The Birth Story of Adalynn Grace

The day before Addy's arrival was spent soaking up the sun out on the lake, watching Keegan splash around at the sand bar while I was sequestered to the boat with my kankles up on top of the cooler to help with the swelling. It was hot, I was huge, and watching skinny little bimbos in bikinis was not doing anything for my self esteem. It was hard to sit still, not only because I was literally sticking to the leathery seat, but because in less than 24 hours, our Addy Grace would be in my arms.

Everything had been discussed, arranged, and then discussed again. My dad had lovingly volunteered to go into surgery with me, both to support me and allow my squeamish mother to avoid seeing her daughter sliced open. We all agreed that Keegan would probably do better running around the hospital with my mom, and it was a relief to know he would be comfortable while I couldn't be there with him. The plan was for my dad and I to sneak out to the hospital while Keegan was still asleep, and that my mom would bring him to meet his new sister once I was out of surgery and in recovery. Of course, Keegan had other ideas.

I was up at 6:00 showering with the bright orange antibacterial soap I was issued to make sure I was sterilized and ready for surgery. I was busy running through the lists in my head, trying to think if I had forgotten anything for my hospital bag when I heard my little man stirring in his bed. I hurried through the motions of finishing my shower, got wrapped up in my towel and went to see my little man. The idea was not lost on me that today would be his last day as an only child. The guilt had been creeping in that soon his time with mommy would be split, he would lose my undivided attention, and that his world would soon be sent on a tailspin by a tiny screaming, eating, and pooping machine. I laid down next to Keegan who was snuggled up with all three of his "gees". He has a funny habit in the mornings of puffing out his top lip and flicking it with his finger. He's done this for almost a year now, and we still can't quite understand where he picked it up. I asked him if he knew what today was, and he sleepily responded "baby sister coming today!" The tears welled up, knowing that while he understood that she was coming, he had no idea what was really about to happen. I ushered my sleepy boy out of bed, and headed to the kitchen to fix him some breakfast, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

The house was a buzz with excitement and anxious nerves. My mom was up, ready to start her day of Keegan chasing. My dad was showing signs of nerves, walking back and forth in the kitchen, checking his phone, heading to the garage, coming back in and checking his phone again. I knew that him being in the surgery with me meant a lot to him, he had even been upset when I automatically assumed my mom would be the one in the OR with me. So when the time finally came, he was taking his job very seriously. "Are you ready yet? We need to get going if we're gonna make it there on time..." I was hoping he was going to be able to handle today, because I was already an emotional mess. My dad grabbed my hospital bag and took it out to the car as I kissed Keegan, promising to see him later when he came to visit and meet his new baby sister at the hospital. I hugged my mom, and she promised to be there once I was in recovery. One more smooch and hug for my little man and I headed out the door.

I had made the drive between Coldwater, Michigan and Ft Wayne, Indiana several times over the past nine months for doctors appointments, but that morning it was the longest 45 minute trip of my life. I sat in the front seat watching the rain come down while my poor dad tried his best to keep me from knowing how nervous he was by talking my ear off about anything and everything. I kept my answers short, dealing my own nerves and keeping Nolan up to date on what was going on was all I could handle. We pulled into the parking lot, and my heart jumped into my throat. I knew what was coming this time, I had been through this before, but I had a whole new set of worries this time. What if something happened to me during the surgery? Nolan wasn't here, how could I go through all of this without him? Sensing my nerves, my dad said, "Just think, in a few hours...Addy will be here, and you won't have a worry in the world". I wish that were the case.

We made our way to the birthing center, where things went from nerve wrecking to completely and totally awkward. The nice lady behind the counter asked for my driver's license and insurance card to make copies, and then this happened: "Are you the dad?" Without understanding her question, my dad answered, "Yes!" "Well congratulations, Dad!" squealed the lady with the biggest smile on her face, as if she could sense our excitement and nervousness. It finally clicked, and my dad realized she meant the baby's dad...not mine. He quickly corrected her, throwing in a comment about how young he must look. This was the next phase of my dad's nervousness: awkward comments to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oy vey. We were ushered down the hall to the pre-op room where they would monitor the baby for about an hour while hooking me up to IV's and finishing any paperwork that needed taking care of. I was handed a designer open back gown and told to strip, again (always a theme during pregnancy...especially the latter half). After changing and awkwardly making my way to the bed without flashing my father my ass, I met the two nurses that would be taking care of me before the surgery, one of which would be in the surgery, and tending to me afterwards. Erika and Katie were great, largely due to the fact that they didn't smack the shit out of my dad for all the ridiculous comments he was spewing. In all fairness, I did warn them. While Erika hooked up my IV, dad asked if he could get one filled with Tequila. When Katie went to go get some paperwork and asked if we needed anything, dad asked for a breakfast burrito. It only got worse from there.

I was hooked up to machine that would monitor the baby which fascinated my dad to no end, it was adorable. He watched Addy's heart rate go up and down as she wiggled and hiccuped. It was as if she knew today was the big day, she was all over the place, trying to find the nearest emergency exit. My nurses came and went, I signed papers, and waited. This time around was much different than with Keegan. By this time with Keegan, I was so nervous and overflowing with adrenaline that I shook uncontrollably. My teeth chattered, my bones ached from shaking, and all of the nerves caused me to break out with a serious case of cold sores post-baby. This time, I was nervous...but at the same time, I was ready. Dr Kennedy came by to check in and let me know that they were almost ready for me in the OR. "The tech people just set up the tripod for the camera, we are waiting on the anesthesiologist and then we are good to go! Are you ready?" That was the million dollar question. "Yep! Good to go! Still okay to have the husband FaceTime in?" She assured me it was okay, thank God because I think I could feel his nervousness from all the way in Afghanistan. Dad was still cracking jokes, which at this point was less embarrassing and more comforting. I think he even threatened the doctor...bless his heart.

Minutes later, I walked into the OR where Dr Kennedy introduced me as the pregnant lady in need of a c-section. She introduced each person there as I made my way to the operating table. I sat with my legs hanging over the edge while the anesthesiologist began his routine of mixing his potions and draping and washing my back in preparation for the epidural. Dr Kennedy stood in between my legs, put her hands on my knees and offered to hold my hands. She made small talk, mentioning that the nurses seemed to have taken a liking to my father and his antics. I apologized profusely, promising to supply some delicious cupcakes for all parties having to deal with his crap which everyone seemed to find hilarious and thoughtful. I was told to relax and drop my head, Dr Kennedy stood on a stool and let me put my head on her shoulder while the anesthesiologist pushed on my spine, trying to find the right spot to insert the giant needle with the amazing drugs. After finding the right spot, I braced myself for the sting and took a deep breath. Three little bee stings, and a hell of a lot of pressure later, and I was beginning to feel the affects of the drugs in my lower extremities. Katie, my pre-op nurse and the one familiar face in the OR other than Dr Kennedy assisted in swinging my legs back onto the table and getting me into position. I was draped and hooked up to more machines, while the room came to life, everyone knowing their job. Once I was ready to go, Katie was sent to let my dad in, who beelined it to the stool set up next to my head. He asked if I was okay, I told him I was good. He fired up the iPad, and called Nolan on FaceTime.

It didn't even ring a full time before Nolan's face showed up on the screen, tears already in his eyes. "Hi sweetie!" I said as calmly as I could possibly muster. The first thing out of his mouth was asking if I was okay...I assured him I was, and told him that they had just gotten started and she would be here soon. We made a last bet on how much she would weigh, and then just waited. I kept asking if he was okay, as he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, or from ringing his hands over and over and over under his chin. He told me he loved me over and over through the shaking in his voice. My dad held the iPad, as I focused on my breathing. I was moments away from seeing my daughter, and that's all that mattered. That's all I could think about. The anesthesiologist who had sat next to my father behind me asked if I was comfortable, telling me that it wouldn't be long before she arrived. I was fine, I just wanted to meet my daughter.

I could hear machines beeping, the sounds of metal on metal as instruments were used and then set down on a tray. I stared at the ceiling and focused on my breathing. I checked in with Nolan from time to time, and kept breathing. "I see a biiiiig baby!" said Dr Kennedy, announcing that she had finally gotten a visual of Addy. I relayed the message to Nolan, the tears still streaming down his face. My eyes started to well with tears, knowing in moments I would see her, finally. "There's going to be some big pressure now Tiff, hold on...here she comes!" I stared at the blue draping, waiting for our baby girl to be hoisted over so I could finally see her. There was pressure, lots of pressure, and no noise. And then..."Here she is!" And I cried. I looked at her face, she was here. She was finally here. The waiting was over. "She's here honey, she's beautiful!" I told Nolan. He asked if she was okay and I told him she was here and she was great. We both cried happy tears, our wait was over, Addy was here. We thought all the chaos was over, but it was only just  beginning.

They took Addy over to the nurses who began cleaning her up and going through their checklist of procedures. I told my dad to go take pictures, leaving me with the iPad to talk to my husband and gush over our beautiful new daughter. Something wasn't right. "Is she okay?" my dad asked. The nurses quickly responded, "She's perfect! Lungs are healthy, strong heart, she's perfect!" I looked at my dad and knew something was wrong. I handed him the iPad, and that's when I looked at Addy and saw it. She was laying in the clear basinet, the nurses measuring her and cleaning her up, both of her arms waving in the air as she whimpered and cried. Both arms, one shorter than the other, and a hand missing. From where I laid, it looked like I was seeing the inside of her wrist, and that her hand was just bent in a funny direction. I remember asking what was wrong. I asked where her hand was. "She's perfect!" the nurse kept repeating. She kept saying the same thing over and over and over. I began to panic. "Someone tell me what's going on! Why won't anyone talk to me? What's wrong with her?" Dr Kennedy stopped what she was doing and looked at me and repeated what the nurse said. "Tiff, she's fine, honey! Her lungs are great, her heart is strong! She's beautiful!" I looked at my dad and he didn't say anything, but it was in his eyes. I couldn't see his mouth behind the mask, but it was all over his face. I was now frantic. Screaming. Someone. Anyone. Answer me. Katie, my pre-op nurse looked at Dr Kennedy and shook her head "no". Dr. Kennedy sent the anesthesiologist over to take a look at Addy. He came back and whispered into Dr. Kennedy's ear, and then returned to my side, lowered his mask and spoke very slowly. "Tiffany, Addy is missing her forearm and her hand on the right side. She is perfectly healthy otherwise, but her hand is missing".

It all went black. I don't remember anything else until I arrived in recovery. I got sick. Needing a little pink basin to puke into. I cried. I panicked. My mind raced with a million worries and questions. I was angry. I was hurt. But I don't remember. I know now that the anesthesiologist took the iPad over to the bassinet and showed Nolan what all the commotion was about, I wasn't even the one to tell him. I know that my dad went over and took pictures, but I only know that because of the pictures. I know that Dr. Kennedy made an attempt at calming me down, after I began to hyperventilate. I know that when no one would answer me while I was screaming for answers, I tried to get up off of the operating table, but I know this because I had bruises on my arms from my dad holding me down. I know that as soon as she was ready to be held, Addy was handed to my dad. I know this because he swears up and down that the minute she was placed in his arms, she stopped crying and opened her eyes to stare at him. My dad held Addy as I laid there, my abdomen being put back together, all the while feeling my heart breaking.

I was wheeled to the recovery room where my dad and Addy followed. I remember laying my hand on my stomach, realizing that she was here, she had been born, and now I could no longer protect her. I was finally handed my daughter, my Addy Grace. I introduced myself, and she opened her eyes, almost begging me to love her. I loved her. I had spent the last nine months loving her, and in that moment, I loved her immensely more. I unwrapped her blankets so that I could see her arm. I needed to see it. I needed to touch it. I needed to know that it was real and that the past 45 minutes had not been a dream. I held her tiny arm in my hand, I ran my fingers over the end of her arm where her hand should have been and felt her tiny "fingers". I kissed them. This was my Adalynn Grace. All seven pounds, nine ounces, blue eyes, auburn mohawk sporting, 10 perfect toes, and 5 perfect fingers...this was my daughter, and I loved her more than I could put into words. In my head and my heart, I was mourning the  loss of the child I thought I was going to have, and was falling in love all over again with the child I was holding in my arms.

            

Where The Adventure Began

Over the past seven months, I have sat and stared at this computer on more than one occasion, trying to decide whether it was the right time to start this blog or not. I would write a few sentences, and instantly delete them, or slam the computer shut all together in tearful defeat. It's not that I haven't wanted to pour my heart into writing this, I think if I'm being honest with myself...it's because I haven't been fully ready until right now. I know that there will be entries that will be hard to write, and some will come easily, but what I know more than anything is that the process will be therapeutic for me. And maybe, just maybe...I can help another mother out there.

Our adventure with Addy began sixteen months ago, when after two heartbreaking miscarriages, I began to feel the early symptoms of pregnancy yet again. My husband and I had started to come to terms with the fact that our son, Keegan, may be our only child. He was the center of our universe, and we would be okay just being the three of us. So when I peed on that stick and it almost instantaneously said "pregnant" in big bold digital letters so as not to be confused with little faint pink lines...I found myself negotiating with mixed feelings. Do I share the news with my husband and allow us to get our hopes up all over again? Do I keep the news quiet and silently wait for the "pregnant" to stop showing up on tests to confirm my deep seeded fear that we won't have any more children? Not to mention the fact that my husband was currently training to be deployed with the National Guard to Afghanistan, and I was living with my parents during his absence, so the timing of this wasn't exactly spectacular. This still gives me anxiety just thinking about the situation...

In my state of rushing hormones and being a lonely single mother, I pulled my mom aside to share the news. I'm pretty sure she had an idea of what was going on since the only time I had been able to peel myself off the couch was in an attempt to make it to the bathroom to vomit up whatever stomach contents hadn't been evacuated in the previous bathroom sprint. She and I both agreed that I needed to get to a doctor as soon as possible to A) confirm the pregnancy, and B) do anything I could to keep this baby. My amazing mother got to work at pulling strings with a doctor at the hospital she worked at to get me seen two weeks after the test came back positive. This would be the longest two week waiting period of my life, and believe me...I'm a military wife; I know waiting. 

The two weeks came and went, and the day had finally arrived to see the doctor. I arrived early and braced myself for what I knew would be bad news. I couldn't get my hopes up, I couldn't go through feeling that loss again, and this time without my husband at my side. After giving my history of miscarriage and all things related to the nurse, Dr. Kennedy sent me for both labs and an ultrasound, explaining that I wouldn't be leaving that day without knowing for sure whether or not I was pregnant, and if the pregnancy was viable. Immediately, I loved her. I wanted to hug her and thank her a million times over, and she hadn't even confirmed anything yet. Just knowing I would have an answer, positive or negative, made the anxiety ease a bit. I made it through the blood draw well enough, and by the time I saw the ultrasound tech, I was tearing up. I just needed to know. She went through the usual protocol, "We're going to do a vaginal ultrasound, so disrobe from the waste down and I will be back to get started!"Always so strange, but by this point in the game...I had gotten somewhat used to being told to get naked from the waist down. Minutes later I was staring at my uterus and it's newest tenant. The tiny flicker gave me hope, I immediately wanted to call my husband to tell him the news, but I wanted to speak with the doctor first...I needed all the information before I let myself go there. I was ushered into a room and told that Dr. Kennedy wanted to go over some things with me. Shit. Here came the bad news. It turned out that my progesterone levels were low, low enough to be concerned. She explained that progesterone was how the baby survives until the placenta is able to support it, and that I needed to be put on a progesterone supplement to prevent another miscarriage. I needed to take the supplement every day, twice a day, until I reached 12 weeks, and if we made it to 12 weeks, I would be in the clear. She wasted no time in calling the prescription into my local pharmacy, and scheduling me for another appointment to see how the progesterone was working. 

In an effort to save some time, I'll give you the highlights. The progesterone worked! I had a baby growing inside of me with the help of the progesterone, and I was cautiously excited. I had spilled the beans to my husband, my dad, and my best and closest friends who had been through both miscarriages with me and were just as excited as I was at the thought of a tiny human occupying my uterus. The goal was to make it to 12 weeks, which we did! I had another appointment to check my levels, and another peek at the baby to make sure all things were going according to plan, and was given the thumbs up to stop taking the progesterone. At this point, the baby was able to sustain life from the placenta which had now formed. I breathed a small sigh of relief, and put a mental check next to the box labeled "MAKE IT TO 12 WEEKS" on the pregnancy checklist in my head. The next goal was to make it another 8 weeks, to the coveted 20 week appointment where we would find out the sex of the baby.

The weeks went by, the husband came home and left again, and a snow storm in February turned my 16 week appointment into my 18 week appointment. Since my mom was a physician recruiter for the hospital where my appointments were, she would meet Keegan and I at the office, and stay with him while I was poked and prodded and weighed like cattle. His daddy being in Afghanistan and only being with mommy 24 hours a day, seven days a week had lent itself to some serious separation anxiety and fear of strangers poking at mommy. Having my parents around through all this was amazing...especially when it came to Keegan. The nurses and doctors were all aware that my husband was in Afghanistan, and when he went to a remote base in the Afghan mountains, we were nervous that he may not be able to find out the new of the baby's sex with me via FaceTime in two weeks during the regular scheduled 20 week physiology scan. I begged and pleaded with the nurse to see if they could squeeze me into ultrasound to take a peek and see if the baby would give us an idea of the gender while I had the husband a FaceTime call away. The nurse, through streams of tears of her own, said they would squeeze me in and take a peek! The ultrasound tech happened to be the wife of a former marine, and when she heard our situation, bumped another patient to fit me in. I also felt the need to hug her and cry all over her. Just like Keegan, the baby was stubborn, already proving it was definitely my kid...wiggling and crossing it's legs just right so that the "business view" was obscured. Just when the ultrasound tech was ready to call it quits, the clouds parted (and so did the baby's legs) to reveal the lack of anything between her legs. "I think we are looking at a little girl! I can't give you 100%, but I would say 98% sure it's a girl! Just wait another 2 weeks for the big scan before you run out and buy all pink!" There were tears in Ft Wayne, Indiana, and in the mountains of Afghanistan that day as my husband and I heard the news that we would be welcoming a baby girl into our family.  A baby girl to complete our family. After two miscarriages, our miracle baby girl was on her way.

The next two weeks flew by, at 18 weeks pregnant, keeping up with my crazy red headed child was becoming more and more difficult. Not that I was huge yet, just that his endless supply of toddler energy and my depletion of energy due to growing a human were not a good combination. There were many days spent curled up on the couch falling asleep to a Disney movie, only to be woken up by a poke in the ribs when the movie was over. When the 20 week doctor's appointment came,  it wasn't nearly as exciting as it would have been had we not already been told what the sex of the baby was. Yes, I was anxious to see the squirming baby girl, but I was more excited to get confirmation that I was allowed to start replacing the fire trucks, dinosaurs, and all things blue with pink, pink and more pink.

I remember that appointment vividly, as if I already had some sort of intuition that something wasn't right. The ultrasound tech was one that I hadn't seen before. Whether she was new or we just hadn't crossed paths I'm not sure, but I was immediately aware that she seemed preoccupied during my scan.  Unlike my previous scans, this one was more in depth. There was a checklist of things the tech was supposed to check, measure, and take pictures of for my doctor to review, all standard procedure. The warm goo was squirted onto my cantaloupe of a belly, and she began manipulating the wand to find baby parts to measure. She fidgeted. She fidgeted like a two year old trying to sit through a dinner at a restaurant. She readjusted her seat, she flipped her hair back and forth, she adjusted the seat again, all the while wiggling the wand over my belly and taking pictures and measurements. I remember this vividly because I can remember thinking, "this is so unprofessional..." As she continued with the scan, she confirmed that our baby was in fact a girl, and that the shopping could commence. YAY! I remember the ultrasound being very long, baby girl wasn't cooperating again (this is a theme with my pregnancies...Keegan was a stubborn little fetus too). I was told to roll to one side, and then the other, trying to get baby girl to readjust so that the ultrasound tech could get a better shot of her heart, or a correct measurement of her femur, all the while adjusting her seat, flipping her hair, and then...chewing the piece of gum she popped into her mouth like a cow re-chewing it's breakfast. She admitted that the baby was being difficult, but that she managed to get all the pictures she needed. I was sent to see my doctor for the usual blood pressure check, and to see how much weight I had gained. Dr. Kennedy came in and went over the scans with me, showing me baby girl's strong heart, her brain that was developing, the shot that showed two functioning kidneys, and her astonishingly long legs, which the doctor thought had to be a mistake. "She's measuring really big, I think we need to do another scan to check this measurement..." I let her in on the fact that my handsome husband was a whopping 6'5", and that Keegan was also a very long baby. She seemed to accept that as being the reason for baby girl's super long legs. She said everything looked perfect.

As with most pregnant women (I refuse to believe I'm the only crazy one), I had my usual worries throughout my pregnancy. Was I eating the right things? Was the baby okay? How was Keegan going to adjust to being a big brother? How in the hell was I going to do this without my husband? How was I going to recover from a repeat cesarian section with a toddler and a new baby to care for? The usual frantic pregnant lady blunders. All the usual stuff, coupled with the history of miscarriage, and facing the birth of a baby without my husband kept me on the brink of sanity for the rest of the pregnancy.

Spring came and went and summer hit on the lake in Michigan. I was a swollen, sweaty, beach ball smuggling mess. I was trying to be a good mom to Keegan, my little ball of unlimited energy, all while trying not to be a narcoleptic beached whale...it was a tough balance. We spent our week days going to the park and getting ice cream, and our weekends out on the lake soaking up what little mommy and Keegan time we had left. I was documenting my growing belly in pictures for the husband to see, I was taking video of baby girl rolling around in my belly so he could experience the joys of baby #2 right along with me from halfway around the world. We tossed names around, always throwing them out, vowing to find one soon. All of our standby names had either become super popular since Keegan was born, or someone we knew had stolen them before we had our chance to name #2 (which is what my mom had started calling the baby, #2). We finally settled on a name, with a little less than six weeks left in the pregnancy. Adalynn Grace, Addy for short. My great grandmother passed away the previous summer, so we knew that we wanted her middle name to be Grace. Adalynn was something we compromised on because we originally liked Addyson, but everyone started naming babies Addyson. Adalynn just stuck.

Before I get to Addy's grand arrival, I should say that after the physiological ultrasound I did not have another ultrasound. I wasn't sure what was standard, with Keegan I had an ultrasound appointment after being hospitalized at 22 weeks with high blood pressure. I read the books, asked all my pregnant/mommy friends and the general consensus was that I would have a scan at 32 weeks. It didn't happen. I peed in the cup, they took my blood pressure, and they weighed me, and said that was it. I asked why I wasn't being send for the standard 32 week growth scan, and the doctor told me that because of the scheduled c-section, there really was no need for another ultrasound as long as my labs were fine and nothing was wrong. This made sense in my head. It didn't matter how giant the baby got, they were going to slice her out anyways, but it didn't stop the nagging in m head that I needed to see the baby, just to make sure everything was still okay. Call it mother's intuition, or just the overly paranoid lady who had been through two miscarriages, I felt like they should have done at least one more ultrasound to check on things. In retrospect, it wouldn't have changed anything, but it would have eliminated all of the drama and trauma from Addy's arrival.

And on July 22, 2013...our Adalynn Grace was born...and everything changed forever.