbing to 101 at one point wasn't a high enough fever to be in there. But I was in because I couldn't breathe. I told him my chest felt so tight it almost hurt, and I just couldn't catch my breath and it had just been getting worse. Another X-ray and more waiting. I had still been wearing my mask, but the nurse told me I could take it off.

  When the results came back in, the doctor told me "the X-ray looked fine, the labs all look great, no sign of a clot, no flu, no strep, no pneumonia!" So he gave me a steroid prescription and sent me home. I asked at least three times for a COVID test, but he said I didn't fit the CDC's parameters. I had all the symptoms, but because I hadn't traveled or been around a known positive case, they wouldn't test me. I asked how I could know I had been around someone who was + when no one is being tested, and he said he was doing all he could with the guidelines he had to date.

  Tuesday night, it was so bad that I couldn't get out more than about 4 words at a time without taking a breath. I couldn't walk, couldn't get the kids dinner without panting. I tried calling the CDC to see if there was anywhere I could get a COVID-19 test in our area. Almost two hours of holding, and no one ever answered. I called my PCP but they said I needed to go back to the ER. I called our County Health Department and asked them if I could get a test anywhere. They said I couldn't get one anywhere without a doctor's order. They told me to "treat it like a cold" and "isolate yourself in your room." I tried to tell them (while crying and struggling to breathe) what I was going through and that I needed a test. I told them I was extra concerned because we needed to know if my husband, who interacts with hundreds of people daily, needed to be quarantined. No dice. I called Parkland, who had opened their testing up that day, but they said it was only for existing patients or employees.
  Wednesday (the 18th) morning, I tried to take a shower and couldn't even stand up, the shortness of breath was so bad. So David took a sick day and they dropped me off at Baylor's ER. The entire front of the hospital was roped off, directing everyone to the Emergency Room entrance. Outside, nurses asked me if I had recently had a fever, cough, shortness of breath. I said yes, all of it. They told me to walk to the left. I followed a newly constructed covered path to the side of the ER. A large white tent was constructed, but empty. I waited to be triaged. Within thirty minutes, my temperature was taken, blood pressure measured, strep swab taken, and a flu swab that I'm pretty sure went into my brain. I tried using my phone to update people, but the charge nurse said we all needed to have our phones turned off and put away. I asked why and was told it was for "contamination concerns." Because by entering that area, we were potentially around others who had COVID-19 and could spread it onto our phones. Thirty minutes later I was finally escorted inside to the decontamination room where I was told to wait. There were ten other people sitting and standing around the room.

  Immediately upon entering, it was obvious tensions were high. Some people had been in that room (the size of our kitchen) for five hours. At one point there would be 13 of us in this room. I had overheard a nurse saying it was a 2-4 hour wait, but assumed this wait would occur in an ER bed. Not so, it soon became apparent. Someone asked why I was there, and as I struggled to talk between breaths, someone else said, "Oh, sweetie, save your breath. It's ok. We get it." Some time in the next hour, they got their X-ray machine up and running and began giving everyone chest X-rays. About an hour after that, people slowly started being called out of the room. Around hour 4 for me I started really struggling to breathe again. This triggered what I now believe was a panic attack (my first). Breathing became even more difficult, I started crying (which did not help the breathing situation), I started to worry that I would not get a breathing treatment at all, that I would just be sent home again. I knocked on the door and told the nurse standing outside that I really couldn't breathe. My hands went numb, I started sobbing, my feet started going numb. She took my vitals, and everything looked ok. I started getting asked to go back in the room, even though they were "sorry it was a little small." To be clear, it was not claustrophobia that got to me. It was the fear or not being able to breathe. The very kind nurse that was near the door I think called the doctor who promised me a steroid and breathing treatment were coming. I tried to tell him that it wasn't the size of the room that he, too, was apologizing for that was my problem. I had been there for four hours with breathing problems and hadn't been treated. I was scared and tired and I could overhear them saying things like, "Well, clinically she looks fine, so let's get her back in the room and then send her home." It was sitting in the decontamination room for hours on end, with no food, no water, no blanket (I was freezing and was told they weren't allowed "because of the virus"), watching others slowly trickle out while I tried to breathe and relieve my bad back by shifting in the chair for the 300th time. The doctor told me my X-ray looked great, no flu or strep (still), and no clear signs that I had COVID-19. "It's probably viral bronchitis," he told me, "though COVID can't really be ruled out until you get your test results."
  I was finally given a strong steroid (the Baylor doc couldn't believe the Medical City doc had prescribed me such a low dose before and discharged me without any breathing aid), and an albuterol inhaler. They waited thirty minutes and I felt a little relief from the meds, so they told me to go home. I now have to be under a 14-day self-quarantine because I had potentially been around positive cases and there was a chance I could have picked it up in there if I didn't already have it.

  Thursday (the 19th) I felt the same. Tightness in chest, couldn't talk or move without panting. Friday, I woke up feeling better. I also finally got a call from Baylor saying that my COVID test was negative! Praise! (Admittedly, I'm still skeptical of these results. I haven't gotten really sick in over 8 years. No medicines needed for anything except pain. So I'm still suspicious.) I asked the nurse on the phone if he could tell me if I had been in the room with any confirmed positive cases, but because I only knew first names, he couldn't. "I can tell you," he said, "That for every 100 tests, we're only seeing one to three actually show positive." Initially that number seems small - until you think about how many hundreds of people are around you. I also have wondered how many positive cases were not given tests for days before the guidelines changed, how many were told to go home without being told to self-quarantine.

  I write all of this not to create sympathy for me, not to stir up anger at the healthcare system (which could use your prayers especially now), not to create more fear - we have quite enough of that.
  I wanted to share my experience in the hopes that you will understand why it is so important to stay home right now. Believe me when I say you do not want to have to go to the hospital right now. Stay home and take your vitamin C and D. Spend time praying and reading and cleaning. Work on projects you've been meaning to tackle for months or years. Take walks. Redeem the time; it's easy to do. But please, if you're able, stay home. Whether you agree or disagree with the stats and the virus' strength, stay home when you're not working. (Plus there's just still a lot of flu and strep going around! Avoid catching that!) Staying home is an easy way we can show love for our neighbors right now - who may be or have family and/or friends who are vulnerable to complications from this illness. Stay home. Keep your health. Avoid having to go to the hospital, because it can be a traumatic experience right now. I felt nothing but sympathy for the nurses and doctors who were doing the very best they could with an unfathomably chaotic situation, in which the guidelines were changing day by day. Stay home so we can slow the spread and the healthcare workers can go home to their families safely and rest. Staying home should keep you from catching anything, taking some of the burden off of our healthcare system right now. Please. I'm begging you. Stay home. Not being able to breathe is one of the scariest things I've gone through - trumped only by my child not being able to breathe and my child losing consciousness in my arms from a concussion. And because I wasn't critical, it took five hours for me to receive treatment at the ER.

  Please. Stay home. It's hard, and it's lonely, yes. I'm one week in and I can vouch for that! But if it helps someone else (avoid getting sick, or just free up the medical resources not being used on you because you're home and healthy), isn't it worth it?

The Birth of Preston Robert

*As always, this is a complete birth story. If you don't want all the gory details, STOP reading*

  Preston's pregnancy was hard from pretty much the first moment. Finding out the week of Christmas that we were pregnant again was so fun and exciting, but within two weeks I was puking my guts up every morning. I'd lie in bed, praying not to vomit, wait to hear Milo start crying and then get him out of the crib, then rub back to my room, throw him on the bed, and heave until sometimes I cried over the toilet, praying all the while that Milo wouldn't roll off the bed. Sometimes Sam would stand over me, asking why I was "gagging."
  After three acupuncture treatments, the nausea was gone! (Hallelujah, I wish I'd done this with my other pregnancies.) And then my tailbone went out. Around 16 weeks. So walking became incredibly difficult.

  The real kicker, however, came at week 28, when I started having real contractions, can't-talk-through-them, early labor contractions. I went in for my weekly appointment and told my midwife, Kathleen, what I was experiencing and - God bless her - she told her apprentice to take me seriously because I "knew what I was doing." I was given a fetal fibronectin test (which tells you if there's a protein that is released within two weeks of giving birth) and sent for a sonogram. The test was negative and the sono showed everything looked normal. But I was officially put on bed rest, two hours of rest and one hour of light activity until 37 weeks.
  The following weekend I was light on help and ended up overdoing it. I knew I needed total bed rest. I was having contractions every time I stood up, and often just when I was sitting. I can't tell you how physically difficult this was with a 2-year-old and a 1-year-old, and I cannot begin to describe the emotional toll this took on me. You feel like you're failing your older children, and yet you know that the new life depends on your rest. Every week was a milestone. Every week felt like we could breathe that much easier as we got closer and closer to week 37.

  So we finally reached 36 weeks and I was able to start relaxing some. We could go to the birthing center if labor started, with the chance of being transferred if the baby had any complications. Week 37 found me getting antsy. When would we get to meet this little booger? I thought that as soon as I went off of bed rest this baby would come! Week 38 found me upset. This baby was supposed to just fall out when I stood up! It was so low in my pelvis, so engaged (at something beyond a 0 station, if you know your labor lingo), that we couldn't figure out how this baby was still in me! How was I not dilating?! But my cervix remained stubborn, doing its job too well now. And we wanted to meet our baby desperately now! We wanted to know: Boy or girl?!
  Sometime in the week or two before our due date (Friday, August 28th) the contractions became so strong and consistent that I called Kathleen, sure that we were really in labor. We stopped by the birthing center and still nothing. No real dilation. A centimeter. Nothing to write home about. Definitely not enough to get a baby out.

  Sunday, August 23rd rolled around and around 4:30am I woke up with strong cramps. Not contractions, but cramps. Is this it? I waited a bit and nothing happened, so I rolled over (like a beached whale) and slept again. At 7:00, I woke up with contractions ten minutes apart. This was it. The big day. I knew. I texted my mom and dad, at church. They finished up there, picked up donuts, and came over around 11:00. I had been applying Clary Sage oil for the past few days to my reflex points for starting labor and actually had applied several drops several times a day directly on my cervix (DON'T do this without your provider's consent). I now kicked it up, even though the smell made me just about toss my cookies every time. (Extreme side note: Did you know if you're extremely attracted or averse to a particular essential oil the belief is that you need it especially?) David, my Dad and I decided to go for a walk with the boys. I pushed Milo in the stroller. A contraction would hit and I would squat, then we'd walk. We passed two neighbors who both asked, "So when are you going to have that baby?" I smiled and responded, "Today!" Then a contraction hit - both times - and so I squatted and breathed through it. "Oh, you mean you're really in labor?!" The looks on their faces were priceless. We did two laps around our block and got the contractions to 8 minutes apart. We walked back in the house just minutes before a surprise rainstorm that lasted about twenty minutes and cooled everything down after it at least ten degrees. It was glorious. So around 2:00 we went for another walk. More contractions. More squatting. Two laps. 6 minutes apart.
  When we got back home I decided to try to nap. I was able to doze a little bit off and on through the contractions for about an hour and a half. When we got up, around 5:00, they were 5 minutes apart. Progress, but so slow. This was my third baby, whom my body had been attempting to evict for ten weeks. Where was the mercy? Where was the eviction? Where was the fairness??
  I would eat a little, drink a little, move around, bounce on my yoga ball, lean over the yoga ball, squat, stand, sway....No progress. So at 8:00(pm) we went for another walk. More squatting, more neighbors, more awesome reactions. After just one lap, the contractions were at 2-3 minutes apart! Time to call Kathleen! Kathleen said she would wrap up some things and head our way. Then I told David to call Natalie, our dear, sweet photographer-friend.

  Natalie arrived around 9:00 I think.We were just about to put Sam and Milo to bed. I was laboring alternately sitting on the couch and crouching on the ground, hugging a yoga ball. The contractions were strong now, and I was experiencing the dreaded, typical-for-me-and-my-difficult-babies back labor. Mom and Daddy and David and Natalie talked quietly, while the tv played softly in the background. It was a very relaxed and peaceful way to labor, really. I was surrounded by the people I love all talking quietly to each other, mostly listening, sometimes drifting off to that place only a mother in labor can visit, of concentration and breathing and pain and waiting.
  Kathleen arrived around 10:30pm, while I was in the middle of a contraction on the couch. I didn't look up until I was done, and she asked if I could move to the bedroom so she could check me. I happily obliged - or at least, as happily as a woman in labor for fifteen hours can. She laid down a Chucks pad for me to lie on, and waited while another strong contraction hit. David leaned his fists into my low back as firmly as he could, while Kathleen chatted about getting lost on the way to us because Google Maps can't ever find our correct address. I tuned in when she said, "..Sometimes we have to call this 'false labor'. I'm sure you'll have that baby soon, but it may not be just yet."
  Now, to be fair, I have "false" or prodromal labor for weeks and weeks. It's not like we hadn't gone through the Is Emily really in labor game over and over and over in the past three years. And I wasn't able to be verbal enough at the time to explain, Oh, no. What I'm feeling is 100% REAL labor.
  But soon enough the contraction abated and she checked me and found out for herself. (Around 11:00) "Well you're only at 3cms, but your cervix is like rubber! If you're ok with it, I think I can stretch you to complete." Do whatever you have to.
  Ouch.
  She then had me sit on the potty to make sure it "stuck" and stayed dilated. We had also discussed the use of antibiotics, since I tested positive for Group B Strep this pregnancy. We had talked extensively with Kathleen, prayed about it, researched it, discussed it with others, and David and I had decided that unless my membranes ruptured early, we would decline antibiotics. Kathleen asked me again what I wanted to do, and I reiterated that no, thank you, we felt more comfortable not using the medicine. Instead we did half of a Hebicleanse with some Thieves oil in it. And then there I sat, alone for several minutes, getting hit by one hard contraction after another, waiting and waiting, feeling like labor would never end, feeling cheated because another baby wouldn't just slide right out of me. After fifteen or twenty minutes, I told Kathleen I was very sorry, and I didn't want to undo anything, but I was just so tired, could I please just lie down now? She assured me that nothing would be undone at this point, and it was perfectly fine to lie down.

  The rest becomes a slight blur. The contractions seemed back to back. The back labor was awful. At some point, Panaway oil and heat pads were applied, along with David's fists, and it helped significantly with the pain. Every so often, Kathleen would say softly to me, "It's ok. You're only at 8cms, but if you need to push, you just push. I'm right here. It's ok." It was like a lifeline.
  Then, suddenly, and just like Milo, the baby spun on its head, and I felt something snap! inside me, and then a gush. "I think my water just broke!" And then, OH! The next contraction! I don't know if it was the baby hitting a nerve just like Milo had, or if it was its position, or just the pain of the contraction with my waters now broken, but oh my gosh. I started vomiting, violently. Over and over and over I heaved, while wave upon wave of pain hit me. David shoved his fists into my back as I sobbed in pain and frustration, and Kathleen held a bowl to my mouth. I kept vomiting and crying and contracting, till I thought it would never end. Even Kathleen commented that she didn't know how I still had anything left in me to expel. I know she said things softly to me, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what they were.
  Somewhere in the midst of that, I felt the urge to push, and began bearing down. David later told me he didn't even know I was that close to the end until Kathleen said she could see the head. In about ten pushes, at 12:13am, he was out, all hot and bumpy and wet, and all boy! 8lbs 4ozs, 21" long - exactly the same as Sammy + an ounce! And what I had heard was true: Waiting to find out the gender, in that moment, "even though" it was another boy, was very exciting. And it was a very sweet and peaceful moment, with just David, Kathleen, my parents and Natalie there. Beautiful.

  I sat back, exhausted, shaking, and declared him "August Robert Franklin", with a side-eye to David. Confused? Well, as most probably don't remember now, we had decided on the baby's first and middle names for a girl, but we could not agree on a middle name for a boy. David really liked August for the first name, and I conceded (even though I thought a baby named August, born in August was pretty hokey), but we could not agree on a middle name! He really wanted Jude and I really wanted Robert, after my Daddy and several other important family members. The only thing we had agreed upon was that if the baby somehow came on August 14th, he would be named Preston Robert. David's best friend Preston Gleason had been killed in an accident on August 14th, 2007, and I loved the idea of the serendipity of it all. But the 14th came and went, and no baby. So when the baby finally came, I decided I'll just say his name, and then that's that!August Robert. But about as we both sat there, looking at him, some 20 minutes passed, and David said, "Do you like Preston Robert better?" And so August Preston Robert he is.

  It was about 14 hours of prodromal labor and 1 hour of crazy hard, fast, labor. It turned out our decision to decline the antibiotics for GBS was a good one, since they would not have had time to be effective really anyway. Instead, Kathleen had us not bathe him and keep the vernix on for at least 24 hours. (If you'd like to read more about that, you can here.)
  And while I had waffled back and forth on waking the bigger boys to watch the birth, I'm thankful that we didn't, since it was a little...much. Instead, they got to wake up and it was so much better than Christmas. The love that opened in Sam's eyes that morning was exquisite. And just like that, Those Fantastic Franklins became a family of five.

8lbs 4ozs! No wonder I could hardly walk! 

Anointing his head with frankincense oil

The Birth of Milo Bennett: Part III

  I had promised myself I would do whatever it took, whatever I was told to do, to get this baby out of me. So when I was told to sit on the corner of my bed, I did it. After a little bit of laboring like that, though, I started to feel....not great. I finally had to tell the midwives I felt like I was going to pass out. Lisa noticed my legs were "white as sheets" and I was told to lie down. It helped.

  When I tried to sit back up, after I finally recovered, we ran into a problem: every time I sat up, I would start to faint. When I couldn't sit on the edge of the bed anymore, couldn't sit on the bed at all, they suggested I try to sit on the toilet. While I had been so horrified of the prospect of having Sam on a toilet, I was willing to do it this time, if it meant ending my labor. But once I was sitting there, and the first contraction hit, I had to have David help me lie down on the ground, immediately. I almost blacked out sitting there. This would be one of two setbacks that would almost defeat me mentally. I had been so determined to follow advice, so sure I could do whatever it took this time to make the baby come faster. It was a tremendous blow. Lying there, on the cool tile floor, I was defeated. 

  When I was able, David helped me back to the bed, under my midwives' watchful eyes, where I had to remain lying down for a while. After a bit more labor, Kathleen asked me if I thought I could labor up on my knees, on the bed, propped up with pillows. I didn't think I could, but I was still hell-bent on doing whatever it took to get Milo out. It was difficult, but with pillows stacked just so and David helping to support me, it wasn't impossible. 

  

  In all of this time, Kathleen had asked me several times if I wanted my water broken. I kept declining, knowing that breaking my water meant I lost a precious cushion that helped me to feel "less pain." She asked me again, though, while I was propped up on my knees, and I finally desperately asked her, "Will it make it hurt more?" Kathleen answered that she honestly didn't think I could feel more pain at this time. 

  I conceded. 

  I braced myself, she reached up, and pop. Relief. "Oh, that feels good." For a sweet, blessed moment, that offered me such a glorious reprieve from the pain. 

  And then Milo turned again. Please, come out, little boy. Deep breaths. This pain will end. Moaning. David stroking my arm. Kathleen behind me. This pain will end. 

  

  Kathleen decided she should try to turn Milo's head. I conceded. Pain. So much pain. Please, stop spinning, little boy. Come out. Kathleen's hand still inside me. She gave me options for something, I couldn't focus on what, asked me what I wanted. "Whatever gets your hand out of me." I can do this. Deep breaths. Next contraction. He turned again. 

  Milo spun with nearly every single contraction. Kathleen told me when it was nearly done that I kept going from 9cms to 7cms, and then 9, 7, 9, 7, with every turn. She would rotate him, the next contraction would hurt less, he would turn again. Over and over. 

  At some point I couldn't labor like that anymore, and I had to lie back down. It was better and worse. So frustrated that I couldn't move freely, the advice I give every other mama. Move around, do what you need to to progress your labor. Trapped in my bed, again. 

  And then Milo did something very weird. Kathleen would later tell me that they thought he did a complete turn on his head, and hit a nerve in me. I immediately started vomiting, violently. This was almost my undoing. This was the other item on my self-made Labor Agenda: Eat and drink. I had done such a poor job of eating and drinking with Sam's labor, had thrown up three times (once in early labor, in transition, and right before pushing), that I had been so set on making sure I was hydrated and had food in my belly this time. I'd had two pieces of toast right before Kathleen had arrived, had been drinking water, Vitamin Water, even a Coke when I started to faint to help perk me up. And just like that, it was all gone. "This is good," Kathleen kept chanting. "This is good. This will help the baby descend. This is good. You're doing good, girl." I wanted to cry, but it would require too much effort.

  I didn't have much time to focus on that, though, as Kathleen put the doppler to my belly and searched...and searched...and searched for his heartbeat. After a minute, she finally found it and told me very quietly, calmly and seriously, that the baby was in fetal distress. I needed to be rolled onto my right side and given oxygen, now. 

  I laid there, as the next contraction rolled over me, trying to breathe deeply for the baby. I knew I should be afraid, but I honestly just didn't have the strength. Everything I had left was dealing with the pain. Please be ok. Please, stop spinning. Please, let this end. 

  After a few minutes (1? 5? 10? I have no idea), everything was okay again. Kathleen checked me, and I was finally ready to push. Sam was brought in by my Mom. In what I feel like was about 10 pushes, he was finally out! Just like that - all of that work, all of that pain, all of that effort - and my precious baby boy was delivered into this world. Milo was born at 3:13pm, 7lbs 12ozs, sunny side up and with his fingers in his mouth, and immediately placed on my chest, warm, wet and crying. Ten and a half hours of hard labor for the happiest little boy I have ever known. 

  Milo was the perfect addition for our beautiful family. He instantly quieted down, nursed like a champ, and looked, wide-eyed, at his new world. We snuggled together, he and I, skin to skin, for an hour. Then he was cleaned up, weighed, measured, examined, and we were both given a bath and then dressed. 

  While Kathleen was cleaning up, I believe after our bath, Kathleen asked me if I wanted to see the placenta. This struck me as a very odd question; she hadn't asked that when I had Sam, so I said no. Why? "I didn't tell you," she asked me. No.. 

  I had a velamentous cord insertion. She explained that this meant that instead of the cord attaching in the middle of the placenta, like it's supposed to, the umbilical cord attaches and implants on the side of the placenta. This meant that at any given moment, Milo could have kicked his cord loose and bled out - and we'd have never known until it was too late. We could have lost him with a kick. She told me that any time they have babies born with this, they call them "miracle babies." I did research on it on my own, later, and learned that when these are detected they are made to have the babies in a hospital, and if the cord is lying over the cervix, the babies are always taken by C-section at 36 weeks, because they will die in labor. And again God told us your babies are a gift. Never take them for granted. 

  We thought we were losing Milo at 7 weeks pregnant. We thought we were losing Milo at 12 weeks. And we could have lost our precious, very active in my womb, little boy at any moment in the pregnancy. We could have lost him in delivery. Milo Bennett. Our little soldier, my little trooper. Our second precious gift from God. 

Big brother meets little brother for the first time

Me and my amazing midwife, Kathleen 

The Birth of Milo Bennett: Part II

  Kathleen arrived around midnight, and let me go through a couple of contractions while she unpacked her equipment. She monitored Milo's heart rate, which was great, and then checked me during a break. I was dilated to 3cms, but still had a little lip and my cervix was still hard, too hard for her to even try to force me open any more. She drew a bath for me and had me labor in the bathtub for a half hour to an hour, hoping I might dilate more while relaxed in the tub. While the temperature of the bath was nice, not being able to move around during contractions was not my favorite. I got out of the tub, she let me have a few more contractions and checked me again....No progress. By this time it was around 2am. Kathleen said I had a couple options: she could give me an injection with a strong herbal pain killer to help me sleep for a while or I could take some phenergan to help me sleep. While taking anything wasn't ideal - I had gone the entire pregnancy without taking anything but three other phenergans - I had been through all of this before, and the thought of being awake for hours before "real" labor kicked in was totally unappealing. And at this point the back labor was in full force, and I knew that when it really kicked into gear I would be needing all the rest I could get. I had phenergan but, of course, couldn't find it at the time, so we ended up opting for the injection of wolf's...something. I know I should remember what it was, but I was already in enough pain to not remember well.
  So I got the shot and laid down. I wasn't convinced that it would work, but it was the best chance I had at sleep. Contractions sucked at this point, but were still manageable. Kathleen packed back up her equipment and gave me the now well-known "call me if your contractions get stronger, if your water breaks" or if I hit 4cms. She had been convinced the whole pregnancy that once I hit 4cms, that baby would basically come shooting out. (See: Sam's birth story for explanation.) She left and at 3am David and I closed our eyes and fell asleep.

  Two and a half hours later I was woken from a dead sleep to wide awake with a crazy contraction. This was the real thing. When it abated, I woke David and told him it was definitely Go Time. We waited through one more contraction to be sure, I got up and peed and checked myself. 3.5cms. Progress. I need progress. David called my parents and told them it was time to come and Mom and Dad Franklin were put on high alert. Sam woke around 6:30 and found Daddy cleaning the kitchen and Mommy on all fours draped over a yoga ball. My folks arrived around 8am and found me sitting on the yoga ball bouncing and swaying between contractions, trying to get that little sucker's head all the way down and out. I checked myself again. 3.5cms. I need progress. Please.
  It was decided a walk was in order. David, my dad, Sam and I went for a walk around the apartment complex. With each contraction, now coming about 3 minutes apart steadily, I would squat down, and David would push his fists into my lower back to help the pain. I would take a deep breath, moan softly through the pain, and then take another deep breath to signal to David that the contraction was over. He, or my dad, would help me up and we would walk for another couple minutes. We paused after a while at the tiny playground so that I could rest on the bench. I was able to soak up a very sweet moment: Sammy running around with his Daddy and Papa, climbing steps and going down the slide. These were the last hours of my firstborn being my only baby. It was precious to see and be in that moment.
  We walked some more, squatted some more, sat some more. After a while - an hour? Five? - we went back inside, where I promptly draped myself over the yoga ball again for a couple contractions.
  I think it's very important to mention at this point that Milo was spinning on his head this whole time. I mean this whole time. Spinning on his head. Hence the back labor. The crazy intense back labor at this point. Spinning.
  Contractions were intense, gaining speed and strength, and I took a deep breath and checked myself again. 4cms! Hallelujah, praise the Lord! Time to call Kathleen. I told her it was time to come, that the contractions were stronger, longer, and I was finally really dilating. She asked if I was sure. I was actually exaggerating slightly the amount of pain I was in, willing it to be the truth, willing myself to be in transition even though I wasn't wanting to cry yet. She said she was on her way, and we hung up. And then, oh, then! The willing worked. Labor kicked in. Transition hit me, immediately. Like a freight train.
  All of a sudden, I had to lie down and just breathe, just breathe through the contractions. I moaned to let David know when to shove his fists as hard as he could into my low back because, oh! the pain was intense. I told David to call Natalie, our dear sweet friend who was going to photograph the birth. Time to call the Franklins.

  Kathleen arrived around 11:00, and everyone else shortly after (I'm told). Sam was having a good time being the center of everyone not in my room's attention, eating donuts, and watching Curious George (I'm told). Kathleen checked me and agreed that I was, indeed, finally at 4cms, and we should be having our baby soon. Natalie arrived and my mom tried to convince me to put back on the nightgown I'd been wearing because she was "sure I would want it for pictures." I calmly told her that no, I had specifically chosen the very pretty sports bra I was wearing to be decent for pictures, Natalie and I had discussed angles, and I really, really didn't want to put my nightgown back on. (Oh, the things that stick out in labor.)
  Kathleen watched my progress for a while. Her assistant, Lisa, arrived. Time became a very fluid and fuzzy concept for me. I sat on one corner of the bed, legs apart, hips open, as encouraged by Lisa. I focused on each contraction, on breathing through it, on staying loose, on visualizing my cervix opening like a blossom (something we had been coached to do with Sam and something I completely forgot in the sprint that was Sam's transition). I moaned. I prayed. I tuned in and out of conversation around me. I remember at one point something being joked about between my mom and Kathleen, and one of them said that maybe they shouldn't be talking like that around me. I replied that it was fine, I was tuning them out. Worship music played softly. Bless the Lord, Oh my soul. Oils diffused near me. I reminded myself, over and over, that I would not repeat my mistakes with Sam's labor. I would do whatever the midwives told me to do to progress this labor. You're Beautiful. Daylight streaming in. Milo spinning on his head. Waiting. Please, sweet boy, come out.

The Birth of Milo Bennett: Part I

  It's hard to know where to start in telling the birth story of our little Milo. I guess a good place to start is the beginning.

  At 7 weeks pregnant - just three weeks after we had found out we were expecting our little solider - I began experiencing severe pain around my right ovary. I waited a few hours, and as the pain increased, David and I became increasingly concerned. I finally contacted our midwife, Kathleen, and she recommended going to the ER. I was terrified that this was an ectopic pregnancy and we would never get to meet our little Peanut.

  After a couple of hours of waiting, testing, and a sonogram, we were told I had a subchorionic hematoma (a blood clot in the uterus that is usually not life-threatening for mother or baby) and that I needed to be restricted in activity or I could become worse and lose the baby. We were so relieved. And then I was so frustrated. We had planned on waiting five more weeks to announce to the general public that we were expecting again, with something cute and clever. Instead, we announced right away, wanting, needing the prayer coverage and physical support (which was overwhelming). We had to convert Sam's crib to a toddler bed at 10 months old (he did great). I had to ask for help cleaning and with meals and lifting Sam (we had amazing friends and family who selflessly and immediately came to our aid). I couldn't go to the grocery store on my own with Sam (felt like the end of the world to me, but believe it or not, I lived).

  Then, at 12 weeks, I experienced more cramping and spotting - something I had never had in Sam's pregnancy. Again I talked to Kathleen, and I was referred for an emergency sono. The baby was fine, and it was determined I had just been overdoing it. (That was the week before Sam's first birthday, when he contracted strep throat, which turned into Scarlet Fever. I had been holding him a lot.)

  At 21 weeks – so for literally half of my pregnancy – the false labor started. (In case you’re new to our story, I have very severe Endometriosis – so severe, we were warned we might never have children of our own – and I experienced false labor from week 25 with my first pregnancy. Because it was my first pregnancy, we were constantly concerned, stressed, anxious, terrified that we were going to have a pre-term baby. Because of my Endo, we think my uterus is just way more irritable than most.) Thankfully, having been through that with Sam, we weren't worried this time. In fact, contrary to Sam's pregnancy, I barely even monitored my contractions. I just dealt with them and tried to listen to when my body was telling me I was doing too much.

  Around 36 weeks, just as with Sam’s pregnancy, the contractions started to pick up in frequency and intensity. I figured I should probably start keeping track of them now. While they were getting stronger day by day, they weren’t quite at “real” labor yet. I knew Milo would come any day, though, and every day, David would ask me, “Is he coming today? Or am I going to work?” Every day, it was the same answer: “I don’t know. He could come today. But he’s not coming right now. Go to work, I guess.” I began to dread the time of day when David would go to work, because I hated being asked. Every day it was the same: They were stronger, more frequent, I was more frustrated and exhausted by my body. I lived for my weekly checkups, wanting, hoping, praying for progress.

  I had Kathleen check me at week 37. I was dilated 1cm, and about 80% effaced. Kathleen agreed to let me start taking an herbal labor prep supplement at 38 weeks if Milo was “somehow” still in there. At 38 weeks, Tuesday, April 8^th, I started taking the labor prep. I was dying to get the child out of me. I had tried everything short of castor oil. I ate a whole pineapple (and got nothing but mouth ulcers); I walked – a lot – and got more contractions, even some back pain, but no labor; I did squats, I ate spicy food…You name it, I tried it. I was ready, David was ready, but Milo wasn’t.

  On Wednesday, I started to feel even stronger contractions. I saw Kathleen in the morning, had her check me again. I was dilated to almost 2cms now, and around 90% effaced. Milo was in an ideal position for labor, but as the little toot spun on his head all day long, every day, I didn’t see how that was relevant. She was sure that Milo would come before my next week’s appointment.  David was at work, and I suddenly realized at 8pm that I didn’t have any diapers for a newborn. I panicked. My baby could be born tonight, and his butt won’t have anything to cover it!! (Oh, the crazy thoughts of a pregnant lady.) So Sam and I made a trek to Target by ourselves, very tired, very pregnant, and very much suffering through “real” contractions. Every few minutes I would have to stop pushing the cart, bend over and lean against it, focusing on my breathing. We made it home, eventually, both of us exhausted, and…nothing happened. No baby.

  Thursday, I decided to rest. I resolved to take it easy, stay off my feet as much as possible, let the stubborn little boy come when he was ready. (Novel idea, no?) The contractions were still coming hard and heavy, but experience told me that this was still not the real thing.

  Friday, with the contractions coming stronger and more frequently still, I decided to go ahead and go to Target again and stock up on food around 1pm, since I didn’t think this little boy would be baking much longer. I could barely make it through the store. Again, I went with Sam, while David was at work, but, OH, the contractions! I was stopping, squatting in the middle of aisles, inhaling and exhaling, making moans and grunts I think, as I was finally experiencing back labor, about every two minutes. A contraction would hit, I would drop into a squat, clinging to the cart handle for support and balance, it would pass, I would struggle back to my feet and waddle a few more yards before the next one hit. I was finally in very early labor. It was by far the most miserable shopping experience I have ever had. Would you be shopping for 12-packs of soda in this condition? I was. (Oh, the crazy actions of a pregnant lady.)

  After about an hour, we checked out and went home. David got off work at QuikTrip around that time, came home between jobs; he was scheduled to work at Pizza Hut from 5pm-10pm.  Again, the question: Do I go to work tonight? I didn’t know. I could tell we were so close to real labor, but I didn’t know the answer for him. So he went to Pizza Hut. Around 7:00 I texted him that the contractions were getting stronger. At 8:00 I called him and told him to come home. It was still early labor, but it was definitely labor and it was too much for me on my own with Sam. Some time between 8:30 and 9:00, he got home. He bathed Sam and put him in (unmatching) pajamas (which would bug me to no end), and we decided to put him down for the night. Nothing was happening in the immediate future, and we knew it would best for him to have as much rest as possible. I really wanted him in the room when Milo was born, David was more of the “if he’s awake, he’s awake, if he’s asleep, let him sleep” mentality.

  By now, we definitely knew this was the real thing, so David started tidying the apartment and I sat on my yoga ball and bounced, trying to progress without exerting too much precious energy. It was déjà vu “all over again.” I was texting Kathleen and keeping her updated. There was no regularity to the contractions, just like the last time, they would come two minutes, then five minutes, then one and a half minutes apart, and last anywhere from a minute to three minutes. The back labor was increasing in intensity, and (with Kathleen’s permission) I checked myself and discovered I was at 3cms now. At around 11:00 we decided that Kathleen should come. She had said so many times that she was pretty sure that once I hit 4cms, the baby would come very quickly, so nobody wanted to repeat what had happened last time and get down to the wire, so to speak.

On Being Pregnant a Second Time or: This Crazy Hormonal Roller Coaster Ride

  There have been a lot of emotions surrounding this second pregnancy lately. Being full of Third Trimester Hormones doesn't help anyone, of course. But there's been a lot of anticipation and anxiety.
  On good days, I am thrilled that we are having another baby, and do not take it for granted. I am anxious to meet our sweet little boy, who seems anxious to meet me, if his kicks and shoves are any indication. I am thankful that our two sweet boys will be so close together. David and I are both the oldest siblings in our families, and both of us have 5 years between us and the next sibling. Having a brother or sister so close is a strange and wonderful concept for us.
  On good days, I have so peacefully rested in the knowledge that God's timing is perfect. Milo will come when he's ready, our house will be completed when it's supposed to be, and we no longer are waiting for David's promotion (praise God!). I am soaking up the time we have left with our precious first-born, the sweet giggles and his God-given snuggles. I thank God for our wonderful life and cannot believe how richly and undeservedly blessed we are.

  On bad days, however, it's harder to focus on those things. On the bad days, I shed tears over the time I feel that we're stealing away from Sam. I am terrified that he will not receive the love and attention that he needs or wants. I am filled with fear that Milo will be a harder baby than Sam was, that he won't sleep, that I won't eat or ever sleep again.
  On bad days, I am anxious about when Milo will come and when our house will be completed. Will Milo or the house come first? I am short of breath, completely lacking in energy, and knowing that I have to pack our entire apartment in the next 6 weeks is overwhelming. I am exhausted by this child inside me, who will not be still, who pushes on me so hard that I have cried out - frequently. I am bitter that our insurance isn't paying for our birth plan, that David has to work a second job to pay for our second child, and that he will probably still be working five nights a week when I have a newborn and a toddler. Five nights. In a row. By myself. Maybe Sam just won't need baths except for two nights a week. I cry, uncontrollably, for no reason at all.

  This is such a rough, wonderful season, where God has taught us so much and revealed so much of His love and providence. We were never supposed to be able to get pregnant on our own, and we have twice now. We have escaped the hardship that so many of our dearest friends have. I have difficult pregnancies and I have a hard time being limited, but I thank God for my babies. Having a family - being a family - is incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding. It's brought David and I closer together, made us united in an amazing cause - and shown us how much we need God's guidance and grace.
  Seven(ish) more weeks. I have seven more weeks of uncertainty and getting my butt kicked from the inside out and not knowing what life with Milo will look like (and, Lord have mercy, having to pee every twenty minutes). We are about to experience more change than ever before in our lives, and all at once. I am scared, I am hormonal, and I am thrilled. Pray for me. And David. Poor shmuck. 

Deliver Us

  Recently I have been thinking about birth a lot. I am part of a mommy forum on facebook where the subject often comes up, and of course, there's the impending birth of our second son in three months.

  There is a lot of debate on where to have your baby, what kind of birth to have, are epidurals God's gift or the devil's, should one induce, the elective C-section... It can all get quite heated and hairy. While dwelling on it all late one night, after being involved in a discussion on induction that day, a thought occurred to me, and I feel burdened to share it. It's not a popular thought, I know, and I want to preface this with a warning: I know my choices are not everyone's choices, and I do not judge those who make different family choices.

  That said, these are my thoughts.

  My husband and I chose a home birth for my first delivery, and - God willing - I will have the same kind of delivery with my second. We chose this for a number of reasons. First, my mother had a home birth with me, delivered my brother at a birthing center, and then my sister at home. I was almost 5 and almost 6 years old, respectively, when they were born, so I was not only aware of what was going on, but watched them happen. This was my "normal." I grew up with a mother who encouraged women to "have your baby where your blood pressure will be the lowest", because that is the most beneficial for mommy and baby. Additionally, I have my own personal reasons (which I happily share with people who want to know) for not wanting to be in an environment where pain medications are normally encouraged and, more often than with a midwife-assisted birth, medical intervention happens. I personally felt more comfortable in my own environment, with only people I know around me. 

  Y'all, let me tell you. The birth of our first son, Sam, was crazy. You can read the whole story here, but the short version is that I went through transition on my own, not knowing I was going through transition, dilating 6cms in two and a half hours. In addition to this crazy-fast transition, especially for a first-time mom, Sam's head was turned sideways until the hour before it was time to push, so I had intense back labor. All I could do was lie in my bed (at 6am), force myself to summon the will to moan during contractions so that my husband would push his fists into my lower back for the pain, and then physically and mentally collapse between contractions. About half the time, I would plead with God, please, please, let the next one not be that bad. Sometimes that prayer was answered in my favor, sometimes not. But just when I thought I couldn't do it anymore, I was told that it was time to push.
  I tell you this because, though I did not realize it in that moment - and maybe that's part of the point - that was my hour of greatest need for a Deliverer. I was physically alone in that moment (through no one's fault, by the way) and I could not continue. I literally did not posses the strength any longer - physically, mentally or emotionally - not knowing how close I was to the end. I think this is the most beautiful picture of the Christian faith that there is. Marriage is a wonderful establishment that will show you your flaws, your selfishness, your need to love unconditionally, forgive constantly, our absolute and utterly inherent sin-nature that creates our need for a Savior; but labor is the only thing that is a picture of our need for deliverance that only a woman can go through. It takes you to your breaking point, to what you believe to be the point of no return. Almost any piece of literature, any film, any birth class will tell you that almost every mother in labor will think, "I cannot do this anymore", and that when you think that, you are almost at the end. 
  Romans 8:22-23 says "For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies." I know that labor pains are a part of the curse in the fall of man (one of my favorite moments in any tv show is in 30 Rock, when "Kenneth" is coaching a woman through labor, and the woman screams for an epidural. "But isn't the point that it's supposed to hurt?"), but I think that it is significant and wonderful that only we can experience this and relate to "all of creation" waiting for our Savior, and for the saved, waiting for Christ's return!
  My husband knows that I suffered, he was there, he heard my cries, he held my hand while we waited for our son to be born; but he will never fully understand the pain, the agony, the longing and anticipation that I felt in those hours. And I will not pretend to be holy and say that I understood it then! It truly has only been recently, as I have discussed birth plans with other women and begun to anticipate more and more the birth of our next son, that I have been graced with this understanding. 

  I do not write any of this without great prayerful consideration, because I do not want any person reading this to think that I am saying that you cannot have a spiritual experience without a natural birth, or that choosing something different makes you weaker or worse or selfish or anything else you may have heard or thought or read, or to try to guilt anyone into making the same decisions for your family that we have made for ours. I write this knowing countless women who have struggled through infertility and loss, and hope that they understand where my heart is in this, praying that I do not rub salt in wounds, and wanting to remind them that God loves them so very, very much. I write this because these thoughts struck me like a thunderbolt and because I wanted to encourage, to let you know that the pain of labor can be a blessing. 
  Even in a woman's darkest and most desperate hour, God can be glorified and we can gain a deeper understanding of our need to be delivered from ourselves. We can better understand the agony and anticipation of people waiting for a Savior. We can see more clearly that our time on this earth is growing and building toward our Deliverer's return, and, God willing, spend our precious time hoping and praying and striving toward the deliverance of others.