The Birth of Josiah John

As I sit down to write this post, almost 6 weeks have passed since the events I’m about to try and catalog took place. Too long! I feel it all starting to slip away from me which is a good reason to make time to do it right now!

I guess I’ll start with the week before. I had my weekly doctor appointment I think on the 30th or the 28th. I can’t remember. What I do remember is that when she checked me, I was a “tight 3cm” and about 70% effaced. I wasn’t surprised to be showing some progress since I’d been having contractions on and off for about 2 weeks. There were even a couple of times I thought maybe things might progress early, but then I’d go back to feeling nothing.  Having the pain of those first few centimeters spread out over a couple of weeks instead of hours, like they were with Adela, was a pleasant change. Getting to 4 centimeters (where I was when I arrived at the hospital before delivering Adela) was really tough. But then they say that the second baby is easier. In some ways it was true for me (but I didn’t find it to be entirely true.) Those first few centimeters were anyway. More thoughts on that later…

They scheduled me for an induction at that appointment as well. I cried about it when I got home. I agreed to put it on the books to avoid a long discussion with the nurse practitioner. I’m aware of the dangers of inductions when you’re body is not ready as well as the dangers of NOT inducing when baby might be in danger because he’s been baking too long.

Let me digress here for a minute and speak to natural childbirth. The practice I go to is supportive, although not enthusiastic, about natural childbirth. Like most healthcare professionals I’ve come in contact with during my 2 pregnancies (I’ve been pregnant 3 times, but never made it to the first doctor’s appointment with my second), they are guarded. Suspicious? I’m not sure what the right word is. They’re always ready for a fight. Defensive. Yeah, that’s a good word too. And always a little dubious. It makes me wonder what the typical “natural birth” mom is like. I’ve heard horror stories from my Mom (who worked in L&D for over 20 years.) She uses the word “militant.” My mom tells stories of women whose babies were in distress and still completely unwilling to consider any interventions, and women who would come in after laboring at home with a midwife for 3 days, with spiked fevers, babies in distress, infection.  (She also has lots of stories of doctors who would push Pitocin at ungodly levels on every patient, even when they weren’t ready and there was no need for it, just to be able to go home on time. Anyway…) Not to say that all at home births are bad, or that all natural birth moms are crazy. (Or that all doctors abuse Pitocin for their own personal benefit.) Of course not. And we considered it. Delivery at home, I mean. We just decided, for us, whatever small risk there is delivering at home outweighs the inconvenience of going to the hospital. Just in Case. Anyway, I consider myself somewhere in the middle of the natural birth debate, i.e. NOT militant. I believe in interventions when they’re necessary and that modern medicine is generally a good thing to have at one’s disposal. So it’s always a little funny to try and gauge the reactions of the healthcare professionals I come in contact with who are ready to do battle with me over “what is best for the baby.” There is always a process of convincing them that, duh, that’s what *I* want too! It’s not about control, or proving something (maybe a little, if I’m completely honest), but the main goal is and always has been the health of the baby, doing what’s best for him. And I’ve educated myself as much as I could so that I can make sound decisions to that end. I have always known and accepted that ultimately I am NOT in absolute control of what happens. So many things can happen during the course of labor and delivery that are beyond our control. I’ve always known what I wanted, prayed for it, prepared for it (classes, books, exercises, general health, knowledge, support system, etc.), and known that I had to go into it with a willingness to be flexible if need be. And once the nurses and doctors know that there is a flexibility, I’ve generally found them to soften up. More on all this later…

So back to my appointment. The practice I go to will only let you go 1 week past your due date before induction. They’re willing to do a non-stress test and push it one or two days past that if all looks fine. But that’s it. So, they got me on the books, even though I hadn’t reached my due date, just in case. I figured it was unlikely that I would go much past my due date, given all the contractions I’d been having, the dilation, and the fact that I delivered so close to my due date last time. But it was still scary. I know natural birth moms who have delivered on Pitocin. (For the record, you can receive pitocin and still have a natural child birth. Pitocin is just oxytocin, the same thing your body produces during labor. What pitocin does is intensify contractions, and most of the time, although not always, speed labor.) Those women are hardcore. Contractions are excruciating enough without them being turned up synthetically. I’ve always figured that there was a much greater chance I’d accept the pain management drugs if I had to be induced because of those Pitocin-intensified contractions. I didn’t want to find out if I could handle a level of pain that our bodies are not designed to handle.

At any rate, we didn’t have to find out. My due date came and nothing happened. A few people were disappointed that it looked like our little man was not to arrive on Daddy’s birthday. All that week, after they scheduled me for the induction, I did what I could to naturally induce myself. I did pelvic rocks and squats trying to let him drop and position himself.

Another digression… my mom – who knows everything 😉 – also says that walking does NOT induce labor. Save your energy! Walking only helps progress labor when it’s already begun. But walking and wearing yourself out during false labor only tires you out for the real thing. I’ve taken her advice both times and relaxed while having contractions early on. False labor never turns into real labor. If you lay still, drink cold water, rest, and the contractions go away, it’s false labor. Real labor doesn’t go away no matter what you do. Just sharing her wisdom because I think it’s worth sharing. So grateful for her incredible knowledge base, experience, and support.

Then, we did the other thing people recommend to get things going. Yeah, that worked. October 17th (due date), I went to bed but never fell asleep. I started having contractions right away. By about midnight, I thought maybe it was really going to happen. I laid still and tried to relax. About 2am, I was sure this was it. I got up, took a shower, got all my stuff together and labored some more on the couch watching Netflix while my family slept. By 4am, I got Craig up and told him to shower. We called my mom about 6am to come and get Adela. Craig and I woke her up and I labored in her bed for a few minutes while I said goodbye and explained to her that baby brother was on his way. During this period, 2am-6am, my contractions were strong enough that I had to stop moving and talking through them, but in between I was able to function pretty much normally.

After Adela left with Mimi, I loaded the car. Yes, I did. Craig was still getting ready. My silly husband takes forever to get ready. Then, he decided to install both car seats in the back of the car. I don’t know why. I remember telling him that it wasn’t necessary. But he just had to get it done. One of the car seats was as stubborn as he was. It took 15 minutes. I sat in the car and waited for him. Not going to lie, I was irritated. But we got past it. Now, it’s funny. He was just so excited about the whole thing. It was seriously like something out of a movie, the frazzled Dad on the verge of mania while his laboring wife calming waits for him to pull it together. And he did. His mania only lasted those first couple hours. Then he showed up in a big way when he needed to, of course.

We got on the road sometime after 7am. I remember feeling really calm. Again, I wasn’t afraid at all. And I would have stayed home longer to labor if not for the being GBS positive. For those who don’t know (I didn’t until being pregnant), every woman is now tested for the Group B Strep bacteria late in her pregnancy. It’s something that is a natural part of our flora and it doesn’t harm adults at all. You can test positive in one pregnancy and not in another (I was negative with Adela.) It’s NOT a hygiene thing or an “infection.” It’s perfectly normal and 25% of all women have it during their maternity. But if it’s transmitted to baby during delivery, it can cause major problems like sepsis and even death. It used to be a big deal when they didn’t test for it. Now, with testing, transmission is completely preventable when the mother gets antibiotics during delivery. So, I had to make sure I got there in plenty of time to receive 2 doses 4 hours apart before breaking my water. I was upset when I found out I was positive just because of this. I wanted to stay home and labor as long as possible. It’s more comfortable and there’s less chance for the medical staff to “intervene” unnecessarily. But I didn’t have much choice, and I definitely wanted to make sure that baby wasn’t exposed to anything potentially harmful. So, we headed in before I would have chosen otherwise. Turns out we timed it just right. More on that later…

So we arrived at the hospital and I was able to walk up to the L&D department. I remember the nurse looked at me and asked how she could help me. I told her I was in labor and she looked at me kind of dubiously. I guess I didn’t look like I was in labor. After that a couple different nurses told me that they’d help me out in triage and determine whether or not they would admit me. I guess they must have a lot of women come in when they’re not really in labor. I wasn’t confused about whether or not I’d be staying. I was sure I would be. But we let them do their thing. Eventually, without much waiting, they hooked me up to the monitor, checked on baby (he looked good), checked me, and informed me that I was going to be admitted. I was somewhere between 4 and 5cm. They asked if I was going to want an epidural. I said no. I didn’t even bring a birth plan with me this time. Last time I kept it really brief at my mom’s suggestion. Another nurse thing, she warned me that women who come in with pages of birth plan are generally scoffed at and it puts the nurses on guard, again, ready for a fight about everything. This time I kept it to a verbal disclosure, “We want to try to do things as naturally as possible.” After all, they all know what that means. They don’t need a birth plan to spell it out for them.

I guess things did progress a little more quickly than they did with Adela at this point. I’m not sure what time I actually got to my room. I’ll have to look at the photos. But I didn’t have a lot of time to think about anything at that point. It seemed like things got serious right away. I didn’t have any time to walk around the halls or set stuff up in the room. I was pretty much right away on the bed laboring. I had 2 nurses. The first one, I didn’t care for much. She didn’t introduce herself and she didn’t ask me any questions or seem concerned about my well-being at all. I mean in a professional, medical way, she was of course. But not in an emotional or mental way. I’m not sure if it was just her personality, or if she was dubious about my natural childbirth, or if she was just having a bad night. Luckily she was orientating another nurse who was new to the department (not a new nurse, just new to the department.) That one was super nice. She did some special things for me like keep a hot towel behind my back. At one point she whispered in my ear, “I had all 3 of mine naturally too. I KNOW how hard it is.” Funny enough she did it when the other nurse wasn’t around, which seems to be the rule when it comes to discussing natural childbirth. It seems like the nurses are usually pretty divided on the issue, but under the surface. The ones who are wholehearted supporters of it whisper encouragement in a sort of secretive way. The other ones aren’t NOT supportive, they just don’t say anything. It’s never talked about in the open. One of the supportive nurses during my stay, talked with me, again in a sort of secretive way (same thing happened after Adela was born) about how much more alert the babies who get no drugs during delivery are, and how much better in general they do. It felt good to hear that again.

The one super annoying thing about having 2 nurses, one learning the ropes of L&D (even if she was the nice one), was that everything had to be done twice. Maybe that wouldn’t make a difference to somebody with an epidural, but being moved around, forced to lay back and being checked over and over again was miserable. And the not nice nurse didn’t seem to care at all whether or not  I was having a contraction when she moved me around. I know that sometimes they want to check you during contractions in order to better feel what’s going on. It was more than that. She  never warned me when she was going to try and move me, for whatever reason. She never waited for me to finish a contraction before asking me to fill out paperwork even. She was just really unconcerned about my pain in general. It was like she had the attitude, “you’re the one who decided to do it without drugs. It’s not my problem.” I remember Craig a couple of times stepping in and saying, “Hold on. She’s having a contraction,” in a protective way. Thanks, Honey. But kind of odd that my husband would have to remind the nurse that I was actually in labor and feeling pain. Maybe I’m way off base about her. I was in intense pain during this time so my judgement may have been clouded. I’m just really glad that I’m not all that impressionable, that I’m determined, and that I had a great support system. A more impressionable person who wanted to labor naturally, lacking proper support, with a nurse like that … I can see how it would be really difficult, and much easier to give in and ask for some pain management help. It could have been disheartening, I can imagine. Me, I was just irritated. And if anything, when I run into people like that, it gives me something to prove. I’m stubborn like that.

For some reason, I guess because of how Josiah was positioned during this time, I wasn’t allowed to labor sitting up. The first couple of hours they made me lay on my side, which was awful. For some reason, for me, laboring is always most comfortable (if I can use that totally inappropriate word since there is NOTHING comfortable about labor) when I’m sitting up. Laying down is the WORST, especially on my back. On my side wasn’t much better. But for some reason, that was the only way that Josiah wasn’t showing decelerations. And I trusted their judgement because my mom was in agreement with them. So, I toughed it out, miserable, until something shifted and I was finally allowed to sit up.

Craig and my mom were an amazing help to me. So supportive, so encouraging. Rubbing my back and shoulders, keeping me informed of the peak of every contraction so I could mentally survive long enough to get a rest in between. They were my anchors and I couldn’t have gone through it without them. And amid all their helping me labor, they also both (especially my mom) took a ton of photos for which I am so, so grateful! I cherish the very few I have of Adela’s birth. This time, I didn’t want only a handful. I wanted a true photographic record. My family helped me make it happen.

A couple hours passed. It hurt. A lot. They checked me again. I was at 6cm. I labored for another hour or two. It hurt. A lot. They checked me again. Still 6cm. I remember the same thing happening with Adela. And it is the MOST disheartening and difficult time of laboring without drugs. It’s so frustrating to be in that much pain, thinking that every contraction is bringing you closer to the end of the agony, closer to meeting your baby, only to find that… hmmm.. nothing changed? After all that?! So, so hard, that particular moment. I cried. Just like last time. And then, the contractions kept coming and I kept taking them one and a time. And breathing. I remember the breathing this time. I really concentrated on it, much more than last time. It is the only way to get through labor. Your natural reaction to mind-blowing pain is to not breathe. Not breathing is bad for you, bad for baby, and it makes it hurt worse. It takes every mental faculty, concentration, discipline, to keep breathing when your body is being wracked by unimaginable pain. Somehow, with a lot of reminders from my Mom and Craig, I managed. And it was easier this time, mentally. It hurt just as bad. It wasn’t even faster. My labors ended up being almost exactly the same length. About 12-14 hours of real labor (not counting lots and lots of early labor, which doesn’t technically count.) But practice does make, maybe not perfect, but definitely better. I felt more in control this time, even though the pain was the same.

About this time I remember everyone start looking at the clock a lot. I was almost through my first round of antibiotics. I needed to complete a second round after four hours to ensure Josiah’s protection from any Group B Strep. We all knew that once I actually made it past that 6cm hump and entered transition, things would probably go quickly.We were all hoping my water wouldn’t break prematurely, before I got that second round of antibiotics.

Transition was an odd time for me. Super intense contractions (to put it mildly) followed by almost a delirious, sleep-like state until the next contraction would hit me seconds later. I remember thinking how odd it was that my brain could go from a hyper alert state to an almost sleep-like state over and over again so rapidly. At one point, my mom looked at the monitor during a contraction and said, “these look like Pitocin contractions.” I remember one lasting almost 3 minutes. Right after my mom said that, the nurse came in the room, looked at the monitor and said the exact same thing! Luckily that part didn’t last too long. My water broke right around 6 or 7 cm with Adela. This time I made it to 9cm+ before my water broke. I had just finished my second round of antibiotics. And within minutes, all the hospital staff had gathered in the room.

They were still setting up when I had that undeniable urge to push. There was no stopping it. They barely had things ready, when Dr. Sehwani told me to go ahead. This time I was mentally fully aware and remember all the pushing and delivery. With Adela I was really out of it and don’t have a lot of memories of that particular part of delivery. I feel like I truly experienced it this time. I didn’t remember any pain, just relief, from the pushing portion of Adela’s delivery. This time I remember the pain, and I remember the process. I remember the doctor counting for me through two contractions. I pushed and pushed and pushed through those two contractions and out he came.

Josiah John made his debut at 2:45pm on October 18th, 2012, weighing 7lbs 2oz and measuring 19.5 inches long. Healthy and perfectly gorgeous.

Some time right after I heard him cry, and saw my mom and Craig crying and exclaiming how beautiful he was, I remember asking the doctor, “How many pushes was that?” just to make sure I counted right. “TWO!” she said with raised eyebrows. I love Dr. Sehwani. She’s young and hip and super nice and she always smiles and shakes her head at me when I talk about natural childbirth. But there’s no judgement in it. It’s more like awe. It makes me feel good. She told me before she left the room that she could never do what I just did.

They put Josiah on me right away, but only for about 10 seconds. Then they whisked him away to suction and clean him. It was hard waiting to get him back while they tended to him and I separately. I remember being super antsy to see my son. I just wanted to look at him! It took forever for them to clean him off. I tried to sit up best I could to see him while they cleaned him off, stitched me up (smaller tear this time), and cleaned me off. I nearly jumped off the bed when the lady who cleaned me up sprayed the cleaner on me. It was the temperature of ice cubes, and she gave me no warning. She looked completely shocked that I reacted that way. I guess she’s used to ladies who’ve had epidurals. I had to remind her that I could feel everything going on down there. I was hyper aware of everything in general. I had a total surge of energy. I actually felt pretty great after he came out, pretty much immediately. I was really out of it after Adela was born. This time there are actually photos of me smiling right after delivery. Pretty great to get that high after all that hard work and agony.

Another digression, because natural childbirth is a passion of mine and I believe in preparing people who might attempt it. If there’s anything I can say to give somebody else a better chance at it, I’ll say it. A few things that other moms who had delivered naturally said to me before I attempted it really helped get me through. They didn’t candy coat it. I feel like I knew what to expect. (Find like-minded people by taking a natural childbirth class. Like the Bradley Birthing classes, which was a commitment of once a week for 8 weeks I think? We did it and the couples we shared the experience with were great. All of six couples ended up delivering naturally with healthy babies!) And now I’ve done it – natural, drug-free, intervention-free childbirth – twice, by the grace of God. I know there are a lot of people who plan on a natural childbirth that doesn’t happen. There are so many things that can go wrong, or get confusing, so many ways control can be stripped away from you. I’m grateful that it was an option for me, both times. And I realize that there is no guarantee that it will be an option again, if we have another baby. I’m grateful that those scenarios where interventions would have been necessary didn’t unfold. But I also find myself getting defensive – or maybe protective is a better word – about the experience. Let me see if I can explain. I’ve talked to a lot of people about natural childbirth. Some who have done it, some who have planned on it and not done it, some who think I’m completely insane for attempting it, some who wonder at me for doing it. I don’t judge anyone for their childbirth choices. I realize anything that anybody has gone through could have just as easily been me. And personal choice is personal choice. What’s best for me may not be what’s best for another person in another situation. But for me and my family, I’ve done the research and I believe in natural childbirth. I believe it’s the best option for me and for baby. I believe there’s evidence to support that opinion. And I believe that being prepared, mentally and physically, gives a person the best chance of accomplishing a natural childbirth, if that is their goal. It’s not something one can wander in to thinking you’ll give it a try and see how it goes. It takes commitment, resolve, certainty, knowledge about what to expect, and a support system. Because of all that, because of the commitment it takes, it’s frustrating to feel like what we (me and my coaches) have accomplished is being minimized. We can’t help but compare, to gauge and classify our experiences relative to others’. I get that. But, to put it bluntly, other labors didn’t hurt worse than mine did. Labor is agonizing. My labor wasn’t shorter or easier than most. It was excruciating. It was difficult. It was long. And yes, I had back labor. Labor feels like your body is being ripped apart. It’s the hardest thing, physically, I’ve ever done. By a mile.  It can be done and it’s incredibly worthwhile, but it takes serious commitment, preparation and endurance. I think the reason that natural birth moms get so defensive and, sometimes even judgmental, about natural childbirth is that we don’t feel like our experiences are validated. Sometimes it seems like there’s an assumption that we had some kind of golden ticket labor and delivery, that it wasn’t as difficult or as long as the one experienced by somebody else. I think what we all want is really just a pat on that back and a, “good job!” To be able to revel in our success for just a moment. To know that we are tough. Nature cooperated and I then did what I planned to do, as difficult as it was. I triumphed over my fear, exhaustion, and agony. I kept my resolve. I want my victory lap. A moment without comparison or downplay. I earned it. That being said, the majority of people (and all my friends) are incredibly supportive and encouraging. And I certainly have gotten my share of pats on the back.

Back to it…

Finally, finally I got to hold my son. Elated. Wonderful, wonderful moment. He was perfect. Eyes open and calm, just like his sister was. I gave everyone else a turn and then breastfed him. He latched right on, first try, just like his sister had. Breastfeeding is like bicycle riding, once you figure it out, you don’t forget. And this time I didn’t need the nurses to try and explain to me how to do it. They hovered for a moment (every nurse for the next several days did), until they realized we had it. And then they left us to ourselves. I didn’t pass out this time. I didn’t sleep at all. I was actually kind of wound up. It all went by so quickly.

Before we knew it they moved us to the recovery room, at the opposite end of the hospital. My mom headed home to get Adela and the rest of the family. We had a room by ourselves again, despite the 4 extra beds next to us. We got settled and Craig left to get us Panda Express, again what sounded best (same meal I requested after the birth of Adela,)

Then Dad, Tia and Adela arrived with Mom. Watching Adela meet Josiah was THE BEST, other than meeting Josiah himself. So awesome. She was a little shy at first, giggling and excited, but unsure about holding him. That didn’t last long. She’s been smitten ever since.

Wow, this is s long story…

Anyway, after all the introductions, cuddles and congratulations, the family left Craig and I with Josiah and we settled in to try and get some sleep. We managed a couple of hours, not much. The next day was a lot of waiting, but it was pleasant waiting. We thought we might get to go home. All was well. My mom came to visit and brought us Starbucks.

Josiah had his first bath and he squealed like a little piggy the whole time. He had his PKU test. Then, he napped and took a few photos of him. Then he passed his hearing test. The pediatrician came and checked him out and he passed with flying colors. But the pediatrician informed us that it’s his policy to recommend staying another night because of my GBS positive status. “Even though I got the antibiotics in time?” I asked. Yep. We were bummed, but okay. Mostly I missed Adela. I wanted her to get to be a part of the experience. She stayed in Yucca with my parents. We planned on leaving as early as they would let us the next day.

That night was rough. For some reason, Josiah was really fussy. More fussy than just newborn baby fussy. For hours and hours he wouldn’t sleep for more than 15 or so minutes at a time. About 3am, I finally called the nurse and asked if I could give him some gas drops since he was burping and farting a lot. She noticed his respirations were a little fast, and that observation set in motion what would result in another 7 days in the hospital for all of us. She got out the pulse oximeter and his oxygenation looked good. He had no fever. His heart had no murmur. But because she had suspicions, to be cautious, she called the pediatrician who ordered labs and an X-ray. Again, setting in motion the next 7 days. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t called the nurse in. I’m 99% convinced we would have been fine, discharged the next morning with a healthy baby if I hadn’t. But, for whatever reason, that wasn’t the way it played out. Because of that small potential that Josiah could have contracted GBS (even though the chances were close to nil, especially since I got all the antibiotics needed during labor) everything was treated gravely, like we were on the verge of an outbreak. Even though chances were that nothing was wrong, everything that happened after that was based on a hypothetical worst-case scenario. I see it clearly now, in retrospect. While we were going through it, it was like an unstoppable current. We could barely keep up, and it seemed as though we had no control over any of it.

They drew his labs, and then gave him 2 injections of antibiotics (just in case, even though chances of him having contracted anything were extremely low) while they waited for the results. I was getting upset at this point. Starting to worry, about Josiah, but also about him getting unnecessary drugs. After all, I had just gone through labor without any meds for that very reason. To protect him. But sick newborns are very serious. They don’t play around. They are overly, overly cautious. So, then they came to take his X-ray. Again, I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t want him exposed to X-rays. He was just born, for Pete’s sake. I wanted to tell them to let him be. But they suspected that he might have a pulmonary embolism. In retrospect, again, I realize they had no evidence of it. His breathing was a little rapid, but not irregular or labored, and his blood oxygenation was fine. But we let them do it. We were scared our son had a hole in his lung. So they x-rayed him. Then, an hour later another x-ray tech showed up to x-ray him again. The technician couldn’t read the first image because Josiah had been turned in it. Then, a bit later, the X-ray tech showed up a THIRD time and told us that he had STILL been turned and they need to take another image!! I almost freaked out. I did cry. And I asked them through my tears if they could PLEASE make sure to get it right this time, that I didn’t want my kid exposed to all these x-rays, that it wasn’t good for him. He told me he’d make sure he got it, and he did. That was a definite low point of my hospital experience. I was really upset. I’m getting upset thinking about it now. Nauseous, even. I had done my best to protect my son from “the system,” and here he was getting swept up in it. Control was being ripped out of my hands. It was hard. And that feeling was mixed with real fear that there could be something truly wrong with him (although I never fully believed that because he seemed fine.)

When the labs finally came back, his CRP levels were high and we were informed that  Josiah needed to be admitted to the NICU to continue his antibiotics for 7-10 days. Devastating.

Another digression… In retrospect we understand what “elevated CRPs” means a little better than we did when we were going through it. Of course, I had never heard of them before. All they told us is that he Josiah probably had some kind of infection that was elevating the levels of this certain protein. One of the NICU nurses later explained it this way – just like we send men to war first and then the boys when we run out of men, the body sends mature white blood cells to combat infection first but when resources are low, immature white blood cells are sent instead. Those are the CRPs. They are the “boys” being sent to war. And they indicate “something” is wrong. They just have no idea what. Later when we got to the NICU, the pediatrician himself told us that “anything” can elevate CRP levels. A bumped elbow, any kind of trauma or sickness, the HEP B VACCINE. Yes, he told us that. We had declined getting the Hep B vaccine (we vaccinate our kids fully, but on a conservative timeline.) So we can infer that babies end up in the NICU sometimes because they’ve gotten a vaccine that everybody says is completely safe? Interesting.  Obviously he didn’t mean for us to take it that way. But obviously, deducing from what was inferred, it’s happening. Also, later on in the week, one of the nurses mentioned that most of the time when CRPs are elevated we don’t know and it never amounts to anything, because it’s not something they normally look for. Interesting. All this information begins to make one feel like perhaps the NICU is a bit of a money-making factory for hospitals. They look for an elevated protein that can mean anything or nothing important, and then admit you for a minimum 7-day course of antibiotics,  just in case? How many babies are ending up in there for no good reason?? This is a whole other long topic I realize. Too long for this post. But as I sit here now, I’m upset. Truly upset. Upset about the whole thing we had to go through with, what I believe to be, a healthy son. Argh. Okay, more on that later…

We got swept away to the NICU, and a whole other part of our story began. But I’ll save that for the next post. But here’s the preview, not to spoil the end of the story, but the ending is good. We did make it home eventually, with a healthy son. And we are so in love with him. He’s the perfect missing piece to our family puzzle. So blessed, so grateful to the Lord for his most precious gift to us.