Labor of Love...

She's finally here. At 6:12pm on February 4th, Savannah Boleyn Rach made her grand entrance into the world-- an easy entrance, it wasn't. I was in hard labor for 18 1/2 hours, and on top of that, my epidural didn't work, at least, not for long. The bands from the monitors on my stomach were so tight they were cutting into me, and none of the nurses would help me. I screamed in agony from the hard contratcions, begging God for mercy and strength, because I knew there was no way I could delivery that baby myself. It had been over 36 hours since I'd eaten, and the pain had taken every ounce of strength I had. Violently throwing up bile, because my stomach was empty, I was finally able to dilate to 9 centimeters. At 5:00pm, I was in such pain, that I was screaming and begging for something to take it away. I was given one finally shot of medication into my epidural that would only last for 45 minutes-- after that, I was on my own. I was determined to deliver my baby in that 45 minute window-- but didn't. I felt every agonizing contraction. The pain in my back was indescribable. With every push I begged God for strength. I give Him all the credit for my child being here-- there was no strength left in my body, it was Him that got her here, not me.

When my pain was finally over, my beautiful baby girl was here. Little did I know, she wasn't breathing. My husband and family shielded me from the sight of my newborn baby girl laying there, nearly lifeless as the nurses tried to clear her lungs. Thank God, they were able to, and she began to breathe on her own. She was strong from the womb, and came out a fighter. She had to be. For the first 10 days of her life, she was in the NICU. After aspirating meconium into her lungs in the womb, and then testing positive for group B strep, she was on IV anti-biotics for 10 days-- which meant leaving my baby girl behind when I was discharged from the hospital.

Being in the horrible shape I was in, I was thankful that Savannah was in the NICU for a few days. I knew she was getting round the clock care that I couldn't provide for her. Little did I know how bad of shape I was in. I delivered Savannah on wednesday. On friday, I had my first bowel movement. You wonder why I'm telling you this-- well, it's very relevant to what's coming next. I was absolutely horrified to find out that the bowel movement didn't come out of my rectum, but my vagina. I immediately called my doctor, who told me to come in first thing on monday, that I probably had a fistula. I was calm, thinking I only had to deal with this fistula for the weekend. I had NO idea what would be in store for me.

I was absolutely horrified to find out that I had to wait a full two weeks before surgery could be preformed, and even then, it might not be fixed. I felt like a prisoner in my own body. I had just come through an extremely traumatic experience with labor and delivery-- being neglected by nurses, and laying in excruciating pain, and now this! I tried to stay positive, all the while, having to plan every single move. I couldn't leave the house, because if I had to have a bowel movement, I had to have my medicated wipes to clean myself, and pads or depends in the event of an "accident". It was only for two weeks I kept telling myself.

During those two weeks, I learned to deal. I got pretty good and being able to clean myself, and bathe extra just to feel clean. I was becoming more confident, and knew there was an end in sight. On tuesday February 24th, I went in for surgery. I was scared, but ready. I just wanted to be better, to be well and whole once more. The surgery went well. I woke up in pain, but it wasn't unbearable. I had hope. It was difficult being home and not being able to really get around or care for my daughter, but I was coping. I saw an end to the pain and embarrassment of the fistula.

All of that came crashing down on tuesday. Exactly one week to the day of surgery, it failed. I'll spare you the gory details, but will say this, with each wipe, tears streamed down my cheeks. I saw my hope being wiped away- literally. I wasn't fixed. I was still broken. After all I'd been through, the hope I had of being well, was literally wiped away.

Tearfully, I called my doctor who had me come in wednesday. The fistula, had indeed re-opened. It's not opened very far, but far enough to cause me grief. If it opens all the way, there's more surgery, and a colostomy bag in my future. There is a chance it could close on it's own. I'm giving it up to God, because I don't want to get my hopes up, only to end up broken once more. I know that whatever God decides, I'll deal with. He's never put more on me than I can stand, although there are times I really wonder why He trusts me so much.

The only bright spot in all of this is that my precious baby is home with us, safe, and healthy. She's growing and thriving. Although her start in this world was a rough one, she's growing and thriving. I know that I have to be strong for her, right now, it's just hard. One way or another, I'll survive.