James Thomas' birth story

James Thomas Duffy is one week old today. As I type this he is snoozing away on the loveseat in his boppy, and yes I know they're not for sleeping, but it's a great place for a quick snooze. He is perfect. And when I say that I mean really he's perfect. Not just 10 fingers 10 toes perfect, but free of any bleeding disorder, not going to start bleeding internally and die, perfect. Last week I woke up at 2:30 am, too excited to sleep, and by 6am we were on the road and heading to Peoria. We got to the hospital about 7:45 and by 8:15 I was in a gown, hooked up to monitors doing all the intake questions and listening to the dumbest woman ever in the next curtained area wait for her csection. She was the first csection of the day and I'm supposed to be the second, and then we were told that everything was getting pushed back because there was an emergency in the main operating room. Fine whatever, I'll just hang out here in my gown that doesn't tie, listening to JT kick and roll around. I didn't have very good company. Duffy is so worked up, tense and nervous that he was useless as a conversational partner. After we do all my intake work, and got my IV in, the nurses leave. Kathy, the fun one, comes back because she's forgotten something. She looks at the print out from the belly monitoring and looks at me. "Are you feeling that?" She says. "What?" "You're contracting every 2-3 minutes. Do you feel that?" Kathy looks really perplexed as I hadn't said anything about contracting, and I'm talking and cracking jokes. "Oh yeah, it's been going on for a while, on the drive over it was about every 6-7 minutes, but they're just uncomfortable, not really painful." She raises her eyebrows at me and leaves the room. She's back in about 10 minutes to tell us that we've been bumped up to the first csection of the day and we'll be getting in early. Had I known contractions would get things going, I'd definitely have mentioned them upon arrival. Dr. Leonardi comes in to tell me briefly about how the surgery will go. He checks my heart and lungs and pronounces me fit for surgery. Dr. Tarantino comes in and tells us how delivery will go for JT, what tests will get run, how long they'll take to come back and what we'll do if there is a Factor X deficiency. He assures me that the lab is on standby for us, and as soon as they get our sample, it will be priority 1 and they will run it before anything else. All through this, I feel fine. Totally fine and relaxed and excited to meet my son. They give Duffy his scrubs, I put my hair up in a cap. They bring a wheelchair and we head down to the OR. Duffy stays behind, and I'm alone with the nurse. We get to the OR, and it's blindingly bright, there are about 10 people scurrying around to get things ready. They are chatting with each other, and it's a really great positive, upbeat atmosphere. Exactly the sort of thing you'd want to see if you were about to get cut open. I feel frozen, I can't breathe. They are about to remove James from the one place where he's totally safe and won't die from internal bleeding. I may be about to experience complete horror for the second time. I may be about to devastate my daughter's worlds for the second time. I start to cry, but there isn't anyone here who knows what we went through or might go through, and I don't want to talk, so I suck it up and hold it in and no one notices. They give me a pillow to hold while they put in my spinal, and it's really weird to be doing all of this alone. They finish their prep and when they raise the curtain, finally Duffy comes in. It doesn't take very long and I hear James gurgle before they get him out. Then Dr. Leonardi is announcing that James is peeing on him and he cries. Mad angry crying. And then a white lab coat runs out of the room. The clock has started, that was blood going to the lab. Duffy gets up from his seat and crosses the room to be near JT as we discussed. I hear them talking, and I hear James screaming. I hear the Apgar score is 9. They ask me to guess his weight. I say 9 pounds 5 ounces. I'm good. He's 9 pounds 2 ounces. Duffy brings James to me. I'm trying to talk to him, and I can touch his head, but then they start to reorganize my internal organs and remove my ribs, and I'm suddenly in so much pain I need to throw up and I can't talk anymore. They take James and it's time for him to go upstairs to the nursery so he can be ready for a blood transfusion if he needs it. I can tell Duffy doesn't know where to be. So I tell him to go with James, that was the plan. We do not deviate from the plan. At some point they take me to recovery, I do not remember that, but suddenly there I am. I keep asking what time it is, and if anyone has seen Dr. Tarantino. Finally I find a clock on the wall. I convince them to start my pain meds early. Ibuprofen, really? They give me something else too, but I'm shaking so badly, I'm pretty sure that's what is hurting so horribly. Finally about 11:15 a nurse brings me a phone and it's Dr. Tarantino. Results are back. Clotting times are normal, Factor X level is 77%. We were hoping for a number in the 40's. I suddenly can breathe. How long have I been holding my breath? They wheel me out of recovery, and we stop at the nursery to see James. Duffy has not been told the good news. He gives me a kiss. Then he tells me that James is a level 2 newborn which means that he has to stay in the nursery round the clock. I ask why and he doesn't know. So flat on my back I start asking every one for answers. His Apgar was 9, his factor X is fine, he does not need to stay there. Someone tells me that is blood sugar was 39 and they gave him formula and then retested his blood sugar and it was normal. I'm immediately annoyed, but stamp that down as there is clearly no way I could have nursed him. So then I ask if he's being kept for another repeat of the blood sugar. No, that's not the reason. Finally a nurse tells me that she believes once the Level 2 pediatrician hears from Dr. Tarantino, James will most likely be downgraded. I think she really wants me out of the hallway. I relinquish my hold on the nursery window and we move to my room. By 1pm James is in the room with me. Everything is perfect and lovely. He's perfect and nurses like a champ, and I haven't been peed on, he manages to get several nurses, but not me. Then Saturday morning our nurse is checking his vitals and she says, "Did you all notice this bleeding around his umbilical cord?" My heart stops and I look over and there is bright red blood around his umbilical stump. It's all I can do not to snatch up the phone and call Dr. T. She says she can have the pediatrician take a look, and I say we'll call our hemotologist. She leaves and Duffy and I both take a closer look, clean it off and then stand over him watching his belly looking. No more bleeding. I look an hour later, nothing. Another hour, nothing. It must just be some normal separating. I still feel a little queasy. We go home on Sunday. I can't believe I'm taking my son home. It's so amazing, and we're so lucky, and it really feels like this time all the prayers worked. I'm not sure how to thank everyone for making sure that God listened this time. I'm not sure how to thank everyone for my son and his health. That would be a lot of awkward conversations, but I will be grateful for those prayers and that love for the rest of my life.