This is the account of Theodore Joseph Martella's birth story as experienced and remembered by his dad. The events in this story take place over about 50 hours between Saturday August 24, 2019 at 2a and Sunday August 25, 2019 at 10:06p. This account was written 9 days postpartum after the initial shock and awe has settled a bit, using notes and pictures that were collected over that weekend.
"Joe? I think I'm having contractions." Shannon woke me up around 2a Saturday morning with this. Was it the membrane sweep from the day prior? Or maybe the labor/birthday chocolate cake from Thursday night? We'll never truly know what was responsible, but things were moving. Contractions were about 5 minutes apart at this point. Whatever the doctor has been telling us in recent weeks went out the window and I thought of when Pam was having contractions in the office and Jim was freaking out that it was go time. So we call the hospital and let them know that this baby was making his way out! They told us to stay home. They wanted the contractions closer together (3-4 minutes) and more consistently (1-2 hours straight). They told us to stay home as long as we can and to come in when the pain is just too much. So we stayed home.
The good part about waking up this early and being told to stay home is that Premier League is on and Chelsea had the early game. I think it was the first time I got up for a 4:30a game before and Chelsea won 3-2 (#KTBBFH)!
Shannon continued to labor until about 7a where we made the call to go in. Things were progressing and she was really feeling it. That was the first trip to triage. Long story short, we heard "You're (still) at 3 centimeters." a few more times that day. We also had 1 fun trip where they suggested we walk around for an hour to see if that could help progress things. Surprisingly, walking the grounds of a hospital for an hour with your 39w6d pregnant wife isn't the most fun thing in the world. Let's fast-forward to that night after a couple more trips to the hospital. During the last trip of the night, Shannon was given some morphine pills so she could go home and actually get some sleep. She was already exhausted from consistent labor (and back labor at that) for almost 24 hours at this point. After a quick stop to Chick-fil-a, the morphine did its thing and Shannon could rest.
Hello, 2a again! The morphine worked for 2-3 hours, but the contractions persisted and they had gotten worse. Shannon's pain level of "6" saw new heights each visit to the hospital. We really didn't want to go back to the hospital until it was really time. Shannon fought the urge, and we didn't go back in until around 6a or so. "Still 3 centimeters." I thought baby was just going to be content staying in there forever. We went back home (for the last time for a few days!) to find Shannon's parents (who live 3 hours away) arrive to our house with lunch a couple hours later. They were antsy and couldn't stay away. After a few spoonfuls of soup, noticing that Shannon was really struggling with some hard contractions, I made the decision to go back to the hospital. These contractions were definitely different.
We went in cautiously - both of us expecting to be turned away yet again - but were actually admitted before triage could even check her. Shannon's water broke before she could get strapped back into a triage bed (did find she was 6 centimeters dilated at this point)! Vitals were taken, Shannon was prepped, and the anesthesiologist was there within the hour to deliver the epidural. Finally - about 36 hours after the first contraction - Shannon felt some true relief and could rest. And so did I. Nap time.
Things didn't move fast from there. At about 4p, and some Pitocin already kicking, there wasn't any additional progress made. Since her water broke 4 hours earlier, the team was a little concerned. They brought in the on-call doctor who took a peak and said, "Huh. I think your fore-bag may be intact still." What's a fore-bag? Some quick Googling tells me that a woman's water bag is actually made up of 2 water bags that usually fuse together by the end of a pregnancy. Usually. So with the least medical looking instrument I've ever seen (I was tired, but it legitimately looked like a ruler) the fore-bag was broken at around 5p. "Let's check you again in 2 hours."
7p (2 hours later). "You're 10 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced. Time to go!" Good call on the fore-bag, doc. For the next 2 hours I watched my exhausted wife push with all her heart and all her strength to deliver our baby boy into the world. I was more involved than I thought I was going to be (snaps for me for not passing out) and I'm glad I was. I had the priviledge of witnessing the woman I love work harder than I've ever seen anyone ever work before. I truly fell in love with her all over again. However, it just wasn't meant to be. The doctor told us that things just weren't progressing and that it just didn't seem like it was going to. She suggested a C-section and Shannon couldn't have agreed faster. She was spent. At 9:40p, the pushing stopped and the surgical prep quickly began!
They put Shannon on a stretcher and down the hall we went. I was freaking out more than her. The nurses and doctors brought her into the operating room. One nurse stayed behind with me, gave me all the gear I needed to put on over my clothes (shoe covers, fully body suit, face mask, hairnet), and then went inside telling me she'd be back for me when they were ready. A few minutes went by as I nervously paced in the hallway with tears welling in my eyes. I was nervous for Shan. I was nervous for baby. And I was a little nervous for myself. They called me in and pointed me at a stool right next to Shannon's head.
As I walked into the room - tears still forming - my beautiful wife, who was calm from the increased drugs that were delivered via her epidural, sees me crying and with a goofy smile on her face said "Why ya crying, bud?". I laughed out loud and counted my blessings that I have such a strong partner by my side. I took my seat next to her and quickly checked around myself to make sure there was nothing I'd smack my head into too hard if I passed out. Then it started. I held her hand and told her how strong she was and how thankful I was for everything she put herself through to bring this baby into our lives.
The doctor lowered the curtain that separated us just a bit. I watched through the plastic wall as my son was safely removed from his mother. I cried. I smiled. I cried more. There he was (without a name yet and one that wouldn't be picked until the next day) at 7 pounds on the dot and 19.75 inches long who came exactly on his due date - our baby boy who we tried for over a year for. He finally made it and he was perfect.
