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| 7 Month | 10 Day | 2005 Year |
| 3 Hour | 55 Minute | PM |
Ava Tallulah's Birth
At 3:55PM on July 10th, 2005 Ava Tallulah was born. She is a healthy 6lb 15 oz, 20 inch long baby girl.
This is the story of her entry into the world:
11:10PM: It's a normal Saturday night. Ava's original due date is hours away but mom hasn't shown any signs of a coming birth. After slow internet access woes all week I decided to switch from DSL to cable. I was on the phone with tech support in Texas. I had been waiting for 45 minutes when a call came in on the cell phone. I looked at it and it was Heather. She hadn't been showing any signs and she was upstairs so I hit the "Ignore" button. Sorry Avester.
11:30PM: About twenty minutes later Heather calls back. By now I'm off the phone with Comcast and have just succeeded in getting 4Mbps access. Nice. So I pick up this time. Heather says, hesitantly, "I think my water broke." I bolt upstairs to the main bathroom where she is.
The water breaking isn't dramatic like it is in the movies. It leaves some room for doubt and interpretation. Heather doesn't want to waste the hospital's time. But I don't see any reason not to head to the hospital. Worst case, they send us home.
So we start packing. Not a mad rush. Fairly relaxed. I realize that after having nine months of warning, I'm really not packed yet. I grab a couple shirts and a pair of boxers. I grab the cameras and batteries. I put Heather's already-packed bags into the her car. Mine still has the bike in it from the day's ride.
Within about ten minutes we're on the road. It's dark and wet, a recent rain on the pavement. I drive slowly.
As we get off the ramp from I-285 to Peachtree-Dunwoody Heather feels her first contraction-like something. She describes it as a menstral cramp. Some hope grows in my head that Ava's on her way but I don't want to get overly-exuberant because I don't want Heather to feel bad if this isn't "it."
Despite many Hollywood portrayals, getting to the hospital is uneventful. We walk inside and up to the admissions desk. We're given some forms. I note that it's exactly 12:00 midnight on July 10th, 2005 when we start checking in. I also note the quick escalation from playing with the computer to sitting in the hospital. A slight "wow" moment hits me. Again, I don't show it because we don't really know what's up and I don't want Heather to feel any letdown if it's not time yet.
Slight mixup as the nurse assigns us to a room that's already-occupied. We're told to go to A4, but as we do so nurses start yelling "C5, C5!" to us. Comedy ensues until somebody realizes the error.
The delivery rooms are amazing. Wood paneling. Great lighting. Wood floors. Televisions, radios, etc. Nice digs. Completely private.
Our first nurse comes in. She's nice, but not very communicative. She has a strong Jamaican-esque accent. Heather and I are both bursting at the seams, but neither of us wants to show it to the other. We're playing it cool, being adults. What we want is a little expert opinion. "Is this baby coming tonight?" is all we want to know. What we get is some heartfelt and kind babbling. Not the nurse's fault. She was doing her job. No clear answers for us. We settle in and wait a bit. It feels like we're in limbo, not able to celebrate or prepare, but all the time celebrating and preparing.
The nurse starts an IV. It's a good sign that things look like baby time. Heather and I start to let our excitement show to each other a little more. "Could this be it?" we think.
Then they hook up two amazing monitors. As you know, I'm a numbers geek so I loved this part of the process. They had a fetal heart rate monitor. We got audible and digital feedback on Ava's heartbeat. We'd hear her in the background for hours. Sometimes faster. Sometimes slower. Always amazing.
They also connect Heather to a contraction monitor. When Heather's muscles contract I see a number increase from zero to a hundred. At first they go up to 23 or so. Heather doesn't react too much, but describes a mild pain. Pretty soon I'm able to watch the machine and tell her when one is coming.
The contraction meter is displayed on a time graph so that we're able to see the history. Heather begins having contractions irregularly every 15-30 minutes. Some are bigger than others.
We hang out for a couple hours. Fill out paper work. The frequency of contractions isn't crystal clear to us and we're still not getting answers to our big questions. We try to correlate the readings we're seeing to things we know. Like the notion that you're supposed to go to the hospital when contractions reach 8 minutes apart. Where are we now? Is this labor or false labor? Are these real contractions?
At about 1:30AM Nurse Kind-But-Incommunicado administers a swab test to see if the water Heather saw was in fact amniotic fluid. She shows me the instant result: it is. This is the first clear and unambiguous indication that Ava is on her way. Heather and I look into each other's eyes with excitement and wonder. After more than nine months of waiting, this is it!
We still don't know much more than the fact that this is "it." Go time. Zero hour. I start to consider the family. Is this time to call them? Heather and I consult. Contractions are still very far apart and while we don't think that Ava will be here any time soon, we also don't have any medical experts telling us the same. As far as we know she could pop out at any moment. We want to balance family announcement with respect for family time. And there's also Heather to consider. She doesn't need tons of people around the whole time. So we agree to wait a little while to call anybody. Still, we both feel the urge to reach for the phones and sound the alarm.
We watched some TV. The Weather Channel. By this point it's full-time coverage of Hurricane Dennis which is going to hit Florida soon. They don't know where exactly it'll hit so they have reporters all over the panhandle, each vying for network time with wind reports and local interviews. The hurricane adds to our sense that something big is happening. On TV you have excited people. In the delivery room you have excited people. As you know, I love inclement weather. The power of nature. And nothing's more powerful than a hurricane.
By 2:30 Heather is in some discomfort. Her contractions cause her to look away and grimace. She tries to hide it more often than not, but I can call her bluff with the contraction meter.
At about 3:00AM contractions begin to get strong. She has to grab the bed bar and squeeze it, looking down. When she has one she can't talk. The nurse gives her some pain medication that gets her drowsy. This relaxes her a bit, but doesn't numb the pain much. She goes into a bit of an unresponsive funk for about an hour.
By 4:00AM contractions begin to get very heavy. Very quickly Heather goes from being groggy to being wide awake and in pain. I watch the contraction monitor and do what I can to help her get through each one. It's emotionally taxing to see your wife in pain. It's much more taxing to actually be a wife in pain. Heather starts to ask questions about the epidural.
We still don't know the procedure for the epidural. When is it administered? Is it when she gets to a certain level of dilation? A certain peak intensity of contraction? A certain frequency of contraction? We ask the nurse and get some kind but senseless answers.
By now we've been visited by a midwife. We're told that Heather is at 1-2cm dilation and 80% effacement. We're both a little surprised because this is about what she was two weeks ago.
At 4:15AM Heather requests the epidural. We later learn that epidurals are up to the mommy to request. They can be administered at any time to stop the pain.
5:00AM. Heather is having incredibly painful contractions that cause her to vomit. She's hot and sweating, dreading each one. She's a trooper when it comes to pain so I know that if she's showing it she's in a lot of pain. The doc comes in to administer the epidural. Heather is worried about me passing out because of my fear of needles. It's the farthest thing from my mind. I know... absolutely know... that the phobia won't be a factor over the course of the birth. And it isn't. I see needles and blood but never once get queasy. Heather has one big contraction while the epidural is being put in. She has to work hard to not move.
Epidural is amazing. Heather has contractions but doesn't feel them at all. The intensity of the room drops. Heather is given another round of drowsy medicine to help her get some sleep.
With Heather's pain gone and her dozing I took a moment to reflect. I had been awake since 4:30AM the previous day when I had ridden 100+ miles on 3 hours of sleep. Pacing around the delivery room I was delerious. Absolutely exhausted.
I curled up on the bench, knowing that if I didn't I'd probably start babbling incoherently. Heather encouraged me to sleep. I didn't sleep as much as I rested a little. Whenever anything beeped or a nurse came in I was instantly up and at Heather's side, where I wanted to be.
We had the beeping room for the evening. Every night they have one. A room where monitors just seem to go off a lot. I think that at some point in the evening each machine threw out an alarm at one point. Once machine alarmed every 5 minutes for a while.
About 6:30AM. A midwife checks dilation. Still only 2-4cm. But aha! Some clarity! She tells us that Ava's definitely coming and that she'll likely be here in the early afternoon! Pure excitement in our hearts. While we've known that this is "it" for a number of hours, this is the first time we're given a timeline... a framework to put our excitement and expectations into.
This clarity is liberating for both of us. There's a lot of relief. We didn't know whether Heather would burst into full labor any moment. Suddenly we can put things into perspective. We feel like we were on track.
Some more questions of when to call the family and sound the alarm. We decide to wait a little longer.
More Hurricane Dennis. By now we've seen The Weather Channel's coverage for about seven hours. We know certain segments by heart. It's still gaining strength and heading for Florida.
Heather is a peeing machine. Thanks to her triathlon training she's good at using and processing water. We get up and unhook every sensor so that Heather can go to the bathroom. As it turns out we're supposed to keep them on her and unplug them. Oh well. Heather had to pee... what are you gonna do?
By 7:30AM we've met our new nurse, Sandy. She's very communicative. I notice that she's actually reviewing the baby's heart rate, recommending changes and giving us input. This is wonderful. Sandy is from Villa Rica, where Heather's from. Sandy is a swimmer. I'm glad that they have a connection.
Heather's in enough pain with bladder issues that she requests more epidural. Tne nurses give her one elective dose. Then they give her a second. Then they have the doc back to administer a third increase. The cord coming out of Heather's back is touchy for me. It represents instant paralysis to me. I watch over it like a hawk. At one point I ask the nurses if I can unplug equipment to re-route power cables around it.
The number of wires and cables was astounding... one of the big surprises of the process. It was difficult for Heather to roll over or move at all with those wires.
I should note that since the evening started I've been on the verge of tears. Very emotional for me.
By 10:00AM we decide to start a Family Awareness campaign. I call Heather's father and give him the good news. I am on the verge of tears the entire time. I wander outside the hospital to get some fresh air but I'm still emotional. Heather has requested that people start showing up at around 1:00PM but Beep concludes that he'll have a hard time keeping Ball from the hospital.
We give Heather's parents a head start. The have a longer drive. At about 11:15AM I call my mother, then my father and then my sister. Leaving a message on my sister's voicemail was the most difficult of the three. Difficult in a good way. A teary way. Everybody's excited and plans their assault on the hospital.
12:00 Noon: people start to arrive.
Heather has some shaking and vomiting. Tries to be strong. She has a growing fever that rises to 102. They administer some Tylenol.
Beep and Ball are there. My father, sister and mother show up. Heather's uncle Rusty shows up. It's a lot of activity and I begin to get a little concerned about Heather. She wants to interact with people so that they don't worry about her. But she's increasingly more miserable. After a while we get everybody out of there. Actually, I encouraged my father not to go in there before the birth. The less people the better, in my mind. Hindsight, maybe not the best decision because one extra person certainly wouldn't have hurt. But I do appreciate his willingness to look out for Heather's well-being.
About 1:00PM. Excitement growing. Heather's at 7cm. We're both wide awake. The collection of people has been reduced through smaller visits. Heather still has a fever.
About 2:00PM. The midwife checks progress. Heather's at +1... Ava's ready to make her grand entrance!
2:30PM: First attempts to push. I'm shown how to hold one of Heather's legs up and she's told how to push. It's not easy to do with the epidural because the body doesn't have much, if any, sensory feedback.
Not much progress after a couple pushes. A lip on the cervix is still holding Ava back. I can tell that Heather's struggling to figure out how to push. I encourage her without being overly flowery. At the nurse's suggetion, we agree to wait until 3:15PM. This seems a good idea but very quickly Heather starts to feel a lot of pressure.
Hurricane Dennis is just about to hit the coast line in Pensacola, FL. Coverage intensifies, almost in lockstep with the delivery room's intensity.
2:55PM: I go to get a nurse... Heather wants to push... now.
They have her do a couple pushes and then we get abandoned. They conclude that she needs to wait a little longer. Heather isn't in the mood to hear this and wants to get Ava out of there. I want her pain to be over. And I want to meet Ava.
At 3:20PM they're back and we begin final pushing.
At 3:30PM, after watching 16 hours of coverage, Hurricane Dennis slams the Florida coast as Ava does the same to Heather's lower half.
I took Heather's right leg. There's one nurse on her left leg and one nurse in the "war zone." I'm not sure who described it as such, but it's an accurate depiction. Blood and guts all over the place. But instead of being gory, it's exciting and special.
As a contraction begins on the contraction meter we lift Heather's legs and she bears down, pushing. She can't tell when the contractions are and has to rely on us watching the monitor to guide her. The midwife monitors her progress. Contractions are about a minute and a half apart. Heather's working like a champ. The nurse on her left gives a ten second countdown on each contraction. Heather needs to hold her breath and push for those ten seconds. Three pushes per contraction.
After about fifteen minutes I haven't seen much progress. The nurses are very encouraging though. I realize that I have no idea how long it should take.
I decide not to cheer Heather on. This is a lesson I've learned working out with Heather. When we're running she hates it when I run beside her and say things like "awesome job", "you're super fast" or "you rock girl." She hates the cheerleader stuff and with two cheerleaders in the delivery room I didn't want to contribute. Heather describes herself as being delerious. After two rounds of drowsy pain medicine, much epidural action and a fever of 103 she's out of it. She later described the delivery as "surreal."
By 3:45PM I see some of Ava's head at the end of a contraction. Then, as Heather relaxes, it slips back in. Then on the next one it comes back, a little more. Then it slips back. We do this for a while. Now I can see the progress with my own eyes. Prior to this I was giving Heather loving smiles. Now I begin to let her know with my eyes that she's making progress. I see myself as an anti-cheerleader truth meter. Heather smiles in appreciation.
At about 3:50PM I see full crowning. Excitement grows in the room. Heather's told that she has about twenty more minutes. I'm surprised by the statement. It turns out to be a bit of trickery.
Only a few minutes later we hear that Ava will be here in "one or two more pushes." I'm holding Heather leg, glancing back and forth from her to Ava, just about to cry.
I see Ava's head slide out but can't make much of it. Then she turns her head up and I see her eyes, nose and mouth. Amazing. She gasps for air as the midwife pulls her out.
3:55PM: Ava Tallulah is born!
She lets out a surprisingly loud cry that fills the room. I get choked up with tears. (Big manly tears, of course.) Ava kicks here and there.
I cut the cord.
Heather waves her off and sends her to the cleaning table.
I tend to mommy, holding her hand and letting her know how amazing she is.
I get to hold Ava. She's tiny and cute. I show her to Heather.
Heather passes the placenta only a couple minutes later.
Blood clot removal really painful. If you've been there you know that this is one of the un-advertised rough spots in the modern delivery process. This is the one time that Heather exclaimed in pain "nooooo." Very tough to watch.
As I glance back and forth between the two wonderful women in my life, Heather and Ava, I get the first taste of my newest challenge: balancing care between them. At this point I don't realize how fundamental this challenge is... it's just a fleeting sense in the back of my head before I get on with the exciting things to do in the room. In the coming days I realize the importance of this challenge.
Ava gets weighed. She pooped right after she came out. The nurses said that this moved her from 7 lbs to 6 lbs 15 oz.
Ava is a healthy baby girl.
The words on this summary only begin to capture the excitement that we have. Ava is our proudest moment and our greatest hope. We look forward to the adventure ahead.
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