Grieving the Gift: Experience the Journey Through Eyes of a Parent

By Dr. Jamie McClintic

In 2010, Maddox Lucille McClintic entered the world weighing a little over six pounds. She arrived with something few people have: an extra twenty-first chromosome. Unknown to her mother at the time, Maddox would soon amaze the entire world with life-changing moments, beautiful magic, and an abundance of love.
In a multifaceted biography and self-help guide, Dr. Jamie McClintic interweaves beautiful images with her experiences and perspectives to chronicle her complex grief and acceptance process after learning Maddox was diagnosed with Down syndrome. Her story is followed by clinically based guidance and concise key takeaways for those too overwhelmed with information. Finally, each chapter closes with self-reflection activities generated in support with a mental health specialist that provides hands-on strategies needed to work through the grief process.
Grieving the Gift coaches parents and caregivers of children with disabilities how to unwrap and embrace the most influential gift they will ever receive: the gift of a precious life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665534048

Dr. Jamie McClintic

Dr. Jamie McClintic is a pediatric occupational therapist, college graduate instructor, and mother of a child with Down syndrome. Born with a profound hearing loss, she has lived firsthand the trials and tribulations associated with having a disability. Dr. McClintic’s past helps drive the future for her family, especially for her daughter. She serves on several local and national boards supporting inclusion for those with disabilities and engages in speaking opportunities that promote disability awareness and educational advocacy. Dr. McClintic and her husband, Scott, have three active children and in their spare time enjoy creating memories by the lakeside. For more daily endeavors with the McClintic family, visit www.mcclinticfamily.com.

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Endorsements

"Her story will leave you breathless, but hopeful and stronger every day. Tackling the darkest of taboos, Dr. Jamie McClintic takes us on a journey many have travelled, yet very few have shared. Grieving the Gift is the most profoundly honest account that I have encountered as she unexpectedly learns her baby has a disability. But what makes this book so invaluable is Dr. McClintic doesn’t leave you wallowing in her despair. She gives the reader remarkable insight, practical tools, and learned guidance to help one navigate through heartbreak to recognizing the joy of the unexpected.…This is her gift."

Brian Donovan, Director of Kelly’s Hollywood

Jamie is a very skilled author. She has a knack for taking your mind to the scene she is describing. Grief is such a hard topic to discuss, but Jamie hit it out of the park.

Timothy Boyle, Founder of I Run 4

So proud of Jamie and her vulnerability. Any parent would benefit from the tools offered in this book.

Katie Driscoll, President and CEO at Changing the Face of Beauty

"Grieving the Gift is a book that is greatly needed. In parenting a child with a disability or special need, parents go through their own emotional journey of grieving the child they never had, but had expected and anticipated, before they can fully appreciate the child they do have. This process is not easy but is so necessary. Jamie gives practical, simple exercises and actionable steps to walk the reader through that process with care and understanding."

Sarah McGuire MA, MS, Co-Founder of Hope Anew

Grieving the Gift

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Experience The Journey

Through Eyes Of A Parent

Dr. Jamie McClintic

© 2021 Dr. Jamie McClintic. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed

since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not

necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3403-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3405-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3404-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021915989

Published by AuthorHouse 11/02/2021

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Contributors

Cover Design: Thane Whitscell

Contributing Counsel: Sarah Griffore, LMSW

Contributing Authors: Greg Awtry, Josie Awtry, Bonnie Bartz, Shannon Brousseau, Joette Fuller, Jessica McEwen, Kerri McCrimmon, Kim Olsen, Betsy Pearce, and Kimberly Wesaw

Editor: Hannah Kates

Feature Editor: Dr. Melissa Swan

Contributing Editors: Amy Culver, Riley McGuire

Proofreader: Sarah Urban

Contributing Photographers: Lori Keskimaki, Adrienne King, Lisa Prevost, and Thane Whitscell

Contents

Endorsements

Contributors

Foreword

Introduction

Preface

PART ONE

ONE

The Jaws of Life: Your First Ten Hours

TWO

Placing Blame: Your 1¹th Hour

THREE

Flashback: Night One

FOUR

Shock: Your First Two Weeks

FIVE

Discharge: Your First Three Months

PART TWO

SIX

Fake It Until You Make It: Three to Six Months

SEVEN

Frozen in Time: Six to Twelve Months

EIGHT

Black Hole: The Year of Firsts

NINE

Change of Roles: Big Sister

TEN

Climbing: Years Two, Three, and Four

ELEVEN

The Gift: Years Five, Six, and Seven

Epilogue

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Grieving the Gift

The harder you hit, the higher you bounce.

~Dr. Jamie McClintic

www.mcclinticfamily.com

[e-mail]

Facebook: Maddox’s Miracles

Instagram: maddoxsmiracles

Dedicated

to my daughter,

my gift,

Maddox Lucille McClintic.

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Written in honor of my devoted mother, Josephine,

who proclaimed her love for Maddox long before I ever knew how.

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"The beauty of a flower exists only

because of those willing

to nurture it."

~Dr. Jamie McClintic

Foreword

I t is always such an honor to be invited into a diagnosis story. The unique evolution of each parent’s path as they navigate a new diagnosis is truly something remarkable to witness. The roller coaster of emotions, with all of the accompanying highs and lows, brings me quickly back to the beginning part of my own journey. I instantly find myself sitting shoulder to shoulder with that new mom or dad processing the words Down syndrome for the first time saying, I’ve been there.

Whether you see your entire story reflected here in Jaime’s, or bits and pieces, I hope you feel the power in not feeling alone. There is tremendous power in the togetherness you will find alongside other parents, especially in our Down syndrome community. There is power in this journey to will you forward, find new supports and resources, and live your best life as a family.

As you navigate a new diagnosis or reflect upon this time in your own life, take to heart how many similarities you might find in stories like Jaime’s and how her experiences may shape yours. They might not follow the same exact path, but you will likely meander through the same sets of emotions, challenges, and celebrations. Take note how others make their path, but recognize you will have unique needs too.

Be kind to yourself.

Give yourself grace.

Focus on your family.

Enjoy the moments.

And as we say at DSDN—you’ve got this and we’ve got you.

Jen Jacob

Co-Founder: Down Syndrome Diagnosis Network

Author: The Parent’s Guide to Down Syndrome: Advice, Information, Inspiration, and Support for Raising Your Child from Diagnosis through Adulthood

Introduction

T he inspiration for this book came when a friend of mine asked me to write a letter for mothers who had just given birth to a child with a disability. This letter would be included in a packet of resources for the parents.

Below is the letter that began my journey into writing Grieving the Gift. As I typed the words to new mothers I had never met, I wanted to let them know the honest truth. The beginning is nothing short of feeling guilty, bitter, desolate, cold, dark, and alone. These feelings will soon subside and blossom into a connection with your child completely worth waiting for.

Dear new mommy,

Welcome to parenthood, even if you don’t feel like a parent right now. You don’t really want to read what I have to say or listen to what anyone else has to say. Everyone around you seems upbeat, telling you that this will be okay. You hear advice; some of it is utterly useless while other bits may actually soothe you. Words won’t come close to easing the pain you’re feeling as you mourn the loss of the healthy child you thought you were about to meet. In fact, wishing time away sounds really good.

The Welcome to Holland poem people may be sharing with you describes an anticipated vacation to Italy where the plane unexpectedly lands in Holland. The poem leads you to believe that Holland, in time, will present its own beauty. At the moment, seeing beauty in a mistake is nonsense and doesn’t help. To be honest, at this point, nothing does. I hear you; I was there too.

Understand this: Your emotional state does not have to improve in a day, a week, or even a month. Take the time to cry and get angry. You have every right to do this because nothing went as envisioned. You have been forced to ride front row on the most twisted emotional roller coaster ever invented. Guess what? It’s not a fun ride. I mean, seriously—how could this be happening to YOU? This type of thing only happens to other people. When the statistics indicated 1 in 100, you didn’t anticipate being selected as the one. In fact, you are never selected as the one even for good things like prize drawings!

I hear you. I was there.

If you haven’t left the hospital yet, your doctor will release you shortly with this baby—one you definitely did not spend nine months dreaming of. The nurses will keep saying, Getting out of the hospital will help you. Not really. The thought only creates more anxiety. You think about your little one’s room at home that you so perfectly decorated and how it was not intended for this broken baby. You think about leaving the walls of this hospital and wonder how you will begin to face reality. How will you tell your family? What will your friends think? Will strangers on the sidewalk notice? Most importantly, you will wonder to yourself, Can I ever truly love this baby?

I hear you.

I will not sugarcoat the news. It just plain sucks. What I can offer are some assurances that things will get better. Accepting your child takes time. Your baby has spent nine months breathing to the rhythm of your heart, listening to your soothing voice, and bonding with you. I promise, no matter what happens, your baby has already chosen to wholeheartedly love you unconditionally—every inch of the mess you might be right now. Your baby will continue to patiently love you while you heal. This baby will be your biggest fan.

Every breath you’re taking is painful. However, in time, you will be able to breathe again. The first three months are extremely tough; you will give your all to your baby but won’t really receive anything in return. There will come a time, around month four, when your baby sustains and returns eye contact, then smiles back at you. When that happens, you will begin to feel like a parent.

Before you know it, your baby will learn to snuggle into the nape of your neck and wrap their little arm around your shoulder just like you wanted. That hug will send warm butterflies to your heart. In time, your baby will want your tender hands to fix an injury, and your body will tingle as you nurse their wound. Your baby will do all the things that make you feel like the world’s greatest parent: smiling, rolling over, crawling, walking, skipping, laughing, picking flowers, catching insects, playing in the mud, and even dancing in the rain.

Soon, very soon, you will grab that single, creased hand of your child, look into their almond eyes, hug that floppy body, and feel her murmuring heartbeat against your chest. I assure you that life will be good. You will discover a love within you that you didn’t know existed. That horrendous day, that day you gave birth, will be just one very tiny speck of a moment in time.

Did you know that approximately 70-80% of miscarriages are due to chromosomal defects in the embryo? You are blessed, the lucky one whose baby survived. Many do not.

Listen up—your baby needs you. What you don’t realize yet is how much you need your baby. Talk to her, hold her, and at least go through the motions. Your baby needs this.

I understand your goal was to deliver a healthy child that you could effortlessly shower with unconditional love. I understand that today you feel a very long way from achieving your goal. Every day, you will take two steps forward and one step back, but in time—your own time—you WILL reach your final destination of wholehearted acceptance, unconditional love, and connection stronger than you knew existed.

Breathe, and absorb every tidbit of this journey. The paths you take make you a better person by teaching you to love deeper and shine brighter than you ever thought possible. The rain of your heavy tears will soon create the most beautiful rainbow.

Lots of love,

Dr. Jamie

P.S. Please tuck my note away for now, but read it again in six months. I pray all of my hopes for you have come true.

For me personally, it was difficult to find reputable resources. Wait—let me rephrase that last sentence. Obtaining reputable, relatable resources was very difficult.

Two weeks after my daughter was born, I began scrolling through Amazon’s online bookstore in search of resources that could help support me during these early hours. I was scared, alone, sad, frightened, and angry. I found and ordered several books that seemed as though the content would help put things into perspective. As these books arrived on my doorstep, I eagerly opened each one in hopes that one title would provide the tools and answers I desperately needed to cure this newfound depression.

Unfortunately, every piece of literature that arrived started by explaining how blessed I was. The resources provided stories and examples that painted a vibrant, exhilarating picture of what my life was going to be. I was not in any place to begin to explore the colorful images those authors were trying to paint in my mind. After filling an entire drawer full of useless books, I soon became frenzied to read passages that could truly relate to my feelings. I needed a resource that would help me through each phase in the healing process, starting with anger (because that’s what I was feeling) and very delicately, slowly move me towards acceptance.

My daughter did not come with much-needed grief-coping instructions. After seven years and many mistakes made along the way, I decided it was time that someone honestly and openly shared their hard-earned secrets.

Thus, Grieving the Gift was created. My daughter is a gift, but I very much had to grieve before I could ever comprehend the beauty that resided within her.

Preface

H ere you are, alone, at your dark dead end. The crash of hitting rock bottom was pretty painful, but the aftermath is even worse. You might feel as though you have hit the absolute lowest point of your life—lower than losing a job, divorcing your significant other, or totaling your car. In fact, you might actually feel like someone close to you has died. Yes, your feelings actually parallel mourning someone because you are doing just that—grieving. You have lost the beautiful, healthy, precious, and perfect little baby that you obsessively dreamed about for the past nine months.

With every kick, you visualized her little pigtails. With every hiccup, you thought about what her personality would be like. You created an image of what you thought would appear on your child’s expected due date. In an instant, all those images of perfection were scorched in a sweltering fire. Some stranger then thought they could replace those beautiful images by handing you a stack of less-than-perfect photos of some child you don’t even know.

Meanwhile, everyone around you expects that these replacements should make you happy. No one understands your pain and loss. Let me tell you right now that there is nothing that can replace those images or even remotely make you feel better.

As you hold your newborn today, people will try to convince you that she is just beautiful, even when all you see are the imperfections. You’ll realize in your own time (which might take one day, one month, one year, or several years) that you’ve actually been given a gift—but right now, this gift has left you grieving. It’s okay to be in denial that this gift will ever be viewed as precious and beautiful. But I can personally attest that even though this gift doesn’t feel amazing at the moment, in time you will learn to find your child’s beauty.

Believe me when I say, If I can do this, anyone can. I am a relentless, meticulous planner. I am not a fan of surprises and find comfort in being well-prepared for all events. Before anything happens in my life, I need to know all the parameters. What it will be like? How long it will last? How will it make me feel? I struggle immensely with unexpected events or when things do not go the way I envisioned. I found a way to unpackage my gift, and I’m hopeful I can guide you as you unpackage yours.

Grief, by definition, is associated with a loss. One does not associate grief with something that has been gained or given to them. When my own daughter was born, I was disheartened by the lack of resources while I was grieving my gift.

That’s why I wrote this book—to offer you the support I didn’t have. First off, know that my words will be emotionally challenging to read because it reveals with integrity every single unfiltered, innermost private thought I experienced. But if you hang on tight and ride alongside me, you will arrive at the light just as I did. A light that radiates more magnificence than we knew was possible.

This book is a guide to help you heal and make your way back to the thriving, vibrant individual you once were before the birth of your baby.

In order for you to get the most out of this resource, it’s helpful for you to know how it works. The first thing you need to know is that each chapter is presented in four parts.

• Part 1 contains My Personal Story in relation to the specific timeframe addressed in each chapter.

• Part 2 provides Guidance for all grieving parents.

• Part 3 offers Key Takeaways for those who might feel too overwhelmed to absorb the contents of an entire chapter.

• Part 4 delivers Self-Reflection Activities, which are hands-on strategies for coping. These suggestions have been coauthored by Sarah Griffore, an incredibly skilled and compassionate Licensed Master Social Worker (LMSW) with a clinical focus. Sarah graduated from the University of Michigan and specialized in interpersonal practice with children, youth, and families. I found only the best for you—the U of M happens to be ranked number one for social work programs in the nation. Sarah is approved as a school social worker by the Michigan Department of Education and is currently serving students with disabilities. She has an immense background in grief support and will guide you gently using evidence-based coping strategies. I guarantee, based on her knowledge, she will work you through the ache, guilt, confusion, denial, and anger you are feeling. Her self-reflection activities will provide you with realistic, research-based healing activities designed for the specific stage of grief you are experiencing.

As you work your way through the book, you will also see italicized quotations from others similar to the following statement:

In addition, throughout the book I’ve chosen to adopt she/her pronouns for the ease of reading. When she is referenced, I’m alluding to each and every one of your precious children. These statements are real-time reflections from family members, doctors, nurses, friends, and co-workers that describe exactly what was going on in their minds in that moment. Their feelings are incorporated because this story is not only about me, but also about the lives of those who were affected by what happened to me.

You’re embarking on a quest very few parents can relate to. Feeling isolated is normal; there’s only a small group of people walking this earth who can truly understand the emotions that are swirling in your head at this very moment. You may be feeling a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anxiety, anger, confusion.…And that’s just to name a few. These emotions can change faster than the wind can turn. Your brain is consumed by this new ordeal, and you’re possibly feeling unsure how or where to start.

How do I provide for this new baby? How can I even get out of bed in the morning?

Don’t fret. You made the right decision by reading THIS book. Grieving the Gift is a great place to start. I will do my very best to show you how to break down your experiences into manageable steps. I will lead you to your gift and set you free as you unveil all she has to offer.

If you’re reading this book, you now belong to an elite group. I know you didn’t want to be a part of it; you probably imagined that things would be different. However, this group will soon become your go-to, your cheerleader, your psychologist, and your inner strength. This group understands your every thought and emotion before you say them. In fact, they have walked in your shoes. Some walked yesterday, some walked a few years ago, and some have been walking for decades. All you have to do is follow the footprints that have been so delicately imprinted for you.

This group is well-versed on every single topic you sit down to research. If you’re wondering about a specific tool, resource, or program, I can guarantee they’ve already studied it, tried it, and rated it. These generous, forgiving, and compassionate group members want nothing more than to help guide you. They have answers to the little things—what lotion works best on your baby’s skin, what bottle helps get her calories in, and what pacifier will be easiest for her to hold. They’ve also researched the big things like what alternative therapies are available, which doctors to seek out, what tests to request, how to navigate the medical community, and how to advocate for your child’s education.

These people will lead you where you need to go, hold your hand, and tell you exactly what needs to be done in order to arrive at tomorrow. You will meet them along your journey, sometimes seeking them out and other times unexpectedly in passing. The self-reflection activities will help you reach out to some of the most valuable networks at certain points in your journey towards healing. Other times, you may be walking along when a complete stranger seeks you out, introduces themselves, and welcomes you into our amazing community.

If you’re walking this road, you’re one of us—one of the elite parents facing challenges that others could only dream of. You may feel like you’re alone, but nothing could be further from the truth. I am right here beside you. Hang on tight and don’t ever let go. I’ve got you.

ONE

The Jaws of Life: Your First Ten Hours

T his book wouldn’t have been written if I hadn’t experienced the crash myself. At that moment, I didn’t want to hear anyone else’s story. So why should you read mine?

When my crash happened, there were no books—no guide to help me heal. I wanted so badly to know how long it would take and when I would be better. Having recently been through this, I feel compelled to help you. My hope is that you can follow along with my journey and use it as a guide. You can also choose to skip this section for now and read it some other day when you’re ready. I do want you to know, however, that I have rebuilt myself again—the real me. It took several years, and I had to do it on my own. I wrote this book so you don’t have to.

My husband Scott and I had finished celebrating Christmas with my in-laws in a town 150 miles from our home. The trip was supposed to be easy. Effortless. How could we have known this short journey would change our lives forever?

We’d chosen December 5 as our final travel date, and we’d planned to nest close to home and wait out our January 20 due date. The first hour of the drive north from the family Christmas was peaceful. I was daydreaming, thinking about all the wonderful baby gifts I had just received that were carefully placed in the back of our vehicle, when—THUD.

I heard the dull sound of crashing metal and felt the hard jerk of my seat belt. Our vehicle had just been hit by an elderly woman driving a dented white blazer. Her last-minute maneuver across two lanes of traffic cut us off, causing a rear-end collision into her vehicle at thirty-five miles per hour. This, in turn, caused the baby to hit my uterine wall at thirty-five miles per hour. While the damage to our car was replaceable, the damage to the baby was not.

The worst part was the lady didn’t know she had caused a collision. She proceeded to Ace Hardware, parked her car, got out, and walked in. I got out of the car and waddled after her.

You just hit us, I shouted. The police have been called and are on their way!

Oh? she replied. I just need to run into the store to buy light bulbs for my chandelier. Then she wandered into the store.

I waddled around to glance at the damage to the front of my car. It had been more than I had anticipated, which initiated an episode of hyperventilation and sobbing. The Ace Hardware employees came outside to see what the commotion was about. Two men took one look at my white face, tears, and oversized pregnant belly before quickly bringing me a folding chair to sit on. They were secretly hoping I wouldn’t go into labor while waiting for the police to arrive.

One hour and one detailed accident report later, we were on our way once again towards home. Thirty more minutes into the trip, I could no longer deny the pressure I was feeling near my right rib. After a few phone calls to health professionals detailing my discomfort and the events that just occurred, Scott and I decided it would be best if I went to the hospital to be checked out. Since it was Sunday, the main hospital was closed. We had to enter through the emergency room. I was taken right up to the Labor and Delivery floor and placed on a fetal monitor to assess the baby. Less than one hour into monitoring, the nurse informed me I was contracting regularly.

Oh, that’s what the pressure in my ribs meant, I thought to myself.

The nurse brought an injection that was supposed to slow the contractions down. Not only did it slow the contractions down, but it also slowed my world down. I started seeing two of everything and remember attempting to make a phone call to my boss telling her I wouldn’t be into work the next day. As I spoke with her, my teeth chattered, and my hands shook uncontrollably. I was not in control of my body, and I was very scared. It was too early to have a baby.

Twenty minutes after the injection, the contractions completely subsided, but I was admitted for the night. The next morning, on December 6, I was sent home with strict instructions to monitor for any additional contractions now that I knew what they felt like. My visit home only lasted twenty-four hours. The contractions resumed December 7, and I was readmitted—this time, for an extended stay. During this hospital stay, the baby experienced episodes of heart decelerations.

Due to the impact of the collision, the doctors wanted to test for a possible placental abruption, suspecting my daughter’s placenta might have detached from my uterus during the car accident at the point of collision. This would need to be ruled out with a blood test. The results of the first test came back questionable, and the second one confirmed their suspicions. I now became a high-risk patient. How could this happen? I had done everything right for this pregnancy. Everything.

I spent the next five long days and nights staring at the wall while I panicked about the health of my precious newborn girl. I prayed she would stay in my stomach past thirty-four weeks, or at least until she had developed her sucking reflex in utero. I did not want her to be given a feeding tube. As a therapist, I’d previously treated many infants who’d suffered long-term feeding problems stemming from the use of a nasal gastric feeding tube.

This ordeal was terrifying for me. I didn’t want anything to happen to this beautiful, perfect baby girl I was about to deliver. I’d requested medication to help her lungs develop in the event she did come early. While my daughter was still in my womb, I was already making many medical decisions and advocating for her. I was already a mom.

Prior to my hospitalization, I was teaching a master’s level course for my alumni university. Now hospitalized, I had to host an online chat. From my hospital bed, I delivered a short presentation to conclude the course, explaining to the students that I was under the weather. My endless days were spent waiting for Scott to get off work to be with me at the hospital, thankful for any visitors to distract me from worrying.

One evening, our friends delivered a dinner of soup, salad, and homemade bread. They’d forgotten the butter for the bread, so we raided the floor’s patient refrigerator and snack cupboard for small packages of peanut butter. To this day, warm bread with cold peanut butter reminds me of the uncertainty we all felt that snowy evening.

On another evening, my pregnancy hunger pains got to me after the kitchen was closed. I begged my good friend, Kerri, for a meal, and she delicately packed the perfect blend of healthy and junky food—just enough to appease my desire to fill up and indulge. But she didn’t leave after her meal delivery. She sensed my fear, anxiety, and loneliness and decided to spend the next three hours by my bedside, hiding from the nurses until after midnight.

I needed that precious time of reassurance. Even during my phone calls home to my mom, she would feel my voice crackling and sense that my inner strength was deteriorating. Each evening when we spoke, she would recite prayers of strength line by line and have me repeat them back to her. My voice would quiver, and silent tears would roll down my cheeks. I wanted her there with me. I was scared.

Finally, on December 11, the hospital stay came to an end, and all the false labor pains stopped. I was sent home with the expectation that I would return for fetal monitoring nearly every day, which involved ultrasounds, transvaginal ultrasounds, heart monitoring, and blood tests.

I had the weekend to rest and returned to work on December 14 with restrictions. For work, I’m required to get in and out of my car multiple times a day, so I needed to be careful with every step while being cautious of water, snow, and ice. One wrong move could end in a fall and put both me and the baby in danger.

Scott was worried about the both of us and would go as far as to help me in and out of the shower. He listened patiently for the water to stop running, and by the time I opened the curtain, he’d be right there to meet me with his hand. He was diligent in his duties as a husband, and his concern showed me how scared he really was.

I paced myself through work until Christmas break arrived. December 25 was a low-key day for us. We exchanged a few gifts and watched endless episodes of The Christmas Story. Scott’s favorite holiday came and went. We took down the decorations slowly and carefully, then he hauled each box away. We knew the next year would be very different when we would have a toddler crawling and perhaps running around.

Scott could tell my mind was preoccupied; I wasn’t my usual self. He thought a date would cheer me up. We went to a nice restaurant, split a meal, and headed to the movie theatre. Avatar in 3D was quite a long movie. Several trips to the bathroom were needed! I didn’t mind because I kept refilling our extra-large bucket of warm, buttery theatre popcorn. While in the lobby, I also couldn’t resist purchasing a package of Twizzlers, a box of Reese’s Pieces, and a bubbly Sprite.

The details of that night are significant and embedded into my memory. It was the very last date Scott and I would go on before our lives would change forever.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and we decided to have a peaceful night playing a simple game of cards with another couple. The evening was awkwardly quiet. We stared at each other, almost as if we were waiting for a bomb to go off, knowing labor was near.

Winter break came to an end, and I returned to work on January 4. After work that day, I had an appointment with my doctor. We discussed a birthing plan for natural labor. I left feeling great about our plan, but twelve minutes into my drive home, my doctor called again. I pulled into a parking lot to accept the call. My anxiety in vehicles had since skyrocketed from the accident, and I wasn’t about to drive distracted. She told me our plan was not going to work due to the potential risks from the placental tear. The new plan was induction in the presence of the labor and delivery doctors.

By the way, the doctor added at the end of the conversation, your induction is scheduled for tomorrow.

That was three weeks before my scheduled due date!

My heart raced. I panicked. I’m not sure I even blinked the rest of the drive home. I walked into our quiet house and went over to Scott, who was tending the fire.

Are you ready to have this baby? I asked. Before he could respond, I replied, Because the doctors want to induce at 7:15 a.m. tomorrow!

I called my mom, Josephine, and updated her on the new plan. She immediately booked an overpriced, last-minute flight from Nebraska to Michigan.

January 5, 2010—a day that hurts my heart every time I hear myself say it. January 5, the day of my scheduled induction, I woke up at 3:00 a.m. with terrible stomach cramps but opted to stay in bed for one more hour. At 4:00 a.m., I decided I needed to get up. My contractions were coming six to eight minutes apart.

I went to the living room and sat on the couch for forty-five more minutes. It was now almost 5:00 a.m. and time for me to get ready for the 7:30 a.m. induction. I took what would be the last of my very long hot showers, shaved my legs, and even did my hair and makeup. By now, my contractions were three minutes apart. When 6:00 a.m. rolled around, I found myself leaning on the counter a bit during each contraction. Each one lasted one minute, and they were coming at three-minute intervals. While I stood in the darkness, trying to absorb the reality of soon becoming a mother, Scott was making last-minute checks of the house before finally loading my over-packed suitcase.

It’s Time

When he announced that we were ready, it was 6:30 a.m. He carefully pulled out of the driveway, set the radio station on a low volume, then began the peaceful drive into town. The drive consisted of thirty beautiful lakeside minutes. We didn’t talk much with the exception of a few How are you doing? comments. The contractions were starting to take my breath away.

I remember walking into the hospital that morning, checking in as the most glowing, happy, soon-to-be new mommy ever. Little did I know I would walk out seven days later a completely different person experiencing some of the lowest moments of my life

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Scott and I arrived at room 2283, my labor and delivery room—the last room on the right at the very end of the long, dark hallway. This was the same room we had checked into a few weeks earlier when Scott and I experienced our low-speed car accident.

I had several practitioners to choose from for my pregnancy, and Bonnie was my nurse of choice. At 7:15 a.m., Bonnie came to check my cervix. She was a short little gal full of compassion who spoke with a calm, yet confident voice. After her assessment, she took off her gloves and smiled at me. That smile spoke a thousand words. I was five centimeters dilated! We decided to break my water, which meant no Pitocin was needed for an induction. I was in labor and ecstatic!

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Having my water broken petrified me. In my mind, this simple action marked the formal start of the labor and birth process. I weathered the procedure like a champ, closing my eyes while they probed me with an instrument that looked like a crochet hook. Before I knew it, there was a painless gush of warm fluid. Bonnie looked up from the procedure and calmly commented that there was blood in the amniotic fluid, confirming the placental abruption. Confirmation of the abruption was strangely calming. It validated all those boring hours of bed rest following the car accident.

My contractions began occurring even quicker, and I loved every one of them. I knew something good would soon come if I just continued to focus. This pregnant girl focused, of course, by ordering breakfast. I devoured a gigantic cinnamon roll from a local restaurant as well as a fruit plate with fresh pineapple. I’d discovered this treat during my previous hospital stay.

My mom was scheduled to arrive at 1:30 p.m. She’d made her first connection while I was checking in, and she was on schedule to make it! Everything was falling into place.

At 8:00 a.m., I was seven centimeters dilated. Two and a half hours later, my labor coach, Shannon, had to step out for an hour-long training session, and upon her return, I was dilated to eight centimeters. In her absence, I had been bouncing on the big exercise ball, and my contractions were one to two minutes apart. I began those embarrassing deep breathing exercises.

I thought it was getting close to push time, so I asked to use the bathroom before the real work began. Once I sat down on the cold hospital toilet, I froze and couldn’t tell what my body needed to do. My face must have turned white because Shannon ordered me back to bed.

It’s time to push! she said. I’d been waiting my entire life to hear those words. In a few minutes, I would finally meet a mini version of us—our adorably cute baby girl.

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My breathing quickened in a combination of excitement and panic. Scott, trying to relieve my pain and fear by making me laugh, demonstrated the hee-hee-whoo breathing. The nurses kept asking me if I needed any pain medication. In love with every moment and every contraction, I turned them down.

I want to feel it all, I said. This was the moment I’d waited for my whole life.

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I’m having a baby, I thought. I’m becoming a mommy. Not everyone gets this chance.

I absorbed this experience for everything it was—the pain, fear, and humility. When Bonnie arrived, she was prepared to deliver. She softly said something to me, and my husband prompted her to repeat it.

On the next contraction I want you to bear down and push, she commanded.

I shouted in a panic, I need that medicine!

The entire room chuckled. They insisted that I was almost done with the pain of labor. In my mind, I was pretty sure they were just telling me this to buy me some confidence. I didn’t believe for one second that I was nearing the end. I’d heard horror stories of the hours and hours of pain associated with labor and delivery. I didn’t think I’d felt the real pain yet.

I requested a mirror to be positioned so I could watch as the baby’s head slowly emerged. But my labor team was correct—I was almost done. Throughout the past few minutes, I had been bearing down and pushing rather softly because I knew the harder I pushed, the more it would hurt!

The room was a whirlwind of chaos and