Rose’s Birth Story

Here I am almost 8 months since the last time I logged in here at POP KITCHEN. And it feels like taking a step back in time! If you have been following me on social media or know me personally you will know that I have been through a lot lately. And while I’m not ready to yet say “I’m back!”, I have been dying to pop on and update you all. In celebration of World Down Syndrome Day, I decided it was about time I share the story of my daughter, Rose’s birth.

There are three points I want to get across in this story: 1) This birth was pure magic. 2) This birth was trauma. 3) I am forever changed.

Before the Magic

When you have a baby there are a lot of feelings. There’s the crying. All the crying really. Wonder, joy, and awe. And that doesn’t even touch the physical feelings you will have as a mother. But the feeling that really overwhelmed me the most when my first daughter, Willow, was born was the dumbfounded feeling that I had just made that human. I mean, I didn’t actually make that screaming, breathing bundle of fluids and genes. It’s more something that happens to you. But I still kind of did. Half of that human is me. And the other half is someone I love more than anyone in the world. And we did that. Holy sh*t.

This time around I wasn’t expecting that. Everything about my pregnancy was been-there-done-that. It’s hard to imagine loving anyone else with the same ferocity you love your already earth side children. We were living with my mom, in the middle of buying a house, hustling at our jobs, and working relentlessly to try and tidy up our lives a little before we were smacked with another child.

I tried to practice mindfulness. To really be in my body for this pregnancy. But anxiety and the thought of not having my life together before the baby came kept me creeping back into the Harry Potter closet of my prenatal, hormonally charged mind.

Magic

And that is why I was painting the ceiling of my house 7 hours into labor.

I knew that morning it would be soon. A little bloody show. Some mild contractions. I better get that house painted all by myself. Yeah, I’m sure I can get everything moved in and unpacked before this baby comes. I just have to keep going. If it weren’t for my mom stopping by with a large slice of carrot cake and a chicken salad, I may have had that baby next to a bucket full of matte, white paint and some paint rollers.

“Stacy, you need to stop”.

And so I did. I succumbed to the reality that we would not be moved into our new house in time. I tried to not think about all of our stuff in boxes and I focused on having a baby for the first time in 9 months. Which was actually really freeing. I paced around the neighborhood in a warm, post-summer, mist until 1 am. I ate some food. I can’t remember what, which is very unlike me. I worked at that labor like I had been working towards everything else in life up to that point. And then things slowed. So once again I gave up. I succumbed to sleep.

3 am I wake up really wanting to go back to sleep. How far apart are my contractions? Oh, 4 minutes! We crawled into our newly bought, used CR-V and headed downtown.

Our local hospital has a number of large, beautiful natural birthing suites. It’s perfect if the idea of a home birth is something you desire but you also want access to a hospital in case of an emergency. There is no medical equipment. No continuous monitoring. As a matter of fact if you decided you wanted/needed any intervention you have to leave the room. You are assigned one other nurse who is trained specifically for helping in an unmedicated birth.

It was basically a hotel room with lots of bouncy balls. A queen bed, a pull out couch, and my favorite, a jacuzzi tub.

Things go fast from here. I remember my labor being beautiful and empowering. I kept telling myself, I can do this. I remember reclining in the hot tub, water jets pounding the pain out of my aching back, glass of ice water in hand thinking, what would my fore mothers think if they could see me birthing in this kind of luxury? I felt like a queen.

When I was ready to push, Jazz and my midwife helped me over to the bed. I drew inside myself and continued my mantra of, I can do this. Only for one contraction did I lose hope. I started calling out for my mommy and daddy, reverting to a childlike state to escape the pain. And then there was a ring of fire and finally relief. It was the most magical few hours of my entire life.

Her name is Rose.

Trauma

I couldn’t bring her up to my face because her umbilical cord was so short. She just rested on my belly. It was really difficult to focus on her. I just needed to catch my breath. I heard the midwife say that the umbilical cord had stopped pulsing and that dad, who had been balling since I landed on the delivery bed, could cut the cord. She was anxious about her breathing.

And then they took her. They took the baby from my arms that I had yet to look in the face.

We think her nose is just clogged with boogers. It will only be a minute, they said. The neonatal nurse practitioner was trying to pass a suction catheter down her nose. It would not pass. On either side.

And then they took her farther away. They let me kiss her before she and her dad went down to the NICU. I really felt that everything was going to be fine. Little did I know that it actually would be, just not in the way I had expected.

When my husband and the neonatologist returned I knew something was wrong. Jazz was comforting me before anyone had even said anything.

First, the doctor congratulated me on the birth of Rose. He said she was beautiful and that he was happy for us. Bilateral choanal atresia. Basically Rose didn’t have the ability to breath out of her nose because a membrane was blocking her airway. And while an adult could just open their mouth, this could be life threatening for a baby who cannot breathe through their mouth yet. She would need surgery.

I was worried but I thought everything was going to be ok. Just a surgery. Everything would be normal again.

We have also found signifiers that seem to suggest trisomy 21, otherwise known as Down Syndrome. I faintly remember our doctor telling us that people with Down Syndrome live wonderful lives and are valuable members of society. It is common that individuals with Down Syndrome live independently and even get married. But there are other health issues associated with Down syndrome we will need to check for. But what I really remember most was squeezing Jazz’s hand as hard as I could and the resonating thought in my head that I AM INCAPABLE OF BEING A SPECIAL NEEDS PARENT!

He left and I just broke down. My midwife embraced me and I just sobbed “I’m not a good enough mom!” She assured me that I was. And when they left Jazz and alone we just cried and we cried.

The first 18 hours were pure devastation and grief. And yet I felt so much joy and love when I held her. I didn’t know anyone with Down Syndrome. I didn’t know what to expect. I was so afraid. Was her heart ok? Her bowels? Her hearing? All potential health concerns with this diagnosis.

Forever changed

But after 18 hours grief started to transition to joy. Fear into strength. I had to very quickly learn to advocate, speak up to authority figures and ask questions. I fell in love with our baby. And I think I fell in love with my husband all over again.

Our oldest daughter Willow’s first words after meeting Rose were, “she’s perfect”. I fell in love with my daughter all over again

Rose spent 4 weeks in the NICU recovering from her choanal atresia repair. She had two stents poking out of her nose but still managed to win the hearts of every NICU nurse far and wide.

My body recovered from birth spending at least 12 hours a day in a chair next to her crib, only to have to walk away and go home at the end of the day.

Rose left the hospital with several new diagnoses including a moderate size hole in between the upper chambers of her heart. I left with a much larger heart but also thicker skin. But you know what, everything was ok.

I am forever changed by Rose, which Down syndrome just happens to be a small part of. Her joy, her utter strength to survive painful situations, and the light that shines from within her. And I am still constantly overwhelmed with the fact that “I made that!” She is half me and maybe even one extra chromosome more than half. Don’t tell Jazz but it’s definitely my extra chromosome. We did that. Holy sh*t!