CHAPTER 1

Our Journey Begins

At thirty-two weeks pregnant, I found myself up in bed at 4:00 a.m. counting my contractions. Could I be going into labor eight weeks prematurely? By coincidence, my next gynecologist appointment was for that morning at 10:00 a.m. When I told the doctor my suspicions, she replied, “Oh, no, you’re much too early. These must be Braxton Hicks contractions.” But my body and instincts told me differently.

After twenty minutes in her office, my doctor wanted to send me home without completing an internal exam. I refused to leave. It was the first of a number of decisions contrary to doctor’s orders that would save Evan’s life.

After completing an internal exam, my doctor confirmed that I really was in labor. She told me to go across the street to the hospital. While the contractions intensified, I drove my car to the hospital’s parking garage. As I waited by the hospital elevator, I pulled out my cell phone to reach my husband, Steve. Then I noticed a sign saying the elevator was out of order. In a panic, I began walking five long flights of stairs to the maternity floor.

I could feel that something wasn’t right. The nurses hooked me up to a monitor and gave me an ultrasound immediately. It was bad news—little Evan was positioned with his butt down and his legs over his head like a jackknife. Luckily, the nurses told me his heartbeat was going strong, and they’d try to stop the contractions.

Steve arrived but couldn’t do much other than comfort me. Still, that counted for a lot.

At 8:00 p.m., Steve left to get a bite to eat at a local Mexican restaurant. I hadn’t eaten anything all morning, and since I might end up needing surgery, no one would feed me. I was starving.

As I waited for Steve, a doctor came in and told me they needed to keep me overnight because the contractions weren’t slowing down as quickly as they had hoped. I began to worry that my instincts were right. I remembered how many times I had gone for fetal movement tests, concerned something was wrong with my son. I had never felt butterflies fluttering or those reassuring kicks everyone always talked about.

Steve returned within an hour and helped me get to the bathroom, despite the fact that I was hooked up to a bunch of IVs and monitor leads. When I returned to bed, I heard alarms, and hospital personnel scrambled into my room. I felt like my body was no longer my own. An oxygen mask was strapped around my mouth and nose. As tears ran down my face, I saw Steve being escorted out. An anesthesiologist asked me to roll onto my side, and he jammed an epidural into my spine. Within minutes, I couldn’t feel my legs, and the doctors were performing an emergency