The Blog

Pregnancy Journey

My daughter Julianne was brought into this world at 11:21 pm on Tuesday, March 26, 2019. Just shy of three years later I still get a lump in my throat talking about the process of bringing her earthside. Jules is the light of my life, and although I bask in all of the glory of being a Mama, as I know all too well the overwhelming ache women experience longing for a child of their own, I can’t help but feel relieved to know I am not alone as I continue to process the trauma from a moment in my life I never imagined would bring such feelings. 

My path to conceiving Julianne, at the time I thought was extremely difficult to which now after the proper education, I think it is quite normal. It is the lack of education for women on how to conceive/know their bodies, how pregnancy can be SO hard, how extremely difficult bringing a child into the world CAN be, and how feeling depressed postpartum is NOT uncommon– that brings about these expectations I think we all have for ourselves as soon as we start to try, or unexpectedly conceive. It took me eight months to conceive Julianne, and each month I cursed my body and grew further away from the happiness I wanted to feel. 

I have a video of when we found out I was pregnant. I still watch it to this day, because I remember thinking ‘this is finally happening’, not having any idea what my journey would be to follow. Around week five I became extremely sick, almost borderline HG sick.  I was a teacher at the time teaching Kindergarten, and let me tell you, finding the time to pee during teaching when pregnant was difficult enough, but now finding the time to puke, forget it. My husband and I finally made the decision around thirteen weeks for me to quit teaching, and become a homemaker. I am extremely lucky to have done this so early in my pregnancy. I luckily had a better second trimester when my nausea subsided around sixteen weeks, and I began to breathe. It was around the cusp of my third trimester I found out I had gestational diabetes. 

I had to go on a special diet (oh and I am a vegetarian so super fun to kick the carbs, NOT), I had to prick my finger four times daily, and I had to inject myself with insulin morning and night because I could not control my fasting blood sugar with diet, and exercise. My OBGYN who I do love so much, made the call to induce me at thirty-eight weeks and five days. I looked at my calendar, and this would put me at being induced on Sunday, March 24. My OBGYN was also very reassuring that the induction process would be a breeze, and she would be able to deliver my daughter herself on Monday, March 25. 

Well, the 24th came before I could blink, and soon I was Sitting in a hospital bed signing papers waiting to meet our little girl, and begin the induction process. 

Birth Journey

Now, before I continue my story this is a little disclaimer that some of the events that took place I do not think are common, and my daughter’s birth story truly is what we like to call, a perfect storm. 

I honestly did not make a birth plan. I had a couple of wishes as far as who would be in the room, what music I wanted to play, and that I would accept an epidural. Other than that we went in with clear intentions that we understood things could change on a dime, and we just wanted a healthy Mama & baby. Saying that out loud now, makes me cringe because although we are both physically healthy, I am still struggling mentally as I mentioned before. 

We checked into the hospital on March 24th, 2019 at 9:00am. My induction plan, I was told, was to start with a medicine called Cervidil, which is inserted like a tampon into your cervix to help prepare it for delivery. This happened around noon, I think, a lot of the minor details are still fuzzy to me. I knew around four in the afternoon something was wrong. I was not progressing, and I was in extreme pain. I could not even move my legs for a nurse to check me, and by 5:00pm I was the woman you see in movies who is screaming in pain, and the whole floor can hear her although I was not anywhere close to pushing. Finally, an unbelievable nurse said, “this is not in here right”. To which I replied, “then get it out.” I had to grab my husband with every ounce of my strength as she reached into my raw vagina, and removed the Cervidil insert. I was crying, my husband was crying, and my mother was crying. It was already not what I had pictured. This same nurse recommended I go down to Labor and Delivery (I was currently on an antepartum floor) to receive a walking epidural for the pain. 

Next, after being on the walking epidural, I was comfortable enough for an OBGYN to check me, see how far along I had made it, and then made a decision on how to proceed. She decided to insert a Foley Balloon which I do not remember feeling. All I remember is hitting that green button for more medication every time it shined and passing out over and over. Next, I do remember another OBGYN breaking my water somewhere on Monday the 25th as well as starting me on Pitocin. I don’t remember seeing my OBGYN on the 25th, and I started progressing a bit after this, but it was not until Tuesday morning the 26th that I really started to show progress, and I asked for my first real epidural. I say first because I actually received three. 

There were complications with each epidural to the point that the anesthesiology team asked my mother if I have ever had a spinal injury (I haven’t). I guess my spine was reacting as one that had something out of place, and it took three epidural placements to get one that worked. After that, I slept, and I slept A LOT. Even though nurses kept waking me for blood sugar levels, or anything else they needed, I tried to sleep, now forty-eight hours past my original induction time. 

I remember around 8:00pm on March 26 the midwife asked me to start pushing. I do remember taking note of the time in my head because I was excited my daughter may be born within the hour. Well, at around nine forty-five, when I was losing steam, the midwife yelled ‘you’re almost there’, to which I replied, ‘You’ve been saying that for almost two hours now’. This is where things start to get really fuzzy for me. 

I remember blacking out, I remember having the conscious thought I can’t do this, and I am done. I remember my husband catching my head as I fell to the bed, and then I remember waking to the sound of his voice asking ‘are you still with us’. I remember looking in the corner to see my Mom bawling, I remember oxygen being put on me, and I remember an OBGYN stating he was going to try a vacuum assist. I don’t remember anything about the vacuum assist, and my husband actually thinks I was unconscious the last time he tried, making a total of three attempts. 

I also know now after three attempts, they do pull you in for an emergency C Section. I remember the room getting brighter, I remember two nurses holding me up for my spinal, and I remember being laid down. I blacked out again. I then remember my husband coming in, and holding my hand. I remember hearing his voice shake, and the anesthesiologist reassuring me I was breathing (I couldn’t feel my chest move, and was anxious I was not breathing). 

Then as if greeted by a warm sunrise on a cold winter morning, the blue shade was lifted before my eyes, and my daughter appeared at 11:21 pm. I remember thinking once more ‘this is finally happening’. They let her touch my face, and I still remember the comfort her touch brought. I remember trying to comfort her right back with my voice. Then I remember my husband leaving my side. 

The next thing I knew I was in a recovery room, looking over at my husband cuddling our little baby girl and a nurse begin to explain to me how to breastfeed (Yup, barely conscious, but let’s learn how to breastfeed.) I don’t remember much of the next twenty-four hours after this. I don’t remember certain visitors ever coming, or leaving. I don’t remember much of the first precious moments with my baby girl. I don’t remember being in pain, or even eating. I just remember being extremely tired. 

Motherhood Journey

Somewhere around the morning of Thursday, March 28th, I remember waking very early to my daughter’s cry. We were successful at breastfeeding, and I spent the entire day learning everything I could about her sounds, her smells, and her touch. I was finally able to start feeling a little more human using the bathroom, and eating take out food. My husband had not left my side in almost five days and was exhausted. I am truly grateful for the human being he is, as I would have never made it here without him. I remember him caring for me, and our baby girl that day like he had been doing it his entire life. I just remember falling asleep that night thankful for my family.

Friday, March 29th we were discharged from the hospital after I begged to leave. I had been there a total of five days, and I was not going to spend another night in the hospital. We learned before leaving that Julianne was diagnosed with Jaundice (this did resolve within a week), and we made her first pediatrician appointment.  

After this, we dove into being parents to our little girl. Late-night feedings, diaper changes, night sweats, pain medication, and getting to know one another. I truly do remember feeling happy. Around seven weeks postpartum I started to dread breastfeeding. I did not connect with Julianne this way, and it just seemed like a chore that caused us both pain. I went to my eight-week postop appointment where my OBGYN was encouraging about not breastfeeding any longer if it was causing me to become depressed.

Around three-months postpartum, I was back in the office asking for a referral for a therapist. I blamed it on being too young, too inexperienced with newborns, or having too many expectations for the shallowness I felt inside, and the overwhelming anxiety. I am thankful to have a therapist who is experienced in postpartum depression, anxiety, and trauma. She made it very clear to me how traumatic my birth was, and how it was ok to feel like I needed to grieve, process, and heal from it. What a strange, yet freeing sentence to be able to finally understand it is OK to need to take care of me in the process of learning how to be a Mama. 

I’m still learning every single day. I have done different types of therapies with my therapist to re-process my traumatic birth, but my journey is not over. My husband and I actually decided to try for another baby in 2020, but were unsuccessful. I was diagnosed with secondary infertility, and because of everything I have been through, when we were presented with fertility treatments my husband said something shocking and much needed. He looked at me with his sweet eyes and said, “Babe, it’s YOUR body. You decide if you want to do this, or don’t want to do this and I will be here with you every step of the way either way.” 

My therapist and I talk about how freeing that was for me. The expectation of having two+ children was now different, and something I didn’t want. I am different. My trauma changed me, but it did not cripple me. I enjoy every single minute of being Julianne’s mama while learning to love myself in the process. I’ve learned I’m different, but still the same in other ways. Maybe all mothers experience a transition like this. Mine just felt more drastic as soon as I was freed knowing my trauma was validated. Hearing others’ stories of their traumatic births was oddly healing for me as well. I have also decided to apply to a master’s program to get my MA in clinical mental health counseling because if I can help a fraction of the women out there the way my therapist has helped me, I would be forever grateful. To know I am not alone, in how disconnected I became from my birth story, and to know my feelings of grief for my birth story are valid is still comforting to me. I can only hope my story allows for the same sort of comfort for someone else who has been through something similar. 

A Little More About Me 

My family and I live right outside of Orlando, Florida. My husband and I have been together for almost eight years. I have a Bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education, and I am applying to Master’s programs for clinical mental health to pursue my true passion later this year. My daughter is almost three, and we have a blast every single day (while she tests my patience). We have a little aussiedoodle named Lady who has completed our family earlier in 2021. I am obsessed with reality TV, Disney World, and jumping rope (favorite exercise). Julianne would like everyone to know her favorite show is Bluey, and she loves mac and cheese (typical toddler.)