Officially a Family of Four: Ruby’s Birth Story

Plans had been made for Ruby to be delivered via cesarean section on Thursday, January 21, at two o’clock. Grandparents were notified, coverage for Violet’s care was in place, and we went to bed Tuesday night running over last-minute things to be taken care of the next day. As usual, I slept fitfully, late pregnancy discomfort rousing me every hour or so. But shortly after four o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by something other than aching hips and a need to pee again – my water was breaking. I came fully conscious as it was happening, and it was happening fast. Great gushes of fluid soaked our bed and my heart froze as I realized that this could mean the very thing the doctors had feared most: an umbilical cord prolapse.

Fortunately, in evaluating our options, I had considered the possibility of such an event, and learned that the best, in fact the only, thing to do in the situation I found myself in was to get into the knee-chest position as quickly as possible, stay that way, and have someone check to make sure nothing was compressing the cord (and relieve the compression if anything was). It would only take a minute or two of cord compression to deprive our daughter of oxygen with potentially catastrophic consequences.

The next fifteen or twenty minutes are etched clearly in my memory, every terror-stricken moment of them, and somehow a blur at the same time. As I turned onto my stomach I called to Eric beside me to wake up, telling him “my water is breaking.” As he dialed 911, I described how he needed to check for the cord and he did – he couldn’t feel it or Ruby. I sent him racing downstairs to unlock the door for the paramedics, gate off the dog, and grab my cell phone and as he returned, still on the line with the 911 operator, I called our friend, and Violet’s daycare provider, Shana, for help. We’re fortunate to have her just two blocks away, and as soon as I said “Shana, my water broke,” she assured me she was on her way. I called my parents next and told them Shana would be here with Violet, but we needed them to get to our house as soon as possible.

I hung up as the paramedics arrived, clambering up the stairs and into our room to find me practically standing on my head, pants down around my knees and pajama top hanging along with my hair over my face. I was only aware of three paramedics in our room, but learned later that there were several more individuals involved in my transport. Two fire trucks and an ambulance had responded to Eric’s call, and it took at least 5 people to get me down the stairs on the stretcher. They had had me crawl onto it, still in the knee-chest position, covered me with a blanket (thank goodness for small mercies as it was COLD outside and I was not only half naked but soaking wet), and tied me on as best they could. Because the turn in our stairs was too tight to fit the stretcher around, three of them had to lift me over the banister and lower me down to two others standing below. (It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t realize that was what was happening at the time.)

We are fortunate to live only about a quarter of a mile from the hospital, so we were in the labor and delivery triage less than half an hour from the moment I woke. Our hearts pounded as they searched for Ruby’s heartbeat . . . and only when they found it, strong and steady, were we able to breathe again.

My OB arrived then, and when the synechiae wasn’t immediately evident on ultrasound, I asked him if we could wait to see whether Ruby’s head might descend before proceeding to a c-section. He might’ve sighed as he told me, “Jennifer, you’ve just dodged so many bullets. Please don’t tell me you’re going to run back out in front of the firing squad.” And I realized that he was right, and finally, I agreed.

The surgery was soon underway. I couldn’t see Ruby when she was born, but I heard her, and relief flooded through me, washing away any resentment I had left over not being able to give Ruby the same kind of birth and reception Violet had enjoyed. Though it hurt to have her across the room, where I could only catch quick glimpses of her foot for the first few minutes of her life, I was grateful just to know that she was finally here and that all of the worst “what-ifs” were behind us. (My OB did note during the surgery that the synechiae was still intact, confirming that Ruby would not have been able to be born vaginally even if we had waited.)

Ruby was born at precisely six o’clock a.m. on Wednesday, January 20, 2010. Though she was breathing well on her own, her blood pressure immediately after delivery was low, and her color and tone accordingly less than ideal. This in conjunction with a tachycardic spell concerned the NICU team enough to bring her to the Newborn Intensive Care Unit for further observation/monitoring. They brought her to me so that I could see her and give her a quick kiss before she was whisked away, her daddy at her side. Not quite the sweet sort of introduction to the world we would have liked for her, but so much better than other outcomes we had feared so much just hours earlier. My OB kept me updated as I waited in recovery to be reunited with Ruby and Eric, assuring me that she was stable. Within an hour of delivery, less than three since our ordeal began just after four o’clock that morning, she was in my arms.

Ruby, newborn