Elea's Story, Part I

I am (finally) getting around to writing Elea's birth story, but thought I would start with events that happened a few months before she was born.

8 Months Pregnant  (Jen)
When I was 8 months pregnant, I made the decision to participate in the Portland Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon.  MacKenzie, Steven, and Michael all sweetly decided to walk it with me (although I'm not sure any of them originally planned on staying with me the whole time), while our friends, the Strongs, decided to run it in preparation for an upcoming marathon.  I made sure to check with my doctor and she said that I was ok to do it, but to just listen to my body, and stop if there were any problems. I had been running all up to this point, and always experienced some discomfort, but never any pain.

Me and Allie (photobombed!)

L to R: Allie and Drew Strong, Jen and Mike

Me, Steven, and MK

The first part, although tough, wasn't too bad. That quickly changed around mile 10, where I just really started to struggle.  It wasn't that I was experiencing concerning pain, but more that it was just exhausting, and it had been raining almost constantly, and my feet hurt.  It also didn't help that shortly after that, we saw the "slow" bus catching up to us (picks up people that aren't going to finish in time).  It was almost comical how it was slowly following us, and then inched past us.  I could see the looks of sympathy on the faces of the people as they passed.  Through all that, however, it made me feel much better when Michael, Steven and MK all admitted that they were also in pain and struggling through the last three miles.

notice two things: 1: it's very rainy, and 2: I was receiving a lot of "support"

Michael had to hold on to his sweatshirt to support how much weight I was putting on his arm!

We crossed the finish line (barely!), and collected our medals. As we were walking back to our cars, I started experiencing some serious pains in my lower abdomen.  I sat down on the curb with Michael while our friends, the Strongs, went to get their car.  It seemed to be taking a long time, however, and the pain wasn't getting any better.  Mike called them to find out where they were and come to find out, the parking attendant they had left their keys with was nowhere to be found. 

In the meantime, I felt like I really needed to go to the bathroom. Every time I tried to walk again, I was only able to make it about 5 - 10 steps before doubling over in pain.  After three such attempts, the pain finally overtook me, and I dropped to my knees.  Mike asked if he could finally call 9-1-1 (I told him not to before -- worried that it was nothing and would just cost us a bunch of money when I might just feel better after going to the bathroom. I have a previous history of major stomach problems).  Right as the ambulance arrived, the Strongs arrived (finally tracking down their keys at a neighboring booth).  I felt relieved just to have someone there, prepared to take care of my pain, but it didn't stop me from crying all the way to the hospital.  I was upset already that my actions might have done something negative to my unborn child.  The ambulance worker was trying so hard to cheer me up, but I basically ignored him, only answering questions specifically directed at me.

At the hospital, they wheeled me into a labor + delivery room, as our nurse said "you did the half marathon? Bad girl..."  which just made me cry harder.  At least that made her feel a little bad, but it started us off on the wrong foot.  The next hour or so are a blur to me.  I was basically unresponsive to the doctors and nurses, so Michael stepped in, making the decisions and talking to them while I just started at the ceiling, silently crying.

Upon further examination, they said they thought I might have had a placental abruption, where part of the placenta tears away from the wall.  It could either put me into labor, or heal itself.  But, it's hard to diagnose, and there's not much you can do for it, but stay off your feet.  The good news was that the baby's heart beat was good, and although I was having constant contractions, they weren't actually putting me into labor.

As the day went on, the contractions slowed down, and they eventually moved me into a separate room, which was extremely relieving because it meant they didn't think I would go into labor. Even now, I can't even describe how awful I felt that I had done something that may have caused Elea to be born early. I remember Michael having to specifically tell the doctors that they needed to tell me that it wasn't my fault.  So they did.  But I didn't believe them -- I think they just said what they needed to to get the large pregnant woman to finally stop crying.  Ha.

We ended up staying there for almost a week, getting nightly visits from Steven + MacKenzie.  While Michael originally thought it was a nice break from work, it didn't take long before he started calling our room a "prison."  I don't think he does very well in small spaces with not much to do, bad tv, and worse food.

They released us in time to make it back to Seattle and settle in before attending Steven + MK's sealing:

For the next few months, I was told that exercising was out of the question, and was put on "light" bed rest.  I went to work and came home, and that was about it.  I had non stop contractions for the rest of the pregnancy, but again, not the kind that were putting me into labor.

Next: Part II the Birth Story