Happy birthday to my precious Anderson. I would say it just seems like yesterday that he was born, but honestly, it doesn't. It may not
seem like yesterday that he was born, but I remember that day as if it were.
I had been in the hospital for exactly one week by the time I was induced on Monday morning at 9 am on November 30th. I had been taken to Cary Wake Hospital (known as Western Wake at the time) in the wee morning hours on November 23rd after days of being in tremendous pain, with irregular contractions and a leg, groin and back that hurt so bad I thought I may not survive the pain. My left leg was swelling (eventually, it was twice the size of my other leg, at least) and was discolored. I went to the doctor's office on Friday where I even asked them if I might have a blood clot because I had read in What To Expect When You Are Expecting that my symptoms may be symptoms of a blood clot. Dr. Vulgaropolis, one of my ob's, asked me to flex my left foot, and since that exercise caused no pain, they said the swelling must be typical pregnancy edema. They thought I was in early labor and would be in that weekend to deliver.
So, on Saturday morning, with the pain as intense as ever and contractions becoming more regular, I went to Rex Hospital to be evaluated. At the time, Western Wake Hospital could not care for pre-term babies, and since I was 36 weeks gestation, they referred me to Rex. Rex kept me for observation, determined that I was not dilating enough to admit, and sent me home.
Finally, on Monday morning around 3 or 4 am, Paul and my mother literally carried me into the closest hospital, Western Wake, because I could no longer walk. I could not even stand up straight. I was shaking uncontrollably because of the pain. All of this prompted Paul to take my father's advice as we entered the hospital which was to tell the staff that Paul had a gun and that I wasn't going home again unless a medical professional went with me. We were done with the run around with doctors and nurses who continually missed the signs of what was really going on with me. (Yes, Paul actually told them that. No, he wasn't sent to jail.)
On Monday the 23rd at 6 am an ultasound technician diagnosed me with deep vein thrombosis, also known as DVT. My iliac vein was being pressed by my uterus and a low-positioned baby causing a massive blood clot to form in my deep vein from my abdomen down to the back of my left knee. I was immediately put on bed rest (I was not even allowed to go to the restroom in anything other than a bedpan) and transferred to Rex Hospital where Anderson could receive the care he needed should my contractions not cease. I was given an IV of heparin to combat the clot, pain medication (I think it was morphine), and a medication to stop my contractions which caused a rapid heart rate (which made no sense to me...did they really want my heart to pump blood through my body at a faster rate?). And I was given a lot of grave looks by those who knew better than I did what was going on inside my body.
That is until Dr. Lemuel Yerby walked into my room that afternoon at Rex. He was a vein specialist with a reassuringly calm and warm spirit that was referred to me by my obstetricians. He carefully explained what was wrong with me and how they would treat me. He asked if I had questions, and he answered them thoroughly and honestly. I remember asking him what would happen if the clot broke off and entered my lungs or heart (the iliac vein leads directly there). He said, "You can get very sick, and you can die." But here's what he did that took all of that growing fear and began to dispel it. He looked me straight in my eyes, he patted my leg gently, and he said this: But YOU are going to be just fine." It wasn't just hope that I felt he was giving me. He was making a declaration. A war had ensued against me, against Anderson, and we would have to fight. As for Dr. Yerby, whether he was aware of it or not, he was verbalizing a declaration of faith--of eventual victory--on our behalf.
For one week I endured total bedrest, for the most part. Let's face it, I'm not the greatest rule follower in the world, and one can only poop in a bedpan once without deciding they will never do it again. Once I discovered that I could temporarily unplug my IV, I started making bathroom trips when no staff was watching.
My obstetricians decided on the 28th that I should be induced after seven days of treatment were complete. At the time, it was believed that after seven days of heparin therapy, a patient with a blood clot was considered to be highly unlikely of suffering a deadly clot breakage. So, around 11 pm on Sunday night, the 29th, a cervical balloon was inserted to start the dilation process. I cramped and ached and wondered again how I would survive an entire night of intense pain. I finally took a sleeping pill and had my family pray for me and found sweet relief in a deep sleep.
The next morning, an IV of pitocin was administered around 9 am. I now refer to pitocin as "hell in an IV" because, frankly, I could not imagine that anything could actually be worse. Pitocin made me feel like my uterus cramped up for a long eight hours without relenting. And that pain triggered all the pain in my leg and groin. I remember grabbing the bed mattress as hard as I could and asking how long it would be until I could get an epidural. The nurse's response? You have to have the blood thinner out of your system for six hours before your blood clotting time can even be tested to see if an epidural is even possible. If your blood isn't clotting normally at that point, an epidural cannot be administered due to bleeding risks in the spine which can cause paralysis or death.
I lay in the bed and insisted that Paul and my mother, the two family members I invited into the birthing room, be completely silent. All I could do was pray. And moan. And cry.
Around 3:30 pm, I found the sweetest relief in the form of an epidural--God's gift to women to give us some form of escape from the "curse". To say I was relieved is a tremendous understatement. I felt rejuvenated, even excited.
Just before 4 pm, Anderson became distressed. His heart rate was slowing to dangerous rates. Dr. Mulvaney, the doctor on call, came into the room to evaluate. I was only dilated to 8 cm, but I felt the need to push, and Anderson was now in serious trouble. An emergency c-section was not a good option for me because of the blood clots, needing to be on blood thinner, etc. It was a precarious situation to say the least. People don't believe me when I say that Dr. Mulvaney said this, but he did. He shook his head and said, "I am too old for this."
What happened next can only be attributed to the grace and strength of God that was manifesting in me as a waiting room full of friends and family--prayer warriors--prayed for Anderson and me. I looked at the doctor and said, "I can push him out. If you help me, I can push him out." He must have checked my cervix again, thought I don't remember that, but without hesitation, he said, "Okay."
Just three pushes later, at 4:11 pm, along with some help from a suction machine and a big, strong Jamaican doctor, the most handsome cone-shaped-headed boy was born. He was laid on my chest for a moment, the color blue instead of pink. But he was breathing, and barely crying. I shook him gently and said, "Cry, baby, cry." The nurses took him and began thumping his foot, and within a few minutes I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard--a screaming baby.
We did not know what gender Anderson was until the nurse announced, in the midst of the chaos of his birth, "Aww....I think I see something." She did! It was--for sure--a BOY.
I wish I could describe the joy I felt when I first touched Anderson. I can still feel what he felt like--so warm and tiny and delicate and beautiful. I mean, this kid had the longest head you have ever seen thanks to his positioning in my womb and a traumatic delivery. But he was absolutely GORGEOUS. Needless to say, he wore a hat continuously that first week of his life.
Looking back, I marvel at God's goodness and protection over us. I know the enemy had come to "steal, kill and destroy". Maybe another day I will blog about the countless friends and strangers who came to our side to join us in prayer during this time of great fear and uncertainty, or about how God healed me. God was and is so faithful.
So today marks the anniversary of the day that Anderson Logan Brewer entered the world and the day that God brought great victory to the Brewers. Truly, we have a lot to celebrate.
Happy birthday, dearest Anderson. You are a joy, a treasure, an answered prayer, a hope fulfilled, a miracle. For twelve years, you have graced our lives with such love and joy that I cannot even adequately describe it in words. Thank you for being the human being that you are and for making our job about as easy as it can be. We love you, son.
Mom
