Roots: May 2019

We were so pleased to be allowed to leave the hospital so soon. There's nothing like being home in your own space, sleeping in your own bed, sitting in your own easy chair listening to the sound of wind chimes waft in through your open door after a crazy couple of days. Another huge blessing in how everything worked out with Peregrine's birth is how long Rundy was able to stay home with us; because of the Memorial Day weekend, he ended up having nine work days off, plus two weekends. And there's nothing like having Rundy home--his cheery whistling, his hysterical/jolly/thoughtful/tender interactions with Tadhg, his general good company. It made all the difference having our family complete for these past almost two weeks--so many good, cozy, homey memories.

First little smile caught on camera. (They started small and close-mouthed, but more recently they've started looking more like grins.)

So many flowers! Red Gerber daisies from a church friend, a whole bouquet of lilacs and two little jars of wildflowers from my sister and her children, a bouquet with a story attached from my mother-in-law (the little ceramic shoes holding the flowers were originally given to her by her mother-in-law when her first child was born, and now both for Tadhg and Peregrine's births I've gotten a bouquet in the same shoes), and a big bouquet of all the best spring smells--lilacs, narcissus, and apple blossoms--hand-picked by my father-in-law.

Very little about pregnancy and childbirth has gone the way I expected before entering this stage of life. I did not expect three miscarriages. I did not expect to have to be induced with Tadhg and then face a rather long, arduous healing process from a significant tear. I did not expect our second son to come over three weeks early and under emergency conditions. Perhaps someday I'll have one of those pristine birth stories to tuck away for remembering on rainy days, but that day hasn't come yet. For now, I've got a pretty checkered track record.

Here's the tale.

This pregnancy had gone pretty swimmingly. No issues of any kind with Blackberry Boy or myself; I was feeling pretty great aside from the expected discomforts of the third trimester. Then on May 16th, I was rocking Tadhg to sleep for his afternoon nap when I started suddenly seeing stars, feeling lightheaded, and experiencing a non-Braxton Hicks, pretty real-feeling contraction. I put Tadhg in his crib and went to lie down, and the contraction kept going. And going. For about 20 minutes. I ended up calling the doctor just to make sure things were okay and was told to do a kick count. Ninja baby wasn't moving; it took about 2 hours to get four kicks, which was abnormal for him but I figured he was just getting crowded and less active or was sleeping. Since he did (finally) meet the kick quota, I didn't go to the hospital. Then that night I had a repeat contraction. And the next night it happened again. I thought maybe I was just tired, and Rundy didn't seem worried at all so I just tried to chalk it up to my body preparing for labor differently this time around.

Then Saturday morning rolled around. It was a lovely day, and we had lots of plans--going to an outdoor wedding and seeing people from my growing up years who'd never met Tadhg, then a birthday party later that night. About an hour after waking, though, I was sitting at the kitchen table while Tadhg ate breakfast when my heart started racing like crazy. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath and was super lightheaded, and a really painful contraction came on suddenly. I went to lie down in the living room and let Rundy know what was going on. This one was far worse than the ones from the previous two days; it felt like active labor, but it just wouldn't let up. Finally, after about 20 minutes, the pain started to subside a bit. I talked with Rundy about it; he still wasn't really concerned and just figured my body was getting ready to have a baby in a few weeks. I was pretty freaked out, though--nothing about what had just happened felt normal or right or how a woman's body should be preparing for labor. I told Rundy I thought we should make a stop at the hospital just to be safe and make sure everything was okay, which he was perfectly agreeable to. Foolish girl that I am, I thought it would be a relatively quick in-and-out and we'd still make it to the wedding in the afternoon. Ha.

Providentially (truly--I think God's mercy with this whole situation started with my nesting instincts going crazy earlier than they normally would have), I had just finished packing my hospital bags a couple of days before. And the very day before, I had emailed my in-laws some notes about taking care of Tadhg when the new baby came. I'd figured it was probably just paranoia, but I'd been telling my mom for a few weeks that I felt like this baby was coming early and I'd been itching to get everything ready.

So before we went to the hospital, we stowed away the hospital bags in the car. Just in case. My sister-in-law picked Tadhg up, and away we went.

(This part I'll abbreviate, because it was long and involved sitting in a tiny curtained-off room in triage for hours...)

When I got to the hospital, I was hooked up to monitors to check both myself and the baby. Our vitals seemed fine--my heart rate was a bit elevated, but nothing concerning. The on-call doctor ordered a biophysical ultrasound of the baby to make sure he was okay. He ended up scoring 6 out of 8 instead of 8 out of 8 due to not moving as much as they wanted, and they decided to keep us, get me hooked up to an IV to make sure I was hydrated enough, and do a repeat ultrasound at 6:00 that evening. Meanwhile, I was feeling really bummed about missing the wedding and second-guessing whether I should've even come to the hospital since everything seemed fine.

Skip ahead, past the hours of reading Rundy and I did to pass the time.

Transport came with a wheelchair (protocol...) to take me down to radiology for the second ultrasound. I stood up to go into the ultrasound room when blood started gushing everywhere. Nurse was called and came down, and when the blood kept coming she quickly decided to take me back upstairs. On-call doctor came, looked concerned, and pretty much made the immediate decision to do an emergency C-section. I was feeling fine at that point--no pain, nothing; we found out later that it was all old blood at that point that I had lost internally over the previous couple of days. Baby's vitals remained steady as could be. They rushed me to the OR, where all sorts of surreal chaos and what felt like a hundred people in scrubs surrounded me, I was put under, and that was that. The last thing I remember is the kind Asian anesthesiologist telling me in a heavy accent, "Have a nice sleep!"

This whole part of the story reminds me of when I was at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester with Mom when Dad was dying. The siblings who were there had gone off to get lunch when Dad started having major breathing issues and had to be rushed to the ICU. Mom and I had to take a different elevator and got separated from him and didn't know where to go. Mom started--understandably--getting a bit panicky, and I felt like God caused a deep calm to settle over me so I could get us where we needed to go. The same thing happened when I started bleeding and everything started moving at warp-speed. My normally anxious self felt a pervasive sense of calm. As I was being wheeled into the OR, for the first time in my life I found myself faced with the realization that this could be it. I could die. Our baby could die. Rundy might be without one of us, or both of us. I thought about my sweet Tadhg boy. But still--the calm persisted.

Because I was under general anesthesia, I had to get the rest of the story from Rundy later. He had been stopped from entering the OR; because it was an emergency situation and would involve me being intubated and other not-very-pretty things, he had to stay outside in the hallway. Pacing and praying. Being senseless, I had a far easier time of it at that point than he did.

The first thing I remember is waking up groggy and disoriented and seeing Rundy and my mom beside me. I asked about the baby, and learned that our miracle boy was doing so well that he had been able to go to the normal nursery without any NICU stops along the way. Within a few minutes, they brought him to me to nurse, and he ate like an old pro.

And so it was that our little Peregrine Luke came into the world on May 18th, with God in His mercy going before and behind and beside. He was three weeks and two days early--7 pounds, 8 ounces and 20 inches worth of miracle. Peregrine means pilgrim or wanderer, and Luke means bringer of light. (And for the Tolkien fans out there, yes--we're already using Pippin as a nickname.)

It turns out I had experienced a placental abruption, a rare condition in which the placenta separates from the uterine wall, disrupting the flow of necessary nutrients to the baby and causing the mother to start bleeding. If not caught in time, it can be life-threatening to both mother and baby.

I don't have words for all the rest of it. These are just the facts. All the processing has been happening in the days since, and emotions have been roiling around taking their turns facing the light. Overwhelmingly present above all the rest, though, has been an immense, profound sense of gratitude for God's keeping. From start to finish, there is so much to be thankful for. I can't imagine if all of this had happened at home while I was alone with Tadhg and without Rundy. God's hands were holding all of us.

Meet the newest Purdy!

(Unfortunately, neither Rundy nor I was able to see Peregrine right after he was delivered, but one of the doctors came out and got Rundy's phone to take some freshly-born pictures for us.)

Tadhg came to the hospital the following morning to meet his baby brother, all groggy from sleeping in the car. He seemed to have an instinctive understanding that this was our baby, though, and was wide-eyed tenderness itself--stroking Pippin's face, resting cheek to cheek, giving him kisses. Those first few minutes together as a family were precious.

Tadhg completely charmed one of the nurses who came in, proudly pointing to the bassinet and proclaiming his brother's existence with ferocious exuberance.

Going home--another miracle!--not even 48 hours after an emergency C-section. Brothers in the car together for the first time, both sleeping after all the excitement.