Introducing our beautiful baby girl, Evelyn Mae Leschke, born at 8:43pm on 2/7/14: 8.0 pounds and 19.0 inches of pure perfection.
It all started on Thursday evening, 2/6/14, when Tom and I checked into Labor & Delivery at Children's Hospital of Wisconsin for induction at 9pm. I have never been so equally excited and terrified in my whole life. We were taken to suite #10 (which had a gorgeous night view of the Milwaukee skyline), where I was instructed to "get comfortable" (ha!), put on my hospital gown, and wait for my assigned nurse. So we got settled into the room, I changed, and then we waited. And waited and waited. It felt like an eternity had passed when finally, 45 minutes later, there was a knock on the door and a friendly face emerged: Jo. I liked her instantly. She was the perfect combination of calm and friendly, and she apologized profusely for the delay. Jo explained that every baby in the unit had decided to be born at the same time, and that she was simultaneously aiding in several deliveries. Despite the chaos, Jo found time to stop by our room every so often to complete portions of our admission and keep us informed. Around 10pm, an hour after our arrival, she finally placed my IV (that I thought hurt, which in retrospect is hilarious) and attached the fetal monitors. But just as she went to get someone to do my cervical check, all nurses and residents were paged into an emergency c-section. Of course.
Again we waited...two hours this time...during which Tom and I found ourselves in a strange state of limbo between pregnancy and parenthood. We felt like we should prepare, but didn't know how. We wanted to sleep, but couldn't close our eyes. Instead we just talked while listening to the soft, steady beat of our precious baby's heart on the monitors. Jo kept apologizing for the delay, but I remember being almost grateful for the extra time alone with him. Time that would be all too limited in the future. Without those extra moments, I would not have learned that Tom intentionally packed his most soft and comfortable sweater so that the baby would feel safe in his arms. And he would not have had the chance to ask me what kind of husband I wanted him to be during labor (serious or jovial, hands-on or hands-off, comforting or encouraging, etc). And I would not have assured him to just be himself...a decision that put him at ease but that I would later come to regret ;)
At midnight, Jo finally returned with a female resident, who confirmed that I was already having sporadic contractions and rejoiced that I was 2cm dilated. She placed cytotec and said she would be back to check me again in 4 hours. Jo turned out the lights and told us to try and get some sleep. But as if anxiety wasn't enough of a barrier, the baby was so active that she actually kicked the monitors off of my belly, forcing Jo to wake me every 5-20 minutes to readjust. Just as the baby had decided to settle down and I was finally drifting off into a deep sleep, the resident turned on a light at 4:30am for my cervix check. To my dismay, I was still only 2cm dilated, although much more effaced. The doctor said one more round of cytotec would do the trick and Jo ordered us back to bed. I fell right back asleep, only to become aware of some serious cramping about an hour later. By 6am, Tom's alarm was going off so that he could shower and leave for his OSCE. That's right, Tom had an OBGYN exam the morning of our baby's birthday. He was unable to reschedule it and our doctor had previously assured us that he would "not miss anything exciting" between the hours of 7 and 8am; but we were the talk of the labor and delivery unit nonetheless: the husband who had to take an obstetrics exam while his wife was in labor.As luck would have it, my contractions started shortly after Tom left at 6:45am. I remember being nervous that I could count the combined hours of sleep I had gotten the past two nights on one hand, but being excited that things were finally happening. This was it! The pain I had been longing for that dreadful night of false labor. Because of that, I was able to embrace it (for the time being.) My day nurse, Joanna, confirmed that my labor was progressing on its own and I would only need a few drops of pitocin for regulation. Then my parents, who planned on being in the waiting room during Tom's absence, arrived. We talked excitedly until my extraordinary OB, Dr. Menon, showed up just to check in on me before her morning meeting. Because of that meeting, her clinic was cancelled for the day; and instead of taking the time off, she promised to come back to perform my delivery herself (which, due to my unexpected progress, she predicted to be late afternoon/early evening). After she left, my parents went to get coffee so I could rest.
I believe that lasted about 10 minutes. Suddenly my contractions intensified and I felt scared and lonely. I texted my parents to return, who distracted me through the pain until Tom returned around 8:45. I remember feeling so relieved when he finally walked through the door, knowing he would be by my side till the end. The rest is honestly a blur of pain, frustration, labored breathing, gripping the side rails of my hospital bed (so hard I had sore biceps for weeks), violent shaking, and even some tasteful screaming. I had asked for an epidural at 4cm (around 11am) that was tragically misplaced by a suspicious Russian resident, causing only the left side of my body to be numb. Somehow this was worse: knowing how glorious a proper epidural would feel yet still having full-blown painful contractions on the other side. To be fair, I had a good 20 minutes of relief after they turned me onto my right side (so the medicine would drip from left to right), but then the medication wore off altogether, taking me right back to square one. Occasionally the new anesthesia resident on call would come in and give me a "boost" of medication, but it never fully numbed me and always wore off quickly. Afterward, we learned that the epidural was not effectively placed and that I had spent the majority of the day in natural labor. 
As a defense mechanism, I remember very little of what happened between 5cm (around 11:30am) and when I started pushing. I know Tom held my hand. I know he tried to get me to watch one of our favorite TV shows on his iPad before realizing my eyes were sealed shut in pain. I know he answered my questions about how the baby looked on the monitors. I know my lovely sisters came in to see me. I know I had "coupling contractions" (where there was slightly more time in between but then 2 right in a row). And, most vividly, I know my nurse changed from Joanna to Wendy. I know this because Wendy came in at exactly 4:30pm and told me I
was already 9 - almost 10- cm! (After which I proclaimed my love for
her - naturally). I might have doubted her except that my doctor had
predicted a late afternoon/early evening delivery and Joanna had been
commenting on my fast progress all morning. So I planned on pushing when
Dr. Menon arrived at 5:30, but, to my absolute horror, she said,
"Well, I wouldn't say you're quite 9cm yet." She was being nice. I would
find out later that I was only 7.5cm (an hour after Wendy said I was almost 10cm).
At 6:30pm Dr. Menon checked on me again, saying despite my dilation
the baby was still up too high and I would have to "labor down" for
another hour. She was being nice again. In fact, I had just reached the
point Wendy had proclaimed me to be 2 hours earlier. After 2 hours of believing it was almost time, another
hour is the absolute last thing I wanted to hear. It didn't just
devastate me. It crushed me. I remember telling Tom (or more like
whispering in my feeble state) that I was giving up; that I couldn't do
it. I was too exhausted. Too weak. Depleted of all my physical and emotional strength. Tom
says I appeared to lose consciousness and started mumbling incoherent
prayers. And that's when he pulled out the big guns and went to get my
mother.
Lynn Vandenberg came in around 7pm and gave me what must have been the best pep talk in the history of pep talks. Again, I don't remember much - or maybe even any - of the words. I just remember her voice, lots of tears, and the overwhelming feeling that everything was going to be ok. At 7:30pm, Dr. Menon came back in, checked me, and reluctantly agreed to let me start pushing.
She was hesitant because at this point what she had said at 6:30
to make me feel better was now actually true, and, despite being
dilated enough to push, the baby had not descended enough on her own.
But, sensing that one more setback would put me over the edge, she
decided to let me try and push her down myself.
Lynn Vandenberg came in around 7pm and gave me what must have been the best pep talk in the history of pep talks. Again, I don't remember much - or maybe even any - of the words. I just remember her voice, lots of tears, and the overwhelming feeling that everything was going to be ok. At 7:30pm, Dr. Menon came back in, checked me, and reluctantly agreed to let me start pushing.
And that's exactly what I did. I pushed like pushing was my job.
No...like I had been born to push, and that every moment in my life up till that moment had only occurred to bring me to that godforsaken hospital bed to
push. Dr. Menon looked up at me with wide eyes and proclaimed that she had never seen a first time mother push so hard. She asked me if I could teach a class. Good! I had no intention of pushing for three hours. Or worse, getting that far in labor just to need a c-section. I wanted that baby OUT. I remember that my biggest fear about delivery was the pushing. But it turned out to be the easiest part. Not that it was easy, by any means...but at least it felt productive. The pain was actually serving a purpose, and - best of all - the end was in sight! I got into a serious rhythm: breathe, push, breathe, push, ice chips, and repeat. Jo came back to the hospital for another shift and requested to relieve Wendy to see my labor come full circle. Tom, Jo, and Dr. Menon were my dream team; and with their constant support, encouragement, and positivity, an hour an a half flew by.
Suddenly, Dr. Menon said, "Go time" and within seconds everything changed. Jo ran out of the room and came back with several others. Dr. Menon turned around and put on a gown, surgical mask, and long rubber gloves. People started moving equipment into place. And that's how I knew she was coming. It was scary and exhilarating all at the same time. Dr Menon asked Tom if he wanted to deliver; and while I was adamantly against it during the pregnancy, my post labor delirium had me telling him that he should. And although he had been begging me to let him, when the time came, Tom decided to stay by my side and hold my hand. What a good husband, right? But then, just as Dr. Menon stated that I only had a few more pushes left, he added, "Just think, after this you only have to give birth, like, 5 more times!" There it was. That inevitable comment that would make me regret telling him to 'just be himself'. One of the nurses gasped, "Oh no he didn't!" But, in true Tom fashion, it had lightened the mood....and before I even had time to contemplate the enormity of what was happening, it was time to push again.
I was enveloped by an entourage of strangers cheering, "That's it!","You got this!", and "Go, Mama, go!". Mama. The word hung in the air, ringing in my ears long after it was said. I was about to become a mama. A word has never had such profound meaning, such power. I pushed with every fiber of my being, pushed for that word. Pushed a little too hard. Because when Dr. Menon told me to stop (since the contraction was over), the baby was...wait for it...part in and part out. Excruciating does not even begin to describe the pain, the discomfort, the sheer agony. I didn't just scream. I writhed. Probably not physically, considering the precarious position of the baby....but internally, I writhed. That minute between contractions seemed to last longer than the entire 20+ hours of labor before it. It is that single, solitary minute that still haunts me to this day. The waiting. The inaction. The torture.
An eternity later, when I was finally allowed to start again, I mustered every last ounce of strength in my body and p.u.s.h.e.d. I imagined her being born so vividly in that moment - desperate to avoid another minute in purgatory - that I swear I willed her out. And sure enough, at 8:43pm, our precious baby finally emerged and took her first breath. Tom, who was in charge of announcing her gender, proclaimed, "It's a....wait, what is it?!" You can just about imagine my horror. How did he not know?! Luckily, his confusion was merely the product of the umbilical chord hanging between her legs. He gently brushed it aside and confirmed my suspicion. "It's a girl," he said, his voice cracking on the last word. A girl. A sweet, beautiful, wonderful, baby girl.
They laid her on my chest, and I was instantly overwhelmed by love, awe, and joy. I will never forget those first moments. How she lifted her head and looked me right in the eyes. How I was meeting her for the first time, yet felt that I had known her my whole life. How I simply could not fathom that she was mine; that I had made her. How, for the first time in my life, I truly saw God. Believed in miracles. Experienced magic. It was something truly divine. So euphoric that I almost didn't feel them yanking the placenta out or stitching me up without pain meds. Almost ;)
And when I saw the two of them together, my husband and my daughter, it tested the limits of a heart's capacity for love. He wrapped her up in his big, strong, cozy sweater-wrapped arms; gazed down at her with all of the pride and admiration in the world; and cried. He was hers, too. And she was his. And we...we were a family. And that, my friends, is what life is all about.
Suddenly, Dr. Menon said, "Go time" and within seconds everything changed. Jo ran out of the room and came back with several others. Dr. Menon turned around and put on a gown, surgical mask, and long rubber gloves. People started moving equipment into place. And that's how I knew she was coming. It was scary and exhilarating all at the same time. Dr Menon asked Tom if he wanted to deliver; and while I was adamantly against it during the pregnancy, my post labor delirium had me telling him that he should. And although he had been begging me to let him, when the time came, Tom decided to stay by my side and hold my hand. What a good husband, right? But then, just as Dr. Menon stated that I only had a few more pushes left, he added, "Just think, after this you only have to give birth, like, 5 more times!" There it was. That inevitable comment that would make me regret telling him to 'just be himself'. One of the nurses gasped, "Oh no he didn't!" But, in true Tom fashion, it had lightened the mood....and before I even had time to contemplate the enormity of what was happening, it was time to push again.
I was enveloped by an entourage of strangers cheering, "That's it!","You got this!", and "Go, Mama, go!". Mama. The word hung in the air, ringing in my ears long after it was said. I was about to become a mama. A word has never had such profound meaning, such power. I pushed with every fiber of my being, pushed for that word. Pushed a little too hard. Because when Dr. Menon told me to stop (since the contraction was over), the baby was...wait for it...part in and part out. Excruciating does not even begin to describe the pain, the discomfort, the sheer agony. I didn't just scream. I writhed. Probably not physically, considering the precarious position of the baby....but internally, I writhed. That minute between contractions seemed to last longer than the entire 20+ hours of labor before it. It is that single, solitary minute that still haunts me to this day. The waiting. The inaction. The torture.
An eternity later, when I was finally allowed to start again, I mustered every last ounce of strength in my body and p.u.s.h.e.d. I imagined her being born so vividly in that moment - desperate to avoid another minute in purgatory - that I swear I willed her out. And sure enough, at 8:43pm, our precious baby finally emerged and took her first breath. Tom, who was in charge of announcing her gender, proclaimed, "It's a....wait, what is it?!" You can just about imagine my horror. How did he not know?! Luckily, his confusion was merely the product of the umbilical chord hanging between her legs. He gently brushed it aside and confirmed my suspicion. "It's a girl," he said, his voice cracking on the last word. A girl. A sweet, beautiful, wonderful, baby girl.
They laid her on my chest, and I was instantly overwhelmed by love, awe, and joy. I will never forget those first moments. How she lifted her head and looked me right in the eyes. How I was meeting her for the first time, yet felt that I had known her my whole life. How I simply could not fathom that she was mine; that I had made her. How, for the first time in my life, I truly saw God. Believed in miracles. Experienced magic. It was something truly divine. So euphoric that I almost didn't feel them yanking the placenta out or stitching me up without pain meds. Almost ;)
