My Morning Glory

By Jenn Elfner
A Web Exclusive

When I reflect on my pregnancy with my daughter, there were subtle signs, ones only I myself could recognize - signs that all was not right. When I was pregnant with my first child, Drew, I was convinced that he was a boy after a vivid dream ten weeks into my pregnancy. Without any ultrasound to tell me, I instinctively knew his gender as well as having some thoughts about what type of child he would become. It was so strange to me then, when I became pregnant with my second child, that I could never get a grasp on anything about my new baby. No dreams about gender, no ideas about disposition, no ideas about anything. It haunted me that I didn't feel close to this child, and I had no idea why I just couldn't make that connection.

Before we ever started trying to get pregnant, my husband Nate and I decided that homebirthing was right for us. We really felt that birthing should be done in an intimate setting where both parents would feel safe and supported, and for us that was our home. We ended up having our son at a hospital, but not due to any complications. After over 40 hours of labor I was exhausted, and asked to transfer to the hospital for some pain relief (Nubain) to help me rest for a bit. Drew arrived five hours later, and we joyously drove ourselves home soon after to start living our new life together.

Our midwives, Nina and Kelley, assured us that second babies usually come quicker than the first (although no promises!), and we should be able to have the homebirth that we so wanted. My pregnancy went smoothly, and besides the added strain of chasing a two-year old around the house, I felt great after the morning sickness had passed.

I began to have a few dreams about going into pre-term labor sometime around the beginning of my third trimester. I told myself that all women had these anxieties—everything was going to be just fine. You don't want to believe that anything could actually go wrong with your pregnancy; it is always easier to believe that bad things only happen to other people. Bad things started happening.

Driving home from a midwifery checkup at 34 weeks, I began to have some mildly painful contractions. I tried to reassure myself that my uterus may have been irritated during a deep external exam on my belly—we were trying to make sure that the baby was in the head down position. I had gone through labor before, and I knew these were not Braxton-Hicks contractions. Throughout that evening and on to the next my contractions continued at around ten minutes apart. My midwives urged me not to jump to conclusions. With a little relaxation and good luck, they might stop and my pregnancy could still go to full-term with no complications.

That hope faded away when I discovered bloody show on the second day. Sitting on the toilet crying and scared, Nate and I called the midwives to tell them the news. "We need to get you in to see the doctor", said Nina. Her words were calmly spoken, but I felt nothing but cold dread. This wasn't going to be the happy ending that we were hoping to have. I packed my bag with several nightgowns and some books, thinking that I would be put on bed rest for the next several weeks.

An ultrasound told us the bad news: very little amniotic fluid. The doctor assumed that my water must have broken at some point, and I had just not noticed. This was confusing—how do you miss your water breaking? What it meant was that I needed to be induced as soon as possible, so that we could safely deliver the baby. At the hospital I received Cytotec to ripen and dilate my cervix, and after four hours I was 3cm dilated and having good regular contractions.

I was so scared. My mind was racing ahead thinking of all the complications that could come with a pre-term baby, and how our life would be impacted by having to spend the long weeks ahead driving back and forth between our toddler and our new baby in the NICU. I asked for an epidural when I was 5-6cm; I just could not handle the pain of the contractions and my fear of this pre-term labor. My friend and doula, Joy, decided that I needed a good cry—and she was right! After crying hard and talking about my fears out loud, I felt much more in control and a little excited about the baby coming.

My midwives were right on the money in predicting that my second labor would be much quicker. After only ten hours of labor, I pushed out my little Greta Ruth Corrine Elfner—a 5 lb 7 oz GIRL! The NICU nurses were in the room to help with the delivery, as was mandatory for a 34-week old baby. Nate proudly cut the cord, and we passed her over to the NICU team to check her over. Our first indication that anything was out of the ordinary was hearing one of the nurses yell into the intercom, "Get me more people. Get anyone from the NICU over here now!" Nate and I stared in disbelief as they worked to restart her heart, and then proceeded to place a breathing tube down her throat. They then took her off to the NICU to work on her breathing situation and get her stabilized. I felt strongly that I wanted one of us to be with her, so Nate went with Greta and held her small hand.

I remember watching the NICU doctor and my OB walk into the room together; I knew the news wasn't going to be good. He tried to explain to us that they just didn't know why she wasn't breathing correctly, and that they were sending for specialists to exam her. He gave us his unofficial diagnosis: Potter's Syndrome. Technically it means that she never developed kidneys or a bladder, and this would explain why there wasn't much amniotic fluid on the ultrasound. Babies produce a large amount of their own amniotic fluid, through their urine, and Greta would never have been able to do that. Her breathing problems stemmed from the compression that is created when there are low amniotic fluid levels. A baby's lungs, as well as other body parts, need proper space to expand and grow to fully develop. As the NICU doctor walked out of our room, we still didn't feel like we understood the situation. My doctor spelled it out for us; this condition meant that she was going to die, and probably very soon. The NICU doctor's initial diagnosis was quickly confirmed; Greta had Potter's Syndrome.