My Daughter's Birthday...

Warning: Don't read this if you're squeamish!

Six years ago today I was in my 24th hour of labor. As a 23 year old who had been married for 3 years, I thought I was ready. I had always felt years beyond my literal age emotionally and I thought, as I did when I accepted a proposal at 19, that I could handle anything that life threw my way. Finishing college while managing a home 60 miles away from school, 300 miles away from any family or friends, and figuring how to be an army officer's wife was not easy, but I managed. After a 6 month "break" from college beginning 5 days after my wedding which included moving to western Oklahoma (which in and of itself was horrifying since I had lived in one house all my life and never been west of the Mississippi)with nothing more than a car full of china, flatware and several sets of sheets, I still graduated a quarter early from my beloved Auburn 3 years later. Even though I loved school, I was ready for whatever lay beyond it, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wanted a child. Being caught in a loveless marriage will do that to you. Of course, I realize now that's not the best motivation for conceiving, but being young and envisioning the life of bland loneliness that stretched before me, I needed a child to love and care for. So one month after graduation, I saw that famous second blue line in my bathroom and I suddenly had all the excitement I could handle.

From the beginning it was a difficult pregnancy. I bled for the first 3 months and endured the coldness of the military medical system infamously known for "do it yourself" medicine. Of course, I endured it, for the most part, alone. My husband at the time was in the 3rd infantry division which basically meant he was gone 6 months out of a year. At 28 weeks, while he was in the middle of a desert halfway around the world, I went into premature labor. Terrified at spending my first night ever in a hospital, the only people I had to rely on were other the other wives who understood without being told exactly what needed to be done. From these angels, I came to know 2 of the best friends (other than Sally, of course) I have ever known. I credit my ability to endure and remain sane with God and with them.

For the next 3 months, labor would start and after a visit to the hospital and IV medication, it would stop. It was an emotional roller coaster. More than anything, I wanted this baby girl to be healthy. Finally, on the night of January 9th, my visit to the hospital found me to be 3 and half centimeters. I was sent home to wait until I was four. I spent that night walking around the block. I probably made 20 or more trips around Austin Loop in Ft. Benning, GA. The next morning at 6 a.m. it was time to go. Things weren't too bad at first. I have a pretty high pain tolerance and had no medication until I was 6 and half centimeters. At this point, I knew I should get an epidural if I wanted one at all. The epidural itself was nothing, and it did give some relief, even if it was only on one side of my body. The problem was that it halted my labor. So, of course Pitocin was given to speed things along.

Around 9 p.m. after 25 hours of labor, I was fully dilated. It was time to push. I was ready, baby. Exhausted and nervous, I wanted to get started. My family doctor, who was also an angel of mercy, was there. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed....and pushed. Nothing. No movement, no descent. Dr. Clark had tried to prepare me for a C-section since he said I had the "smallest pelvis he'd ever seen". So, after 3 and half hours of merciless pushing and screaming (Oh yeah, they had turned the epidural off hours ago for "incentive".) that's the route we were ready to take. Enter Dr. K. A woman who, if she has a heart, it isn't palpable, being the OB on call who didn't like C-sections. At all. I remember hearing Dr. Clark begging her to prep me for the OR. Nothing doing. Apparently, 3 and half hours of pushing with no progress meant she should try forceps instead. Now being young and in so much pain that I was ready to accept use of a tow truck if necessary, I didn't' know any better. I figured she knew what she was doing. So, after setting up the forceps and counting to three, I pushed as hard as I could. The next few moments are a little blurry in my mind, but I remember the blood. I remember Dr. K getting drenched in it, and I remember the tears in Dr. Clark's eyes. The pain, mercifully, has been etched away from my mind. I remember looking over at my daughter and then people began to rush around. Fast. I needed emergency surgery. A mask was on my face. An anesthesiologist was telling me everything would be okay. Then blackness.

Three and half hours later, I awoke. The force of the forceps had caused severe lacerations and blood loss. My pelvis had cracked. I had more stitches than someone who had a Cesarean. I sat and waited. Waited to see my baby girl. Hours passed. Several residents and interns came to see me. A few colonels with very serious expressions whispered in the hallway. Four hours after my surgery I was finally loaded into a wheelchair and taken to the nursery. My baby was hooked up to more machines than I was. Her oxygen level had dropped and they were giving her antibiotics through an IV as she laid under an oxygen hood. I couldn't hold her, but I will never forget holding her tiny hand and watching her chest move up and down. After a few minutes, I asked "Do you hear that?" and I was gone. The next thing I remember is a nurse pushing me down the hall so fast that I thought I was for sure dying. But no, apparently that is protocol when people pass out.

The next few days were an odyssey of pain, both physical and mental, and joy. Although my body was a mess (fever spike on day 2, constant IV pole went with me everywhere. I named it "Slim") and I passed out daily, I was enamored of my little girl. When we brought her home 4 days later, I couldn't believe how good she was. She hardly ever cried and she slept through the night after only 6 weeks. She was also beautiful. I have always loved babies, but this was the most wonderful experience in the world. Although I had to go back to the hospital twice for complications and I didn't fully recover for a year, up to that point in time, it was the best year of my life. My husband was gone two weeks after she was born and for 4 months out of her first year, so it really was just me and her. Every day was a miracle and she was my pride and joy.

So much has happened in the last 6 years...A divorce that was long overdue, marrying the love of my life, the birth of my precious son, but my daughter is still the sweet little "baby" girl she was then. Her heart is one of immeasurable kindness and she amazes me everyday. This family is my purpose. They are the realization of my dreams. So, I thank God for this opportunity. I thank Him for my daughter. I thank Him for my son. Most of all, I thank Him for my husband who took Hallie's hand and heart four years ago and become her daddy. The one who tucks her into bed. The one who reads to her and acts silly with her. The one who plays with her everyday. The one who has been there for every dance recital, soccer game and bad day.

Thank you, Randy, for being the husband, father and man of my dreams...and

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HALLIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!