Dylan's Birth

Disclaimer:  This post is LONG!!  I started writing the story of Dylan's birth and the days following, and it just kept pouring out.  I wrote this for myself and my family, so that we can remember the raw emotion that we felt as we met and fell in love with Dylan.  Read at your own risk! :) 


Dylan was scheduled to arrive on June 3rd, 2013.  I was desperately hoping to deliver him naturally, after having a C-Section with Jack.  My pregnancy was smooth and uneventful, other than being completely uncomfortable towards the end (but who isn't, right?).  At my 38 week appointment, my OBGyn, Dr. Simpson, confirmed that I was 80% effaced, but hadn't started dilating yet.  This was an indication that Dylan was getting ready to come meet us sometime soon!

By my 39 week appointment, nothing had changed.  In fact, my belly hadn't grown at all in the previous week.  Dr. Simpson wasn't overly concerned, but she suggested that I go in for an ultrasound.  I remember she told me that it was up to me when we did it, we could wait a week if I wanted, but I said I'd prefer to do it as soon as possible.  I just wanted to see my baby and find out if this wait to meet him was almost over! So we scheduled an ultrasound for the following day, May 30th.

I went to the appointment all by myself, having no reason to be concerned with the outcome.  Brian was about to take 2+ weeks off of work when Dylan arrived, it didn't seem necessary for him to miss another day for this routine ultrasound.  As I lay on the table, the ultrasound tech was asking me about my first delivery and making casual conversation about how excited we were to meet Dylan.  He was moving around a lot, kicking and stretching, and it was fun to see him on the screen.  After a while she seemed to get pretty quiet, so I tentatively asked her how everything looked.  She mentioned that my amniotic fluid levels were very low, in fact she could find no measurable fluid.  I knew this meant we would likely be meeting Dylan sooner rather than later!  Since his heart rate was strong and he was moving all over the place, I wasn't overly concerned. The ultrasound took much longer than I was expecting, almost 45 minutes.  I remember thinking I wished she would just hurry up so that I could call Brian and tell him.  As she finally finished, she said that the doctor would want to see me before I left.  I waited in the ultrasound room for a while and was eventually moved into an exam room to wait.  Since Dr. Simpson was gone for the weekend, I would see one of her partners that I hadn't met before.  As I waited for him to come in, I sent out some texts to my friends and family..."Looks like we will be heading to the hospital soon....fluid is low, not sure what this means yet..."

The doctor walked in and just the look on his face made my heart drop.  It was the sympathetic look of someone who is prepared to deliver bad news:  head slightly tilted to the side, furrowed brow.  He pulled up a chair and sat directly in front of me, placing his hand tentatively on my knee.  I thought to myself - either this guy is super dramatic, or there is something wrong other than low amniotic fluid.  His first words were, "I'm sorry....it's always hard to deliver bad news to someone you've just met."  He went on to explain to me that my son's head was measuring significantly smaller than expected.  Most likely, this meant that something had gone wrong developmentally, probably caused by a chromosomal abnormality or a viral infection during pregnancy. Developmental problems.  I just stared at him.  My worst nightmare, every mom's worst nightmare, was coming true.  Honestly, I don't think what he was telling me registered at all, I was in such shock I couldn't even hear the words coming out of his mouth.  He went on to explain that I also had a dangerously low level of amniotic fluid, and that it was important to deliver the baby as soon as possible, the risk being that Dylan could roll over on his umbilical cord and cut off his lifeline.  I was going to have another C-Section.  Since I had just eaten lunch, this meant we would have to wait until 8:00 pm for the food to get out of my system.  I asked if I could go home and get my stuff, and he said as long as I could make it back to the hospital within 30 minutes I could go home (thankfully we only live 5 minutes away).  I knew there were a thousand questions I should ask, but all I could do was thank him as he walked out the door and wished me luck.

I think the severity of what he was telling me truly sunk in when I said it out load for the first time.  I called Brian to update him and completely lost it.  It took me forever to get the words out.  I cried with a pain I have never felt before.  I was terrified by the prospect of what we would find out when they delivered our baby.  Hopes and dreams I had for his future seemed to disappear as I started to think about the possibilities.  Brian immediately left work and met me at home, where we threw some things in the car in a complete daze and got back in the car.  Brian later told me that he ran three red lights in the 1.5 miles from our house to the hospital (I didn't even notice at the time).

I was checked into a room and hooked up to a non-stress test, where they could monitor Dylan's heartbeat.  He was still healthy and showing no signs of distress, so we were pretty much left alone by the nurses.  It was 2:00 pm when we arrived, and we were scheduled to deliver Dylan at 8:00 that evening.

The next 15 hours felt like a lifetime.

We had apparently arrived on the WRONG night.  Emergency after emergency delayed our delivery.  We kept being told that since Dylan was still so strong and healthy, they had to focus on others that were not in such a good position.  At one point in the middle of the night, Brian was so frustrated by the delays that he threatened to leave and find another hospital that was willing to make us a priority.  We were assured that they would get us into the operating room as soon as possible.

Finally, at 5:00 am on March 31st, eleven long and emotional hours later than we were expecting, we were taken to the OR.  Along with the typical surgery personal, there was a team of three NICU nurses in the room, ready to evaluate Dylan as soon as he came out and intervene if he had any problems.  I was terrified.  I tried to be optimistic and excited about meeting my baby, but the prospect of receiving devastating news when he was delivered was overwhelming. The surgery was quick and routine, and we held our breath as they pulled him out.

I heard him screaming....good news.  I encouraged Brian to go over and meet him as the nurses evaluated him.  "Five Pounds, Fifteen Ounces," I heard one nurse announce.  Dylan continued to scream with a healthy set of Lungs. "Nineteen Inches long."  I started to picture this little baby they were describing with a set of measurements.  I waited for the chaos I had prepared for, tears streaming down my face, as I lay strapped down to the operating table.  Within a few minutes Dylan was calmed down, wrapped up in a blanket, and his daddy was proudly carrying him across the room to meet me.  "He's fine," he told me in a whisper as he choked back tears.  Apparently the NICU team had evaluated him and found nothing wrong, so they shrugged their shoulders, congratulated Brian, and walked out of the room. Brian placed Dylan's head right next to mine, and as I looked at his tiny face for the first time I was so overwhelmed with love.  He was perfect.

The next few days in the hospital brought about a complex mix of emotions.  On one hand, we had a completely healthy, strong newborn.  He was an enthusiastic eater from the start!  That was encouraging, especially since he was pretty small.  He had no medical concerns.  In fact, the doctors and nurses were all surprised by how strong he was!  I'm pretty sure everyone was expecting him to have some pretty significant health problems at delivery, so it was wonderful that Dylan was proving them all wrong.  We were so excited to welcome this new member of our family!

But on the other hand, we were being told that there was something terribly wrong with our baby, and we were scared to death.  Nurses came in and out of the room with a look of sympathy on their face.  Family members held him cautiously and evaluated to see if they could find anything unusual.  I stared for hours at this precious newborn, waiting for a clue as to what was wrong.

Dylan was tested for a long list of things.  Viral infections, chromosomal abnormalities, etc. He had blood drawn, urine samples taken, an ultrasound on his head, and even an MRI.  One by one, the tests came back negative.  After a few days, we had ruled out some pretty scary things.  The same doctors that refused to give us any hope three days earlier, started hinting that his outlook might not be as grim as they initially expected.  Maybe Dylan was just born with a small head that would eventually grow to average size, without any lasting effects.

Brian and I were thrilled.  After being devastated for days by the prospect of something being wrong with our baby, it was so wonderful to get all of this positive news.  We sent out messages to our family with each negative test result, checking things off the list!  Everyone celebrated with us as we began to release our fears that Dylan would have long term problems.

Until June 17th, when our pediatrician called and suggested that we meet with a geneticist.

What is Microcephaly?