Saturday, November 6th, 2004
I awoke early Saturday morning. Really early. Early even for me. Sometimes I have a hard time sleeping and no matter what I do, I just can’t sleep. Well, this was one of those nights. By really early I’m talking about two in the morning. I did the things I usually do at two in the morning when I can’t sleep, play solitaire, make weird music mix cds, look in the fridge (although I know nothings in there) and think about reading a book until I remember the miracle of TV. These various activities continued until about 6:00 am, when I showered, dressed and jumped in the car to go Waco. I know, I know… Why Waco?
Mindi’s sister was moving into a new house and it seemed like the good family thing to do. Waco is about a two-hour drive from Mineral Wells, where we live, and since the move would be underway at 9:00 am, I had to leave at 7:00 to make it on time. Well, I was a little late getting to Waco; somewhat grumpy and intensely tired by the time we finished but that’s a whole different story. At about 5:00pm I headed for Mineral Wells to see my wife.
Mindi was eight months pregnant and yes, I did feel a tinge of guilt leaving her alone all day. But I could justify it because her Mom and Sister, along with Sister in law and friends from Waco were coming to Mineral Wells for a baby shower that our wonderful ward had planned. I decided that my skills, however limited, would be better put to use lifting furniture and scratching doorways than trying not to vomit as a bunch of woman told and retold birthing stories. (The thought still makes me shutter!) Besides, three days ago the Doctor had said that she only had a twenty to twenty-five per cent chance of going into labor that week.
I got into town shortly after seven. My wife joyfully showed me all the exciting gifts we got while I took the opportunity to play with my new toy. My toy was a digital camera. There were many pictures taken at the shower, and even though you couldn’t have paid me to go to the actual thing, it was fun to look at the pictures and edit them. I zoomed in on some photos, others I tweaked the colors; it was a lot of fun and when I finished I thought it would be fun to show my wife my handy work. So right around eight o’clock, I plugged the camera into the TV (just one of the many fantastic features of my new toy, but that also is a whole different story) and we sat down to look at them. Well, sort of. I sat down on the floor and Mindi went to get a glass of cow juice. She came over, and in the way that only pregnant woman
can comprehend she struggled to kneel down next to me.
“Oh my gosh,” she gasped almost dropping her freshly poured glass of milk,
“My water just broke.”
The scenes of hundreds of movies in which the woman goes into labor and calmly waits as her husband puts his clothes on, underwear outside of his pants and with only one shoe, loads the car and races to the hospital, than races home, helps his wife into the car, puts on another sock and goes back to the hospital (underwear still on top of his pants) flashed before my eyes.
“What are we going to do?” Mindi cried, “I’m so nervous!” This just didn’t make sense. The Doctor had said only a twenty five percent chance. I had expected next week at the earliest, I wasn’t ready to be a father, my underwear was still under my pants, we simply couldn’t go to the hospital, and therefore, she simply could not be in labor, which meant that her water couldn’t have possibly broken.
This, as I have since discovered, was the first of a long history of being wrong, that I had just started, when it comes to parenting. As I looked down at the water (which technically is called amniotic fluid) saturating her pants and dripping onto the carpet I had only one thought.
“Maybe you should change your pants.”
Mindi ran off to change her pants and I loaded the car with our duffel bags that contained clothes, toothpaste, maxi pads, and a variety of other suggested items. We grabbed a towel to protect the car seat from the steady flow of water that was leaking down Mindi’s leg and I snatched the camera and cell phone, locked the doors halfway expecting to be back in a couple hours, and we were off.
The hospital was quiet and it took us a minute to find someone to check us in.
“Her water just broke,” I causally commented to the young lady at the front desk of the emergency wing. Her eyes bugged for just a second as she noticed, for the first time, the ever-increasing puddle under Mindi’s yellow flip-flops. She got right down to business and called for a nurse to take her up to the labor and delivery wing while I answered questions about insurance and stuff. (I don’t really remember what kinds of questions she asked, I was thinking of other things.) Luckily for us, we had come to the hospital a couple weeks earlier to pre-register, so at this crucial moment we didn’t have to make up answers to their questions. The nurse wheeled Mindi up to the second floor, where the LDR wing was located, and checked us into Labor and Delivery Room 3.
At about nine o’clock, Mary, our night shift nurse came and confirmed that Mindi’s water had indeed broken and though we checked in with two, we would be leaving with three. It was a moment of realization for me. Up until then it had not dawned on me that this was it. Although I could see the obvious evidence that her water had indeed broken in the back of my mind I still though we had at least another week before the actual birth.
Slowly realization worked its way into my stubborn mind and I remembered all of the things we needed to do if we would be having a baby. I called people from church, because I was supposed to teach and Mindi was doing the primary music the next day. I knew the house was a mess and the dishes needed to be done, but that would have to wait. There was no way I was going to miss the birth of my new child.
Even with the I.V. and heart monitors, Mindi looked beautiful. She had that special glow that only a mother to be can have of nervousness but relief and love for her child that she is about to meet. I tried to comfort her, only to realize that I was the one who needed the comfort. The maternal instincts had already kicked in and Mindi was ready to be a mommy. (She told me to go wash my hands.)
I had expected a short labor, because of the history of labors in Mindi’s family. Her mom’s longest labor was about four hours from start to finish. She was at the hospital only nineteen minuets before her first came. Mindi was dilated to about a 2 when Mary checked at nine o’clock, and her contractions were pretty weak. If her water hadn’t broken we wouldn’t have known that she was in labor.
After three hour my hopes for a fast labor started to fade. Mary returned to check her again and announced that she was now dilated to almost a three. The contractions were getting more intense now and Mindi was starting to wince with pain as they climaxed. She would reach for my hand and just squeeze it. I would watch the monitor and try to give her words of comfort and hope. (I quickly learned that “Wow, that was a big one, Honey!” was not comforting and a very bad idea.) I could see the peak of each one and hoped that things would pick up soon. Quite possibly the hardest thing I’ve done in my life up to that point was watch as the Woman whom I loved more than anything else squeeze tears of pain out of her eyes and quietly moan in agony. And all I could do was hold her hand. There were no pictures at this time. Once in a while, in between contractions, I would try to say something humorous, just to easy the mood, but for the most part it was a somber moment.
She had to be dilated to at least a four before the nurse could call for an epidural, which is the preferred method of pain relief. When Mary came in at two to check her, I prayed that she had made it that far. I didn’t think I could stand to watch her suffer anymore, and Mindi was exhausted. She was shaking in between contractions and couldn’t relax. We both knew that this was not a good way to go into the pushing stage. Mary carefully checked her and declared that she was not quite to a four, but that she would call the anesthesiologist anyway because it would take him a minute to get there. I silently thanked God and put out my hand for another contraction.
I think that the anesthesiologist’s name was Robert, but I can’t remember for sure. He arrived at close to three in the morning and was in good humor although ill tempered. Some bored policeman had pulled him over on his way to the hospital and he had much to say on the matter. I made a mental note to drop a letter to Mineral Wells’ finest.
I didn’t watch much of the epidural because I have issues with needles, but it seemed to be quick and relatively painless. After the intense pain of six hours of contractions a little poke with a needle was nothing to Mindi. Robert first cleaned the area of her lower back with a chemical (I think it was iodine) and scrubbed it with a wiry brush. Then he explained that he would first give her a shot of local anesthetic to numb the feeling of the really big needle. After the local anesthetic he told Mindi that she would probably feel some “pressure” as he inserted the epidural needle. Mindi said that she didn’t feel as the needle was inserted, Jason wasn’t up to looking until after the needles were gone. Then I saw how Robert had inserted a tiny little tube into the small of Mindi’s back. This tube ran into an IV that dripped the pain reliever into her bloodstream. On the next contraction, I watched graciously as the monitor peaked and Mindi started to doze off, oblivious to the pain.
I have the utmost respect for couples (mostly the women) that do natural childbirth, but at that moment I was infinitely gratefully that God has given us the knowledge of pain medication. Mindi was so tired after those first six hours; and she was only dilated to a four (not even half way), if she had not had medication to allow her to rest and gather her strength I believe the birth would not have been successful. But she did rest and regain strength; she soon fell into a light sleep and Mary showed me how to pull out the chair into a little cot. Though it wasn’t very comfortable, I was glad for the opportunity to rest as well. After all, I was running on about two hour of sleep in the last thirty-two hours or so. I was tired.
I awoke around five in the morning, after a couple hours of light sleep, and expected the room to be full of nurses and doctors shouting orders and people congratulating us… but I was once again disappointed. Mindi was dilated to about a five by now (right around half way) and was still resting. I looked for ways to kill the time, resigning myself to the evidence that this would indeed be a long labor. It had already been over eight hours since we had checked into the hospital. We wanted to see our little girl, but I guess she wasn’t ready yet. We watched some TV and talked to the nurses; by this time we had met our second nurse. Her name was Cathy. Cathy was very sweet and soft spoken. She explained all that was happening inside Mindi and answered our questions. She showed us how the monitors worked and what all the numbers meant. She advised Mindi to try and sleep some more because she would need all her strength when the time came to push, and she told “Dad” to go get some breakfast because the last thing she needed was for dad to pass out in the middle of pushing due to lack of nourishment.
Not being much of a breakfast person I piddled around for a while but finally headed down to get something to eat from the cafeteria. I felt like crap. A mixture of the lack of sleep, anxiety, hunger, dehydration, and boredom were making me feel like I wanted to vomit or pass out or both. I thought some food might help me feel better. I ate a small bowl of fruit and had a glass of orange juice. (That’s my cure for everything) I called my Parents and Mindi’s parents to inform them that all was well but slow and we would call when we had a visual.
The morning dragged on and on and on. It seemed like things were going progressively slower but Cathy assured us it was all normal and counseled us to be patient. (Easy for her to say, they paid her to be there.) Our good friends Will and Leanne Hicks came to visit us after they got out of church and that helped immensely to break the monotony of the hospital.
Sometime between two and three in the afternoon (it was Sunday, November 7th) I started to feel light headed again so I went down to buy a snickers bar (“snickers really satisfies you”). The contractions had not gotten any closer together and Cathy, under instructions of Dr. Hoefelmann, added a drug called pitocen to Mindi’s IV. Pitocen makes a woman’s uterus contract and is what doctors use to induce labor; in our case we hoped that it would speed up the natural process and get things rolling. By now the labor had been going on for eighteen or nineteen hour and we all knew that it wasn’t safe for the baby to stay in much longer since Mindi’s water had broken.
“The Pit” did its job. The contractions got progressively stronger and within a couple of hours Mindi was saying that she could once again feel the contractions (which is necessary to properly push) and she felt kind of like she needed to go to the bathroom. I told Cathy this, and she got all excited. She checked Mindi again and said that she was almost fully dilated, and then began making preparations to deliver. She lowered the delivery lights and brought in a table with what seemed like hundreds of scissors, clamps and cool looking knives. She had another nurse (whose name I forgot, but she was nice too) call Dr. Hoefelmann to tell him to eat fast or plan on a late dinner.
Finally the moment had arrived. I’m not sure if the epidural was wearing off or running out, or if the contractions were just so much stronger, but Mindi was once again whimpering with pain during the contractions. I held her hand as Cathy did one final check and announced that it was time to push.
She showed Mindi how to pull her knees up toward her shoulders and then said, “Now I want you to take a deep breath, blow it out, then take another deep breath and push to the count of ten.”
I helped Cathy pull Mindi’s legs up then counted to ten with her as Mindi pushed. There was some blood and some amniotic fluid that came out and I thought for a second that I just might pass out in spite of my breakfast, but that thought only lasted a second when Mindi cried that another contraction was coming and I again counted to ten, this time with out Cathy, as she was massaging and stretching the opening where the baby would come. Mindi pushed through a couple more contractions, then I saw the most beautiful thing in the world as Cathy was stretching the opening she motioned for me to look, and inside I could see pale, ball shaped figure of our little baby’s head. The blood and fluid was disgusting, but at the same time it was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. Cathy must have seen my emotion and gave me an encouraging smile and said, “You’re witnessing a miracle.” I couldn’t have described it better. I thought that Mindi must be getting tired and wanted to encourage her and give her hope so I told her that I saw the head and that she had more hair than her two year old cousin. Mindi smiled weakly and motioned for me to grab her leg because it was time to push again.
About this time I was wondering where the heck the doctor was. Cathy sent the other nurse to call him again, with a little more urgency in her voice than before. We could see the head with every push now, I guess that’s what they call “crowning”, and Cathy told Mindi that she needed to not push on this next contraction. I tried vainly to help her blow and pant like Cathy showed us to avoid pushing. Finally Dr. Hoefelmann walked in the room.
“Do I have time to change into my blues?” he casually asked. I threw him a look of contempt while Cathy said, with a voice of desperation,
“No, I don’t think so.”
Dr. Hoefelman quickly and professionally sized up the situation and said, “Well, you’re having a baby.” He gave Mindi some local anesthetic to numb the pain of the crowning and we prepared for some finial pushing. The monitor showed a contraction coming and once again I pulled Mindi’s left leg up while Cathy tugged on her right.
“One… two… three…” I called out, feeling somewhat proud to be so involved. I reached ten, let Mindi breathe and we started over. We did this one more time and the head was almost halfway out. Dr. Hoefelman instructed us to go again and by the count of five little Cailyn’s head had popped out. The doctor quickly grabbed a bulb syringe (more commonly known as a snot sucker) and suctioned out various fluids from her nose and mouth. He then grabbed her head, turned it, and called for more pushing. At 5:42 pm the rest of little Cailyn’s body was out. The doctor put two clamps on the umbilical cord and asked me if I wanted to cut it.
“Sure,” I said.
I reached in my pocket for a sharp knife, which I had brought for just such a purpose… just kidding (ha ha).
They handed me a pair of the scissors that Cathy had brought in earlier and with a flick of the wrist I snipped the cord. Cailyn immediately began to scream and I went with her to the warming table to watch as the nurse cleaned off some of the remaining fluids and gunk that covered her tiny body.
Her face was swollen, especially her lips and she had one heck of a cone head, but she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
Cathy and the other nurse toweled her off and put her on scale to see what the damage was. She weighed 6 pounds 6.1 ounces… almost exactly what her daddy weighed when he came out twenty-five years ago.
She caused her mother a lot of pain, and caused her dad a lot of heartache, but in the end it was worth every bit of it and we wouldn’t change a second of it for anything in the world.
Mom had torn in two places so the doctor had to sew her up before she could hold the little one, but daddy made trips back and forth from the birthing bed to the warming table and told both mommy and baby that the other was fine and they would soon meet.
The doctor confirmed that Mommy would be just fine, aside from being very sore for a few days. She couldn’t have been prouder.
As for Daddy, well, he always has been a little weird. He gawks at his newborn daughter all the time. He likes to play his guitar and think that she listens and likes it (even though he doesn’t sing on key). He holds you through the night when you sleep and cautiously plays with you when you’re awake. He tries to change your diapers, which you don’t much like, and loves to see you in all the clothes that mommy dresses you in. He thinks that there could never be a baby as beautiful and sweet as you. He loves you more than words can say.
Little Cailyn Joy Holloway was born on Sunday, November 7th, 2004 at 5:42 pm in the Palo Pinto General Hospital, in Mineral Wells Texas
She weighed 6 pounds 6.1 ounces at birth
On Tuesday, November 9th, Doctors Richard Hoefelman and Anantha Bhandari released Mom and I from the hospital to begin our wonderful life.
Written by Jason Holloway(aka "Daddy") shortly after Cailyn was born.
Now that I have read this and edited it a bit, I have to admit that it makes me absolutely nervous to do it all again. I certainly hope that it doesn't take as long as Cailyn's did, but no matter how fast it goes, it stll makes me a little scared.
Cailyn through the years:
You have seen birth
1st Birthday
Age 2
3rd Birthday
And Now:
Today was a really good day. Cailyn woke up and rushed to the kitchen to open some presents(with permission of course).
Just like a girl she reaches for the smallest box.
After opening most of her presents, we ate some breakfast and then quickly got dressed so we could make and decorate her cupcakes.
Then we headed off to Weatherford for a day of fun with a good friend(thanks Tonia for a fun day), and to retrieve dinner. What did she request you ask. She is a Holloway, what do you think she asked for? PIZZA
Tonight she is sleeping in her newly decorated bed, this being the last night with her blanket.
