HOLDEN SHEPHERD'S BIRTH STORY

We found out we were expecting a few weeks after Evangeline’s first birthday. We had traveled to England at the beginning of September to celebrate my best friend’s wedding, and when we returned, I found myself exhausted. I could barely make it through the day without crashing on the couch during nap time. I thought it was jet lag, but after a week or so, I took a test and was pleasantly surprised to find that we were pregnant. Evie was still so little, so I was initially a bit nervous. One quiet Saturday morning in September, I had Evie hand Kent a card that revealed the news, and it was such a joy to see how excited he was, too. 

Everything about this second pregnancy felt different. I wasn’t quite as sick, I had fewer aversions, and since I had a toddler starting to run around the house, I didn’t have as much time to think about it. With Evie, I consumed every birth story podcast, pregnancy book, blog, and guide I could get my hands on. With this pregnancy, we were absolutely delighted—but life with a toddler certainly occupied much of our free time & imagination. We were both surprised to learn at 13 weeks that we were expecting a little boy, but beyond that, the pregnancy moved along fairly uneventfully. 

Photo by Jenny White Photography

Photo by Jenny White Photography

And then March of 2020 rolled around. I was well into my third trimester. We started to see and feel the impacts of COVID-19 before our “quarantine” officially started around March 15. Toilet paper, sanitizer, and disinfectant disappeared from stores. I started to have a hard time locating diapers and wipes. As sporting events and my lettering classes and Evie’s school were all cancelled in a domino effect, and as parks began to close, travel restrictions cropped up, and Kent moved his office home, the reality started to sink in: the end of this pregnancy, and our postpartum period, would look different this time around. 

At the same time, news articles started cropping up, one about new policies at certain NY hospitals that banned even a single support person for laboring women. We learned that our hospital would allow only 1 support person—in our case, Kent—so no doula and no family visitors. But I started imagining what it may be like to give birth without Kent present, how scary it would be to not have anyone by my side. I remember seeing an article called “What to Do If You Can’t Find Formula.” While I planned to breastfeed my baby, I knew that there were no guarantees. I burst into tears at the thought of not being able to get formula if needed. In the beginning, there wasn’t a ton of reliable data bout COVID in pregnant/nursing mothers or newborns. There were so many unknowns, and my anxiety got so bad that I—already struggling with pregnancy insomnia—could barely sleep. I was on edge and would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. We started grappling with questions about how to approach visitors, and how to structure care for Evie while we were at the hospital. There was no guidebook about what would be the safest plan. 

Meanwhile, with every OB appointment came new restrictions for safety. All of a sudden, visitors were not allowed in office, face masks were required, and the parking and entrance procedures were restrictive—wait in your car until you’re called in. I remember my eyes welling up with tears  as I stood in the empty waiting room in my mask (when it still felt a little funny to wear one), waiting to be led back to the exam room, feeling not necessarily unsafe—but unsettled. At this point, the only place I went outside of the house was the OB, and to Target for drive-up pickups. 

As the weeks went on, some of these worries relaxed. I wouldn’t say that the anxieties dissipated completely—but we just got more used to the quarantine and isolation. Encouraging research about transmission from mom to baby became available.  I came to terms with postpartum looking different, the fact that my mom wouldn’t stay with us for a few weeks to care for us as she did when Evie was born, that we would largely be on our own for awhile. While it didn’t feel comfortable, it felt more manageable. The pregnancy moved right along, with me getting ready for maternity leave and staying busy running after Evie 24/7, but this time around, I had Braxton-Hicks contractions almost constantly. I ended every day completely exhausted, and started wearing my FitBit again, curious about the number of steps I was logging each day. Despite shutting down after bedtime at 7pm most nights, I was logging 14-15 thousand steps per day without really trying. My exhaustion made a bit more sense!

Around 36 weeks, I allowed my doctor to check my cervix and she found that I was dilated 1.5 cm and 60% effaced. I was surprised—it took me hours of labor with Evie to reach this milestone, and we still had about a month to go! I also knew from birth classes that dilation can mean very little for weeks on end—but still, it felt nice to know that the zillions of contractions were actually doing something. My doctor gently asked if there was a point where we would no longer want to wait to go into labor spontaneously. I already knew that she preferred to schedule any elective inductions at 39 weeks. My relationship to induction was somewhat complicated—you can read about it more in Evangeline’s birth story. (To make a long story short: I was initially resistant to induction, but ended up being induced unexpectedly a few hours after my 39 week appointment.)

All of a sudden, there were some practical benefits to induction. For one, knowing when the baby was coming helped Kent prepare for his paternity leave. He manages a great deal of moving parts in his role at work, and a planned induction simplified his handoff so that he could take 2 weeks off at home to be with us. Induction also helped us plan childcare. While we had always planned to have grandparents watch Evie while we were at the hospital, we had to manage  social distancing considerations. I also struggled with the idea of a stop-and-start labor. I was already feeling less than excited about going to the hospital during the pandemic in the first place, so the idea of laboring at home, going in to the hospital to be sent home—all while trying to arrange care for Evie—simply felt overwhelming.

It was a tough decision, but ultimately we decided that induction would be the best plan for our family given all of the pandemic-related logistics. It also gave me comfort that we had experienced an induction before and knew what to expect. Our induction was scheduled for Thursday night, April 30—the day we “turned” 39 weeks. We were set to arrive at the hospital at 7pm (unless he came sooner on his own) and we made plans for Kent to drop off Evie that afternoon to spend the weekend with his parents. 

The days leading up to the birth were SUPER busy. At 38 weeks, I had gotten all of our packing and prepping into high gear. I had been in heavy nesting mode for most of the 3rd trimester. I bought hospital snacks and nurse gifts, packed Evie’s essentials for her weekend away, wrote out schedules, packed my own hospital bag, and tried my best to get a few frozen meals in our deep freezer. Doing all of these essential “home” tasks early allowed me to spend the week leading up to the birth working on things for my business: creating and scheduling email communication, making and marketing freebies and graphics, and packing up orders from my new greeting card project. It may have seemed a little crazy to squeeze so much work into those final days, but I felt completely energized and wanted to be set up to have my business continue “running” while I was on an indefinite leave. 

Of course, I was also focused on spending time with Evie—but since we had had nearly 7 weeks of constant and intense time together in quarantine, without childcare and therefore with way less work happening, I felt absolutely no guilt about spending some of her waking hours on business tasks. I will always be so thankful for the unanticipated time we had together, just the two of us, from March-May.

The day of the induction, I spent time with Evie in the morning while Kent completed his final half day of work. I had a few errands to run—drop offs for a friend’s birthday, a huge stack of thank you notes and Mother’s Day cards to send, and a Target pickup with some final essentials. We packed Evie up and it was pretty emotional to hand her off as Kent loaded up to drive the 45 minutes meet his parents. I shed a few tears as we hugged goodbye, and around 2pm, they were off. I spent the final hours at home working on a few final business items and chores. I felt the need for the house to be completely spotless for when we arrived home (and if you know me, you know this isn’t my normal attitude, ha!).

Once Kent got back from dropping off Evie, we had a few hours in the house alone and kept remarking how eerily clean and quiet it was. If you have a toddler in your home, you’ll probably understand this. We missed Evie but enjoyed the few hours of rest to mentally prepare for our trip to the hospital. We stopped and picked up dinner, ate our “last meal” from Chic-fil-A and set off with our fabric masks to check in to the security screening checkpoint. Though I had been feeling much more peace about the hospital delivery, I tensed up we made our way to check in. We ended up going to the wrong place and wound up in an admissions area. The admissions clerk called up to Labor and Delivery and after speaking to a staff member, relayed that we would not be able to go up to L&D. In her words: “There was an emergency on the floor and they are working on cleaning it up. In her words, you would not want to be there right now. She’s going to have you call back in an hour to determine when you should come in.” Kent and I looked at each other through our masks. In normal circumstances, this would be a tiny bit of a bummer, but in pandemic circumstances, this made my mind run wild with possibilities of what could have gone wrong. What kind of emergency was it? Was it COVID-related? I was frustrated and scared. 

Since we live only 7 minutes from the hospital, we opted to return home instead of waiting around on the hospital campus. Because of COVID, there wasn’t really anywhere to go anyway. I felt on edge and was disappointed to be returning home, but within the hour, we called back and were told to come in at 9pm, which meant the baby was still going to be on his way that night. This gave us time to watch a relaxing show (Great British Bake Off!) and I had a spare minute to give myself a DIY manicure-pedicure, quarantine style. ;)

In a short time, we traveled back to the hospital, checked in the correct security screening line, and made our way up to L&D. It was eerie to walk through the hospital and see very few people besides staff, all donned in a variety of intense PPE. We made it up to L&D. Though no one gave details, all the staff kept remarking that we should be glad we weren’t there at 7pm. We were so curious about what had happened but didn’t have the boldness to ask. 

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We checked into a room shortly after 9, I changed into a gown, and we started to wait for our nurse, Hunter. She stopped by and apologetically let us know that she was crazy busy and wouldn’t be able to tend to us for awhile. I struggled to get into a comfy position on the bed while we waited for a few hours, and Kent and I started to get pretty tired. We saw Hunter again around midnight, and she got us situated, started my IV, and gave me the first of two doses of the cervical ripening agent. (The plan was for Hunter to administer 2 doses of the cervical ripening agent and then start a pitocin drip early in the morning, just like with Evie).
We turned off the lights and Kent set himself up on the daybed to get some sleep while the misoprostol did its work. Over the next four hours, I tried my best to get into a comfy position on my side but was unable to sleep. I started to have regular contractions, and the time went by rather quickly. The contractions were uncomfortable but not terrible. When Hunter came back, she checked me and I had already progressed to 3cm. She consulted with my OB and determined that I didn’t need the second dose of misoprostol. This was a first feeling of victory—that my body was already doing the work of labor and it was one less intervention that I needed. 

Around 4am, contractions were really picking up. One of the challenges of an induction is that you’re attached to monitors, so your movement is somewhat restricted—you can only go as far as your cords will allow. I found this to be a huge obstacle with Evie’s birth, but for some reason, this time around,  I felt the strong desire to stand up beside the bed and try to labor on my feet. We kept the lights off, Kent loaned me his headphones, and I started listening to worship music as I was standing. I remembered from my birth classes that keeping my jaw open and loose would help the rest of my body relax. With Evie, my contractions made me want to tense up into a ball. This time around, I decided that I would instead do whatever I could to keep my body relaxed during a contraction. The only way I could do this was to watch the monitor to see when a contraction was coming on, and in that moment, I would lift my arms up with my palms open, I would look up, and drop my jaw. The moves are probably best described as a dance—and since I resembled a starfish, Hunter and I began to joke about my “starfish” pose any time she came by. 

I would end up laboring like this, on my feet, for FOUR HOURS, and truly, it worked. Without the second dose of cervical ripening agent, without any pitocin at all, I was having strong contractions for a minute long every 2-5 minutes, in a perfect pattern of peaks on the graph I was watching—which made me feel totally empowered. I should also note that during this time, Kent tried to sleep on the daybed. It was totally dark, I was by myself except for the few times that Hunter came in to check on us or bring me ice chips, jello or broth, and I felt like I could do my own thing without the experience of monitoring anyone else in the room. Though it may sound strange, this worked well for my introverted personality that is also highly sensitive—I tend to focus on the emotions of others around me and also care a great deal about what others think. Though I know it would be totally unappealing for some, I really enjoyed being able to labor by myself, listening to loud music, totally uninhibited—even “dancing” through the contractions and waving my arms in the air to, in a way, shake off the intense feelings of pain. I know it contributed to my progress and I don’t really think I would have done it in a bright room full of people, with the lights on. Hunter checked me one last time before shift change and I had progressed to a 5. I was ecstatic!

The shift change happened at 6:30am, and a new nurse, Kelsey, came in to relieve Hunter. Hunter had told her about my starfish, and both of them encouraged me that I was coping with the contractions super well. I started to consult with Kelsey about getting an epidural. I knew I would likely eventually want to get one but was doing fairly well without it. I was making progress so quickly without pitocin that I was worried that things would progress too rapidly and I would lose my chance. With Evie, I labored for about 17 hours without an epidural, but I got one before I experienced transition or pushing. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to cope well with either and started to get scared. I decided to wait it out for a little while and continued on my feet, even as the sun was coming up and Kent was starting to wake up. I decided that I would wait for the epidural until I had a chance to talk to my OB, who was expected to come by on rounds early in the morning. They still didn’t think it was necessary to administer pitocin, and my water hadn’t yet been broken. 

It took a little bit longer than expected for my OB to come by, so by 8:30am, I decided it was time to tell Kelsey that I wanted the epidural. She had told me that it could take up to 45 minutes to get an anesthesiologist to come by, so I didn’t want to miss my chance. Kelsey supported me and chatted with us while we waited for the anesthesiologist, all the while, my contractions grew stronger and more painful. I started to shake and double over with each one; I think my legs were exhausted from standing and laboring for hours and I was beginning to lose focus. I got into the bed and Kelsey started IV fluids in preparation for the epidural.

The anesthesiologist, Dr. Lane, came around 9, and Kent left the room while I sat on the bed, leaning over Kelsey. I tried not to breathe on her, as I wasn’t wearing a mask and she was just millimeters from my face—something that probably wouldn’t have phased me if not for COVID. Dr. Lane told me to arch my back, and I immediately started having contractions as I was trying to sit still as he numbed me. Apparently I wasn’t sitting in enough of a curve, and his first attempt didn’t take. I had several more contractions while he repositioned things, with Kelsey kindly squeezing my hand and doing her best to reassure me. This experience felt very unpleasant. After eight or nine miserable contractions, I felt the strange pop of electricity in my left leg that I felt with my previous epidural, and both Kelsey and Dr. Lane assured me that the catheter was working and it was only a matter of time before it kicked in.

Around this time, my OB came in for rounds and waited a few minutes with us for the epidural to kick in before she checked me and broke my water. They laid me on the bed on my back, the most uncomfortable position for me in pregnancy (I tend to pass out!) and I started to feel faint. They told me it was important to lay back so that the drugs could circulate throughout my body, but my blood pressure started to drop. Kelsey gave me two does of a drug to help my blood pressure—one in my IV stand and one via a shot directly in my left leg, which, for some reason, bled a ton. I remember feeling disoriented and uncomfortable for the next few minutes as I adjusted. After 10-15 minutes, I felt my legs getting numb and could no longer feel the intensity of the contractions. I could still generally feel a light tinge of pressure when they were happening, but they didn’t hurt. My OB checked me and reported that I was at 5cm; it was at this point that she also broke my water. I felt defeated. It had been a few hours and my progress had stalled. I was already feeling a little conflicted about the epidural—looking at it more as a necessary evil than a welcome relief. I wondered if I had made the right choice. Nonetheless, all I wanted to do was drift off and try to relax for a bit, and with the epidural, I could do that. I was able to roll over to my side, which helped my blood pressure and I started to feel more normal. I was thankful for the opportunity to rest a bit.

The time between 9:30-11 was a bit of a blur. Kelsey came in to check me periodically and each time I had made progress. I was so thrilled each time she reported progress—and she kept encouraging me that I was doing a great job. I stopped looking at the monitor, but at one point, she came back and gave me what she called a “whiff” of a pitocin, just to keep up the momentum of my contractions. I was a bit out of it, but all of a sudden began to feel intense pressure. She checked me and had me do a few practice pushes that helped me get to 10cm. I couldn’t believe it was already time—it had been less than 2 hours since the epidural. I was so excited to meet my son! Kelsey called Dr. Ribaudo, who was working with another patient and would be 10-15 minutes. I remember hearing Kelsey say on the phone that no, Dr. Ribaudo didn’t need to run—but she did need to come quickly. Kelsey called in the nursery staff and the delivery staff, and all of a sudden the room was buzzing with people. 

At this point, I started feeling intense pressure—feeling like I needed to push, NOW. I grabbed on to the side of the bed and with each contraction, trying to breathe through the pressure and kept repeatedly yelling out, “Oh wow!” That’s all I could think to say. This was much more than what I felt with Evie. It wasn’t painful—it was just intense. Dr. Ribaudo arrived around 11 and checked me, and said that though I was feeling a lot of intense pressure, the baby still had a ways to go to make his way down the birth canal. However, it was definitely time to push. My legs were awkwardly numb so a few L&D nurses helped hold them into the stirrups while Kent was at my right side encouraging me. The delivery staff supported me through 2-3 pushes per contraction, with a little rest in between. My experience pushing was totally different than my experience with Evie—I could feel so much more. My eyes were closed and my head was down the entire time, but I was just focusing on pushing with all my might. A few minutes and a few more pushes, and all of a sudden I felt the most intense pressure of the whole experience, so much so that I yelled out, “Ow! That really really hurts!” Dr. Ribaudo had me open my eyes and told me to reach down and feel my baby, and though I tried, I couldn’t really feel anything. However, everyone said he was nearly out. One more push, and he made his way out, so Dr. Ribaudo told me again to look down and I saw the side of his head, and his ear, and I was totally overcome. I started crying because it was so exciting to see a glimpse of him, and Dr. Ribaudo remarked, “Hold on, you’re not done yet!!” I pushed one more time, his body came out, and they placed Holden right in my arms. I was weeping openly, at this point, just like when Evie was born, I was exclaiming how beautiful he was; I said, “He’s so pretty!” with his perfect features and a ton of super dark hair. At this point, he was screaming and screaming, and I held him for a minute, until a nurse came up and said that they needed to check his breathing, as he was beginning to sound like he was gasping for air in his cries. 

There was a buzz of activity around me as Dr. Ribaudo asked me to push once more to deliver my placenta and stitched up a minor tear. The other nurses were busy cleaning up but I had my eyes laser focused on the nursery nurse who was examining Holden in the corner of the room with Kent by his side. I was slightly nervous, praying quietly that everything would be okay. A respiratory therapist was called down from the NICU and the nursery nurse explained that he may need the C-PAP machine. However, the RT determined that he was fine, his breathing regulated a bit, he stopped screaming, and they brought him back to my chest for skin-to-skin. From that point on, he was totally peaceful (still is!) and I was so relieved! We still didn’t know how much he weighed or what his length was, but we texted family a picture and let them all know he was here and so lovely. Almost immediately, he latched and began to nurse, and we were so taken with him.

We spent a few hours in the delivery room waiting for a recovery room. The time was so peaceful and I was relieved to get my epidural turned off so I would return to “normal” again. All in all, I had the epidural for just 2 hours, which made me feel more at peace with it. I was able to do a lot of the work without it and still had a fairly relaxing delivery, albeit a different experience than my epidural with Evie. 

Photo by Molly Thrasher

Photo by Molly Thrasher

After a few hours, we were moved to a recovery room, and all that I can say about our time there was that it was quiet and uneventful. There weren’t many people around because of the visitor policy, the staff seemed hyper aware that we would probably want to leave soon, and we didn’t feel a desire to have Kent the hospital to get food. We happily accepted the cafeteria food deliveries, saw our nursery nurse and recovery nurses, but didn’t anyone else—not a lactation consultant, not a parent educator, and of course, no visitors—none of the extra support folks we saw with Evie. While it was somewhat sad not to be able to share a brand-new Holden with our parents, siblings, grandparents and closest friends, I will say that the experience was extraordinarily peaceful. Though Kent and I were completely out of it due the exhaustion (he accidentally called Holden “Hudson” when trying to make his first appointment at the pediatrician, ha!), we had time for nothing but snuggling, bonding, nursing, and resting. Once we returned home, we were able to experience one of the sweetest moments of our lives—our sweet girl getting to meet her little brother, immediately and instinctively leaning in to embrace him and kiss his cheek. Her pride for him and her tenderness with him has filled my heart in a way I had never experienced.

It has been over THREE months since Holden was born and the year continues to get more and more complex and confusing as each day goes by. He has been the brightest light among all of the challenges, the division, the unrest, the heartache. Each month that he grows, my heart is sad that we feel like we are missing out on so many fun experiences with the people we love— because of distancing. Without childcare or helpers, postpartum has often been overwhelming.  Most notably, my parents, sister, and some of my best friends in the world haven’t yet been able to meet our little guy due to travel safety restrictions. 

However, Holden has been the sleepiest, snuggliest, and now smiliest little baby, and the absolute perfect personality to bring us joy and peace in a year that often feels dark and overwhelming. My adjustment to life as mom of 2 feels so much more manageable—not quite as much of a shock to my system as becoming a mom of 1. We are making it, by God’s extravagant grace. I will always look back on this time and remember it as a marker when we were strong when we had to be, and yet so fortunate to be safe, provided for, and resourced. In short, I’m thankful.