Here's DANIELLE!

I know I’ve really been slacking off on this whole blogging business. What can I say? I’m too tired? I’m busy all the time? I have writer’s block? My life is so incredibly boring that there’s not much to report? I’m spending all my spare time installing a bomb shelter in my back yard and stocking it with ammo and canned goods in preparation for the inevitable zombie apocalypse? Yep.

Remember when I wrote that I was going to post birth stories about each of my children around their birthdays this year? I didn't remember. My oldest daughter turned 22 several weeks ago, and my youngest child turned ten a little over a week ago. THAT jogged my increasingly feeble memory banks. At least it gives me something to write about though.

Danielle's Birth Story ~ September 3, 1990

Danielle ~ 2009

Danielle, my second child and first daughter, was due on August 20, 1990. My dear friend, SUZ, and I walked all over Springville that summer, much of that in August, in a vain attempt to jump start some labor. Man, we walked a LOT that month. August 20 came and went. It was HOT and I was MISERABLE. I was also working full time and had a 21-month-old toddler to take care of. I had a doctor appointment a week after my due date, at which my doctor told me that if I didn’t go into labor prior to Labor Day, he would “start” me the day after that. An end was in sight.

I continued working that week, and I told my supervisor that my doctor was planning on “starting” me on the day after Labor Day, but I would come to work before my appointment. Our department was really busy with election polls, and would be required to work sometime during the Labor Day weekend. We decided that rather than working on Labor Day, we would work the Sunday before.

Here it was Labor Day weekend. I was nearly two weeks overdue and it was HOT! My mother, attempting to cheer me up, took me out to eat on Saturday evening, just the two of us. How WELL my mother knows me… good food ALWAYS cheers me up! We went to one of my favorite restaurants, El Azteca (which, sadly, is no longer around), and I ordered the humongous platter that included two of everything, plus chips and salsa, soup AND dessert. To my mother’s amazement, I ate EVERYTHING. I couldn’t really believe how much I ate, and I don’t surprise myself very often. My husband, James, and I were both working the next morning, so my mother took my son, Anthony, for the night since she would be watching him while we were at work the next day. I went home and slipped quickly into a carne asada coma.

Sunday morning while I was getting ready for work, I started having abdominal pains. I assumed it was due to the massive Mexican feast my body was most likely still attempting to digest. I drove to work and on the way noticed that the pains were exactly every 15 minutes. This was no case of indigestion, my friends. This was labor! The early stages, but labor nonetheless. Finally!

I showed up at work and told my supervisor that I would definitely NOT be in on Tuesday. When she asked why, I announced that I was in labor. All the women in my department immediately transformed into mother hens. “Are you alright?” “Shouldn’t you go home, or to the hospital?” I told everyone that it was going to be awhile before it was time to go to the hospital, and that I would rather be at work with something to do to distract my mind from the pain. Also, the hospital was only a few blocks away from work. It was about 12 miles from my house. I was better off being at work. Every ten minutes or so, someone would ask me how I was doing. Not really helping take my mind off of the contractions, people! I did call my husband at his job to inform him that he shouldn’t make any immediate plans. I am now a literal LEGEND at that company. I will forever be “The Woman Who Worked an Entire Shift While in Labor.” {insert impressive trumpet music here}. The thought of this always makes me laugh inside, as if the Coding Department has been passing down my story to every new employee for the past 22 years, each employee adding and embellishing the story to outlandish and mythical proportions. It wasn’t that extraordinary. What else would I have been doing? Probably sitting home alone, watching television and kicking myself for not going to work on what would be my last day for at least six weeks (unpaid)?

Anyhoo, I worked my full shift and then stopped at the hospital on the way home. They monitored me and told me that I would definitely be back later that night. I went to my parents’ house and told everyone the news. My mother said she’d keep Anthony there so I wouldn’t have to wake him up in the middle of the night to bring him to her. When I got home, James and I watched some television and he fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. The contractions were about five minutes apart, but they were really painful. I took warm baths and held off waking James as long as I could. At about 2:00 a.m. I finally broke down and woke him up to drive me to the hospital. He asked how far apart the contractions were, and I told him. He wasn’t impressed. Five minutes apart really isn’t impressive, and even I was doubtful the hospital would admit me. But the PAIN was more intense than five-minute-apart contractions should have been (based on my own personal experience with my firstborn). So James humored me and drove me to the hospital. The stop light on Main and 4th South WOULD NOT TURN GREEN at this time of night. Seriously, people. We sat there for at least a good five minutes with absolutely NO OTHER CARS in sight ANYWHERE. I had the passenger seat of that little Subaru reclined and was lying on my side in the fetal position, in some SERIOUS discomfort {read: AGONY}, and that effing light would not turn effing green! So James did what any devoted husband would do in this situation. He said, “Fuck it!”, and drove right through the red light across Main Street. I guess he figured that if he got pulled over for it, he had a really good reason to run the light sitting {read: writhing in pain} in the passenger seat.

At this point, I had been in labor for about 18 hours already. Even though the beginning isn’t that bad, having your abdomen feel like it’s in a vise in regular intervals for 18 freakin’ hours takes a TOLL on a human being. I was exhausted, and it was after 2:00 a.m., and I hadn’t had any sleep or anything to eat for those 18 hours. And it was Labor Day. Yippee!

We arrived at the hospital, and it was at this time that it really dawned on me that James was basically humoring me. He didn’t really think that they were going to admit me. He thought I was exaggerating the pain. How did I know this? When I asked him to grab my overnight bag from the back seat of the car, he said he would come back for it IF they admitted me. IF. THEY. ADMITTED. ME. I would now like to confess the fact that ever since that moment, I have wished upon that man a bad case of kidney stones, just so he could get a little taste of the agony that IS labor and childbirth.

We got to Labor and Delivery and I was stuck in a little room and asked how far apart the contractions were. I told the nurse five minutes. She was not impressed. But hospital protocol was to monitor for at least a half an hour, so she also humored me and hooked me up to the monitors. She left the room and rushed back in about six minutes later. She pointed at James and said, “YOU! Go get her bag out of the car and get her registered.” She then told me that they were going to be moving me into a birthing room and ordering my epidural NOW (thank you, Jesus). James left to fetch my bag. I asked the nurse what was going on and she informed me that my contractions were not five minutes apart. They were about two and a half minutes apart. Apparently I was having a BIG contraction (that I was timing), and then a small one (that I was not even counting as a separate contraction). They had me moved to another room, an IV started and the anesthesiologist was finishing up with my epidural before James even got back from the car. Epidural was patchy {read: not working at all} on the right side. It had been like that with my first delivery, so I didn’t stress about it. I knew there was nothing that could be done.

Everything went crazy fast after that. Some doctor I had never even heard of showed up (apparently, my doctor was out of town), and delivered Baby Danielle. We didn’t know whether we were having a girl or another boy. I was so ecstatic to have a baby girl! She was perfect! A nurse wheeled Danielle to the nursery and took James with her.

Danielle Newborn


As the doctor was stitching up the cruel, torturous and barbaric incision that the medical profession calls an episiotomy, I could feel EVERYTHING on the right side. I was squirming a little as he pulled the sutures through, and he (in my opinion, STUPIDLY) asked, “Can you FEEL that?” I should have kicked him in the face. My feet were still up in the stirrups not five inches from the sides of his head. But I wasn’t raised that way (a pity really), so I just told him that the epidural didn’t work on my right side. So he gave me a local anesthetic injection. I know what you’re thinking…. And, yeah, it hurt. It. Hurt. A. Lot.

After that, the doctor left, the nurses cleaned everything up and James stopped in to tell me goodbye. He had to get to work. Don’t feel bad for me or anything. I think it’s just plain bizarre for the baby’s father to stick around in the hospital room with the baby’s mother for her entire hospital stay. I ENJOY having some time to myself. I see that dude every freakin’ day, for cryin’ out loud! But maybe that’s just me. Whatever.

The nurse asked me if I wanted some pain pills. Um… Yes, please! I took two Percodans on a stomach that hadn’t had anything in it for awhile, forgetting to ask for some crackers or something. You can see where this is going. They wheeled me into my room on the Maternity Ward, and got me settled into my bed and brought breakfast in. That’s when the nausea hit. I’m dead weight from the waist down on the left side. I’m in a bed with rails. Alone. And I’m GOING TO VOMIT. I vomited and started hemorrhaging, then the nurse got me into the bathroom to help me clean up and I proceeded to pass out on the toilet. Let the good times roll, people! Note to self: do not ever take narcotic pain meds on an empty stomach. Ever. Everyone and everything got cleaned up and I got a little rest and then they brought Danielle to me in her little hospital bucket.

My mother-in-law (who is a nurse) showed up and told me I looked really pale. Duh! I ALWAYS look pale. Because I’m a pasty white-girl and that’s how I roll, you know? But I looked REALLY pale. I FELT pale. And weak. And pretty faint. But I survived and we brought Danielle home the next day.

Danielle ~ 3 Months Old


Danielle was an extremely GOOD baby. She rarely got sick, was happy and funny and loved her brother, Anthony. He loved her too. He gave her a high five the first time he met her. She is now an intelligent, humorous, and mature woman (we say she’s 22 going on 40). She’s a wonderful mom to her daughter, Addalie, and a wonderful daughter, granddaughter, niece and sister. I love you, Danielle!

Here's MAYA!

Maya ~ June 2011

Have you ever read the birth stories on those "baby" sites? I did when I was expecting my fourth and final child way back in 2002. I thought it was a nice way to save the memories for the mom and the child. As you may well know, I was adopted. I was nine days old when my parents brought me home from the adoption agency (LDS Family Services). I've heard the story of my parents' "getting me", and it's a sweet story. But until I met my birth mother when I was 26, there was no one to tell me the story of the day I was born. So, I've been thinking of posting something for each of my children about the days they were born because as time marches on, I seem to be forgetting more and more. Because I have two children with my first husband and two with my second, some of the stories will end up being "sweeter" than others. I'm going to tell it like it was and not attempt to dress the stories up or omit unpleasant circumstances. My kids are old enough to know the truth, and knowing my children as I do, I know that they will respect the cold, hard facts more than some kind of "hearts and flowers" censored version.

Since my third child, Maya, just had her birthday a couple weeks ago, I thought I would begin with her birth story. And I think I will post each birth story close to each child's birthday this year. So look forward to (or avoid as the case may be) two more birth stories in September and another one in November.

Maya's Birth Story ~ April 24, 2000

Maya ~ Newborn

The month preceding Maya's birth, her father, "C" was in a drug/alcohol rehabilitation center dealing with some of his "demons". I was alone in my house in Springville fighting my own demons, and one of those was "C". I was HAPPY to be alone. I was in an abusive relationship and was trapped. I had been unemployed since October the previous year. The house was in foreclosure. The unemployment insurance had run out. My older children, Anthony and Danielle, had been living with my parents due to a horribly painful custody battle that I am still not emotionally able to go into detail about. I had also, by this time, become almost completely cut off from any family and friends. That's the nature of an abusive relationship.

Maya's due date was May 5. Due to the fact that "C" was in rehab, there would be no way for him to just up and leave if I went into labor, and he wanted to be there for Maya's birth. The rehab would allow him a 72-hour pass, but he would have to schedule it ahead of time. My doctor only scheduled inductions at my preferred hospital on Mondays, so we scheduled an induction for Monday, April 24. "C" got his 72-hour pass and I picked him up in the late afternoon on Easter Sunday, April 23.

To the best of my recollection, we were supposed to check in to the hospital at 5:00 a.m., or maybe 5:30. I just remember it was an unGodly early time to have to be anywhere. Of course we were late by about a half an hour. On the drive there, we discussed baby names. We agreed on "Maya" for a girl and "Azure" for a boy. "C" had a two-year-old daughter named Indigo, and he thought it would be cool to name a boy after another shade of blue. It's better than what he REALLY wanted to name a son... "Walking Thunder". Yeah, don't even ask...

We checked into the hospital and the nurse got me all hooked up to the fetal heart monitor/contraction monitor, blood pressure cuff, etc., started the IV, and put something on my cervix that was supposed to help soften it (I think). She said the protocol was that they couldn't start the Pitocin yet. I can't remember how long I had to wait for that, but it was a long enough stretch of time that "C" decide to drive himself home and sleep. He told me to call him when I was in labor. Sounds about typical for a self-centered jackass, huh?

I tried to rest, but the room was pretty cold and I had all the cuffs and monitors on and the IV line stuck in my wrist, not to mention the fact that I was WIRED. I had been through labor and delivery twice before, and remembered the pain. I had never had labor induced before, and I had heard that it was more intense.

The nurse finally started the Pitocin, and within the hour the contractions were getting pretty uncomfortable. I called "C". I called him several times. He finally woke up and answered the phone. The nurse came in several times to check on me and how the labor was progressing, and at around 10:00 my doctor showed up to break my water. "C" still hadn't shown up. Way to be supportive and helpful. After the doctor broke my water, the contractions started coming faster and faster and were really intense. I asked for the drugs. Ok, I demanded the drugs. Oh, the sweet, sweet heaven that is the epidural. "C" had finally shown up and was there to watch me get a needle stuck in my back. I think he probably held my hand and was about as supportive as he could be.

My epidurals are ALWAYS "patchy" in the exact same way. My left side goes completely numb just like it's supposed to. My right side can feel everything. I ended up liking that I could feel my right side (after my first delivery of course) because even though I could feel the pain, it was cut down enough that it was bearable, and I could feel when the baby was crowning. Also, I had a lot more control over my pushing and could move my own right leg.

After I received the epidural, the labor progressed at break-neck speed. It was time to push before I knew it. Maya was my one child who didn't seem to want to come out though. Probably because it was nearly two weeks before her due date (haha). I was pushing and pushing and she was not cooperating. Then her heart rate suddenly dropped, and I started to really get worried. The doctor pulled out the forceps which were SO MUCH BIGGER than they seemed in the birthing films. It was a good thing I couldn't feel anything on my left side, because my right side was hurting, I tell you. I pushed and the doctor "pulled" and Maya was finally born. It took about two seconds for the doctor to get her to cry and those were the longest and scariest two seconds I can remember. Then she wailed and I started breathing again.

Maya was born on Monday, April 24, 2000, around 11:30 a.m., weighed 6 lbs. 6 ozs., and measured 18 inches. She was my smallest baby. She had a full head of soft, black hair and a little wine colored birthmark on the inside of her wrist (which she still has).

I spent the rest of my time in the hospital alone, except for a brief visit from a couple of "C"'s family members. It was nice and peaceful. I was SO glad that "C" didn't want to stay there with me. I wouldn't have gotten any rest if he had.

We left the hospital the next day and the day after that I drove "C" back to the rehab to finish his treatment. My birth mother came from a few counties away to stay with Maya and me while "C" was at the rehab. She was one of the few people the "C" ALLOWED me to keep in contact with. She was worried that something might happen to me or Maya without anyone there at the house with us. It was really nice to have her there with me while I was recovering.

Maya ~ One Month Old

And to quote the very wise Forrest Gump, "That's all I've got to say about that."