The Longest Day

I know the thought going through your mind right now. This is either a long and boring critique of a well-known war film, or she's trying to be funny by making a reference to ancient pop culture that applies to something in her own repertoire of experience. I am glad to inform you that this post falls under the latter option, and that whether or not you wish to hear, you are about to learn of my run-in with what I like to call: The Very Long Day. Rather impressive, isn't it?

I'm going to recount my experience with the use of italics, because it's more dramatic.

March 18, 2014. 4:39a.m.
I stumble out of bed, half-awake and bleary-eyed, with my coordination skills still asleep. After some hasty make-up application, I climbed into the car with Faith, Claire, and my parents, who were looking remarkably awake for it not being morning. It was a little after 5:00. 

5:45a.m.
We arrive at the hospital. After an unremarkable elevator ride, we walked down a corridor to stand before double doors, locked. Dad picked up the phone on the wall and said, with all the calm of past experience, "Stephaney Carpenter is here to have a baby." 


7:00a.m.
Mom's induced. Our hopes are high.

8:30a.m.
We get back from breakfast, having left Mom as comfortable as the situation granted and about to get an epidural. We come into the room, and Mom greets us with, "My platelets are low again. They won't give me an epidural." Oh. Well, Mom is no stranger to natural birth, but suddenly, the day is looking much longer and harder than we had planned. 

Sometime a.m.
We talk to the doctor. We talk to the anesthesiologist. Wait. Scratch that. Reverse it. Thank you. 
They're both adamant. Unless Mom's blood platelets make a drastic rise, she's not going anywhere. At this point in time, I was on my phone, furiously texting everyone I could the same message: Start Praying.

12:00p.m.
Lunch!! Although, considering the circumstances, not that fun... Ya get me?? 

1:15p.m.
They take her blood again to test the platelets.

2:30p.m.
Results are back. Her platelets have gone up shockingly!! We are overjoyed!! Mom's been holding out fine, but she is getting tired. 
But, while we were rejoicing, the anesthesiologist was still shaking his head. The test results are not enough to suit his taste. 

4:00p.m.
We wait for more test results. *sighs*

5:30
The results are back! Her blood platelets have continued to rise!! At this point we have gone beyond hopeful and are flat out optimistic. Mom is so tired. We talk to her doctor, who agrees that there is no reason why she shouldn't have the epidural. All that is left for him to do is... convince the anesthesiologist.

6:00p.m.
Waiting..... 

7:00p.m.
And more waiting....

8:00p.m.
The anesthesiologist comes in, looking like he has continued to shake his head ever since he left the room hours before. He jumps back into the topic as if he had never left it. He states the dangers of having an epidural done with low platelets, the (very very very rare) possibility of paraplegia, and so on... Mom politely but firmly says, "I have been in labor for thirteen hours. Right now I think it is more of a risk not to have the epidural. If you give me this epidural, I will have a baby in two hours." I'm sure in her situation I would have said exactly the same thing, but much, MUCH less cordially. I swear moms are tougher than they look. And I guess the anesthesiologist thought so too, because he exhaled in a way that was still a little disapproving, (*AND WE HELD OUR BREATH FOR DAYS*) and then he agreed. 

8:30p.m.
We get sent to the waiting room, where some stupid show about custom designed trucks was playing.

9:00p.m.
Finally, we're getting somewhere!! Mom is quiet and calm, with all the staidness of intense labor. 
Sometimes I really don't get her.

10:00p.m.
Getting close!! Mom is worn out, and we're all just READY FOR THE BABY TO COME.

10:36p.m.
Two hours later, just like Mama Bear said. We see a head, then shoulders, and then - we have a new sibling. I, for the first time in my life, realised that I was feeling very lightheaded indeed. The nurses let Mom hold him for a moment, then rush him off to weigh and measure. Meanwhile, we are trying to snap dozens of photos over their shoulders. He's 8 lbs, 8 oz, and 19 inches long. Birth, 22:36, March 18, 2014. "What's his name?" they ask. "John Andrew." we reply. "Jack." 
They give him back to Mom, and eventually, I get to hold him for the first time. It was only a moment, but what a precious one!! He has the most adorable face, chubby cheeks and a round, soft head. He is so small! 

12:00a.m.
The doctor prays over sweet little Jack, and we take our reluctant leave from Mom and our new baby brother. I still feel a very odd sense of having no words to describe what I had seen this evening. Having seen a birth before, I almost expected it to seem, well, matter-of-fact. But there's nothing normal about Life. And to see the very beginning of one is something I still struggle with explaining. It's something sacred, almost. So much potential, wrapped up in someone so frail and small.


That day was a week ago, yet I still get the same feeling whenever I think back to it. I mean, how do you really, truly comprehend what the essence of life is? I think that's what it brings me back to when I see a birth. Life and existence are both things you can philosophize about objectively, but when you look at them any other way... They sort of slip away.

I know I will never truly understand, until this life is over. I believe the Bible when it says that if we are born-again, when we get to heaven, all will be made clear. Because we will be face-to-face with the only One who knows all things. I don't have to know now, it's enough to understand that I will know then. My future is not ultimately in my own hands, Jack's future isn't in my hands. They're both in the hands of someone who will be able to protect and care for us infinitely better than we ever could. So I'm looking forward.



~Margaret