Sometimes the best stories we’ve ever known are the hardest to write which is why I’ve been dwelling for nearly half a year on the words I would string together to describe the details of Atlas’ birth. It has had me feeling equal parts unsure and empowered to share because I think the overall message I want to put out there is that no birth fits a standard norm and we all need to stop pretending that there is one. Each special memory of childbirth is an incredible story, a tale of life and loss, pain and emotion, love and aloneness, healing and recovery. I’ve written Atlas’ birth story below, but be forewarned that it had a traumatic twist and isn’t for the faint of heart.
But this story is ours.
I think it is safe to say that when women go through any childbirth in any form – no matter her experience – we are in shock and awe of how it all came to be when all is finally said and done. How our once tiny uterus housed a growing baby for what seems an eternity and stretches and shifts our organs to make room. How our placenta provides the swimming pool and our bladder a trampoline for their own little backyard oasis.
For some of us. It’s fertility treatments, them medications and techniques and interventions to keep our bodies from confusing this natural process.
I wrote about Atlas’ first few months here so it’s no secret his beginnings were emotionally tough, but I’m happy to report that it was refreshingly unremarkable after those first few months of nervous anguish surpassed.
What is substantial to me is that as we neared his due date I had been feeling unusually uneasy about the process. Unlike the other two I had this nagging feeling I kept pushing aside, I wasn’t ready and I wouldn’t be able to do this. Perhaps it was my aging body feeling particularly fatigued and uncomfortable those last few months, or that I was already a busy mother of two. Either way it was incredibly difficult for me to get into a positive and powerful headspace and that weighed heavily on me leading up to his birth. Eventually I chalked it up to having had a four year gap since the last time I had been down this road, and just simply forgetting what it takes, yet remembering all the horror at the same time.
Then I began dreaming.
In the first dream I had given birth, but couldn’t recall any of the details of his birth. I walked into a quiet birthing suite with my baby, a boy, tightly swaddled on a neatly made bed with a “Hello my name is” sticker on his chest. As I got closer I could see that the name said Atlas followed by something written but smudged and I was questioning why his middle name was wrong. I felt present but not entirely present and no one seemed to be acknowledging my existence. A very solemn feeling in the air, and a silence and stillness to everything around me. I woke abruptly from that dream and was left feeling that I wasn’t meant to be alive in it.
I was pretty shook for awhile afterward but also officially convinced I was having a boy.
A night or two later I awoke again from another dream which I couldn’t recall the details of, but of great significance was that I woke feeling suffocated and I was gasping for air.
This all happened within days of Atlas’ birth and well after his due date had passed.
Believe it or not I had been visiting my midwife for nearly two weeks fully effaced, almost completely dilated, and with what they referred to as a favourable cervix, and yet continued on for almost 2 more weeks with not an inkling of impending labour.
Ten days past my due date on November 7th, 2018 we packed up the car, the gear, and both boys to head to the hospital. As we drove out there we discussed our boy name (our girl name remained the same for all three boys). We had decided at a recent lunch date that Atlas Anderson would be his name, but had just discovered Diamond as a middle name option and fell in love with it, although I was hesitant to use it with a bold name like Atlas. On a complete whim that morning I said I’d consider Diamond If we flanked the two names with James (A traditional name). We immediately committed to it and no sooner than we did a transport baring the name Atlas slowly flanked our car as we passed by.
My favourite part of this whole story is that we made the decision to bring the boys along, to visit the birthing suite and help check mommy in at the desk, to see the bassinet and birthing ball. It gave them the chance to see a neatly arranged space that wasn’t at all intimidating and trust the process that would be the birth of their brother. They stayed with us for a few hours as we got settled in until we were ready to start real labour.
The Midwife decided to start by breaking my water and let my body progress naturally, as she was sure it would.
When all of the slowness that followed got to be too boring for the boys we arranged for my mom to take them to her house, close by the hospital, until we could summon them to meet their new sibling. But those couple of hours that they stayed with us and explored all their curiosities in the room were my favourite.
amongst the busyness I had forgotten to kiss them before they left and I carried a small speck of guilt over that because they were going to be whole new human beings when they returned.
We attempted oral medication for induction shortly after they left and after a couple of doses in a short time span I was finally in labor at 1pm.
Since I was considered an induction I wasn’t allowed any food or fluids after breakfast and it wasn’t long before I was so starving and feeling malnourished.
It was only about an hour before I found myself rocking painfully from the end of one contraction straight into the next. I remember rocking on the birthing ball for the majority of the early labor, chatting superficially about life and careers and making the odd comment about how Elliott and Oliver were going to react. I think we were most excited about giving them this gift than anything else.
As was with the first two my labour was all through my back and as that last bit intensified I climbed into the bed in hopes of a bit of much needed rest. I remember it so clearly just how uncomfortable I had become, I couldn’t sit or stand and with each new position change I was filled with disappointment that it gave me no relief. As one of my last contractions approached I remember seeing Shane on his phone in the corner and asking (but probably yelling) for him to come over and “Heeeellllppp me!!!!” He jumped and was at my side so fast with his hand on my back as I screamed “Don’t touch me!” I can laugh now as I write it but he was so confused. I’d needed to know he was there, I Always did with each boy, but I couldn’t stand his touch or voice. Just knowing I had his strength to pull from as my body got weaker with exhaustion and famine was all I needed.
Suddenly in a burst of extreme pressure and pain I flung my legs up in the air, part desperate and part confused by this process and yelled for the stir-ups, like yesterday. I was in such intense pain that left me feeling like my torso was being whipped through a wood chipper, and as fast as I lifted my legs into the stir-ups I flung them back down again groaning relentlessly “nope nope nope… I can’t do that either” and for a moment I laid there with a pain so overwhelming I didn’t know how I was going to do it. Its something you can’t escape, and yet not a inch of your body is spared the vibrations of pain that radiates through it. I could feel a would-be Atlas up in my rib cage and pushing on my pelvic bone all at the same time and I just knew he was going to be my biggest baby yet.
At some point near the end I asked for an epidural in part knowing I was too late but also so hopeful it was a possibility because I had no faith that I could do this of my own strength.
My midwife declined and instead offered me gas, the first step in the pain management process she explained, and as angered as I was that it wasn’t more, I agreed (while cursing her under my breath).
If you’ve ever had gas you know it doesn’t help the pain necessarily, but it does allow your head to sort of float away from your body for a moment in a type of pain amnesia. It doesn’t last long and you can’t take it too often but it is just enough to catch your breath as the contraction tightens your body and sends your spine into a twisted helix of extreme pain.
In all it was only a handful of these intense labor contractions before I was telling them I had to push. And while my midwife was surprised and skeptical it was time we all agreed to give it an attempt.
And from there it was two back to back contractions and a couple of hard deeply grunted pushes (a total of four minutes) and Atlas was officially front stage.
Everyone was amazed and in awe at the speed it all happened. Shane reported that he didn’t believe me and had thought we’d be there for several more hours waiting.
In the aftermath I found out that for a moment Atlas was stuck and the midwife had to sort of push him back in and simultaneously twist and yank his neck out for his final descent.
They handed him straight to Shane who immediately looked between his legs and laid him on my chest exclaiming across the whole room “It’s a Boy Les, another boy!!” and laughing with an intimate excitement that only the two of us understood.
Atlas weighed in at 9lbs 14 oz which is only 2 small ounces from ten pounds so imma round up and call him my ten pounder, mmmkay! A mighty feat it was and surprisingly not a single tear which surprised us all since I gave birth to a toddler.
I’d like to say the story ended there,
But it didn’t.
As you know the placenta is birthed which was a little trickier than I remembered before but still happened fairly quickly.
Next up was the dreaded fundle massage. And as clot after clot was expressed from my body panic started to mist the room.
We were well prepared for hemorrhaging since it had happened with both the other boys (and also the reason I was restricted to a home birth), so all precautions were taken to prevent it as much as possible this time. I’d been given a dose or two of medications that typically prevent this sort of thing, but my body wasn’t responding.
The fundle massages continued and there were small pockets of time where it seemed the bleeding had stopped only to have it start back up again. I had an IV in my hand in preparation for this but since this wasn’t working a nurse was wisked in to add another.
Meanwhile, my midwife has taken to a new technique of sort of manually evacuating my uterus. Deep fisting me if you will to massage and scrape my uterus from the inside, with her hand, err arm. It was as painful as you can imagine.
Still more blood poured out of me.
I’m not even kidding you when I say it was splashed up the walls covering the patients data whiteboard across the room in front of me, and puddled on the floor.
A portable ultrasound was wheeled in and frequent checks were made to which there was no explanation to be found.
More manual evacuation ensued, and a wonderful OB GYN came in to assess. She herself manually evacuated my uterus a few times too, the single most irritating thing to happen to a grieving and sensitive uterus. All the while she complimented my quiet reserve and expressed appreciation for not kicking her in the face as most women would do in this circumstance.
I was much too exhausted to be alarmed, at this point I had three IVs running, had been given injections in my thigh, vaginal medication, and oral medication to stop the bleeding and was simply feeling high and disconnected.
I got a sudden overwhelming feeling of nausea and summoned a kidney basin and before I knew it a dose of gravol was shot through my veins.
Within minutes I felt sleepy and at peace.
More and more people kept entering the room, discussing my state and planning my care. My previously examined placenta was retrieved from the freezer and a group stood over it as it was laid in the bassinet and inspected of all its nooks and crannies. Again no sign of any placenta being left behind.
Atlas was somewhere with the second midwife getting his eye drops and newborn physical. Shane scattered somewhere between the two of us.
As everyone hustled around me I was slipping deeper from reality and everything became a hazy dream like sequence around me.
Eventually and all so quickly it was decided that I’d be going to the OR. The plan, though not definite, since they weren’t 100% sure what they would discover was to apply pressure to the bleed by inflating a balloon inside my uterus and extending it so all the walls were equally suppressed. Then I would be transferred via ambulance to another hospital with a postpartum intensive care, and Shane would follow with Atlas.
Somewhere around now we contacted my family. While we had a very strict plan in place that the boys would be the first to come meet their sibling, and that we would only reveal in person the gender and name, it was all thrown to the wayside in the madness. I texted my moms phone quickly to tell her “It’s a boy, Atlas James Diamond” and a brief conversation about how I was going into surgery.
My family fell into prayer at their home that night. I didn’t know this because I didn’t fully understand the gravity of what I had told them, and quite frankly assured them all was fine and in good hands. But the impact of what they’d been told, and their lack of power over the situation called them to prayer.
Shane and I said “I love you” hopeful I’d return, but also sullenly like it was our last chance ever, and as they wheeled me away I watched the prospect of him becoming a single father of three wash over his face.
I immediately felt so many things, guilty I hadn’t kissed the boys before they left, and guilt that my newest son was going to lose me before I even knew who he was. My last thought was to yell out “I want him to be breastfed, please find a donor” but I refrained because I was too tired, scared, unsure, and incapacitated with worry.
My memories were foggy but I remember such an extreme peacefulness in the OR. I may not have known what my fate held but at least I was going to be fully sedated while it happened. As a final curtain call, the anaesthetist gathered my consent on all fronts including but not limited to a hysterectomy.
I woke a few hours later gasping for air and choking on the intubator tube as the anaesthetist pulled it uncomfortably from my throat. I took a moment to take in my surroundings beeping machines, bright lights, nurses and doctors in scrubs. I wasn’t sure if this was life or death, but the OB soon faced me and explained that I had a very minuscule piece of placenta that had adhered to my old D&C scar. They performed a fresh D&C and the bleeding immediately stopped, it was basically the best case scenario as far as the OR options could go.
My haemoglobin was only 2 degrees above the need for a transfusion, I’d lost nearly two litres of blood that day. But I was alive to see all my babies again!
When I returned to the room my bed once again filled the empty space that Shane had sat crying over.
A picture he took seared in my memory. A moment when Shane was alone with Altas in the room waiting as I was in the OR, a different vinyl flooring in the spot to mark where the bed should have been, and the pain Shane must have been feeling washed over it.
It was late at this point ten or eleven pm, and no hope of our eager family coming to visit.
I felt so well rested from the sedation that I could sleep a wink that night. I laid awake watching the clock tick just ahead of me. atlas naked on my bare chest and I just stared at him until sunrise.
It was in these quiet moments to ourselves that I realized the significance of my dreams I’d had just days before.
1. I’d had a boy
2. His newly designated name, Atlas James Diamond, was a deviation from our original, Atlas Anderson.
3. Much disconnect and altered reality surrounded the moments after his birth.
4. I had to re-enter the birthing suite post-surgery to really meet my new son for the first time.
5. I awoke from my surgery choking and gasping for breath.
I spent a lot of my last few months of pregnancy praying for God to send me a message. I’d had such a beautiful dream/premonition before Oliver arrived that I longed for that same peacefulness again.
I’ve heard tales told that you have 5 outs in your life – opportunities to leave this earth or stick it out and complete your journey. If that’s true I believe that I had made the decision to stay that day, perhaps my dreams were Divine visitations to prepare for this decision that would soon be before me. I can’t say for sure, but I cannot doubt the significance those dreams held, and the peacefulness that was inside me despite all the crazy that wizzed around me in those moments.
At the 7am shift change new faces came to visit me, check up on me, and bask in the miracle that was my life. Except they weren’t new faces, they were the surgical team and support staff that had all been a part of last nights festivities, from the parts I couldn’t remember.
The boys came to meet their brother later that morning, nearly a full 24 hours after his birth. It was a beautifully romantic affair where they wanted to inspect all his teeny tiny parts (well as tiny as a ten pound baby could be). They caressed him and poked at him and became instantly infatuated. They practiced his name over and over and eagerly joined in to change his first diapers.
They were well prepared for this new role, they were there with us on the day that we went through the motions to have our IUI and followed along on our nervous journey. They cherished those first black and white photos from our ultrasounds and talked often to school mates, teachers and strangers on the street about their baby to be. They set aside some of their most cherished toys to gift him and came home each day from school questioning if the baby had arrived.
Our hearts grew three sizes that day, making space for our new little bundle and doubling in size for each of our big boys.
And that, my loves, is the story of how Atlas James Diamond came to be!
Tight Squeeze!
Ella
Why Atlas James Diamond???
Atlas; We had discovered his name from the character of a movie (Now you see me) that we randomly watched but as we researched we learned That in Greek mythology he was the strongest of the titans and carried the weight of the pillars of the earth. Atlas also had deeper significance to us in our journey to conceive him; Atlas(t) at long last he has arrived!
James means the follower, and he is our rainbow that followed the storm.
Diamond means invincible/untamed, but I like to consider its journey; once being a piece of coal put under extreme pressure it emerges a Diamond. A beautiful sentiment given our journey through infertility, the pressure that we were under, and the gem we unearthed.
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