Our sweet little Pickle is now an 8 year old. This little man is growing up so fast. He still can tug on my heart strings like no other. You see there was a little drama when this little man was on the way out 8 years ago. I knew, I don't know how I knew, but I knew that something was wrong. We arrived at the hospital and they kept me. Being that he was number 6 they were worried I might deliver very fast. There was one problem. The more you have, the later the baby drops (at least that is what I have been told.) Pickle did not drop into position until about an hour before he entered the world.
I was in labor and had a bad feeling. I called for the nurse that was just not paying attention to me at all. I remember not wanting to "disturb" her and really hoping her shift would be over before the baby was due to be born. She came to check on me, said everything was fine and started to walk out. I called for her and told her something was wrong and that I wanted to see the doctor. "Oh no" she told me, you are not ready for us to call your doctor. I didn't care what doctor but I knew I needed to see one right away. She assured me she would track one down and left the room.
Several minutes went by and she did not return, and no doctor was to be seen either. I hate to be pushy, I really do. I was trying hard to be nice but was getting very agitated. It wasn't like me to demand to see the doctor and Jason knew this. I was watching the heart rates and the baby's rate would go way down with every contraction. I told the nurse and she told me it was just the position of the monitor and I shouldn't worry. With each contraction I saw his little heart almost stop and I couldn't take it any more. I knew it was wrong. I paged the nurse, or the front desk. I think it was my nurse that answered and that is why it didn't help me out. I demanded to see a doctor immediately.
Another 15 minutes with a few more contractions went by with no doctor. With the latest contraction it looked like the baby had no heart beat for a few seconds. . . I panicked and tried to get up off of the table to go find the doctor myself. Jason told me to settle down and I looked him in the eye and said, "Get the doctor now, we are going to loose our son!" I don't know why I said that but I knew something wasn't right! Jason takes such good care of me and our children. He ran into the hall and just started yelling for a doctor. A doctor one from another room came running.
This wasn't my doctor but one of the house doctors. I had seen him when Moogie was born. He ran in and looked me in the eyes. "There is something wrong, I just know it. This is number 6 and I just feel that something is wrong. Every time I have a contraction the baby's heart rate drops . . ." He examined me and the reports and then started barking out orders to Jason. My nurse came into the room and without waiting to hear the doctor just callously said, "She is exaggerating the baby is fine, I have been watching it for awhile now". I told her to leave and not come back, the doctor looked at her and said, "you heard her, now get me a nurse that can help me save this baby!" Jason had run to the nurses station with the doctors message.
The room changed quickly. The lights fell from the ceiling, the bed changed, medication was brought in, there were nurses and doctors all over. I think I counted 15 people within 2 minutes of the doctors exam. Once everyone was in position and the equipment was at hand he told me that I needed to push the baby out in one or two pushes or we would loose him. I didn't have time for a c-section. Apparently the baby's heart had stopped on the last contraction and he had been in the room to monitor it.
Jason grabbed my hand and I could see the fear on his face, it was also on each of the people that were in the room. They usually want you to stop between contractions but not this time. Nothing mattered but getting him out. After just a minute or two of pushing (it seamed like hours but it was only seconds) out came the baby. No sounds, no cries, no smiles on the faces of those around. Jason looked at the baby that I could not see and almost fainted. "WHAT" I yelled. "Wait" said the doctor. I couldn't see but after an eternity I heard a faint cry and I saw a tear role down the check on one of the nurses.
Snip - snip and the baby was gone and surrounded by doctors. I was later told that the neonatal specialist was there and that is who first held the baby. I couldn't see and Jason just held my hand and started praying. What, he never burst out into prayer, what was going on. He later told me that the baby was born the wrong color. He had never seen anything so frightening. We prayed and listened. Within a few seconds our little man was screaming loudly and was the perfect shade of pink. I was never so happy to hear a baby cry in my entire life.
I was able to kiss him briefly and off he went for many check ups. Apparently the cord had been wrapped around the baby's neck twice. With every contraction I was choking him. He had "died" during delivery and was resuscitated. He is listed as a live birth but it was a close call. When I was finally handed a beautiful pink baby to hold I threw water on his head and Baptized him right then and there. I never wanted to let go of him again. He still holds that major string around my heart. The other kiddos tease me. He isn't my favorite, none of them are the favorite. I can say that he is the one that I feared loosing the most. I did baby him longer, hold him more, nurse him forever. All those accusations are true.
Turning 8 is a big deal. This is the year that he receives more of the sacraments. All I can say is Thank you, dear heavenly Father for this wonderful young man. I love him so much and am so glad that you didn't take him that day. I will try to live up to your call for me and give him all the training he needs to be your faithful servant. Happy birthday Pickle.