The Best Worst Day of Our Lives (A Birth Story)

Marigold James Graham was born January 5 at 9:06 PM. I was there of course, and my father who had driven with me to the hospital was in the waiting room. My mother who had just put Beatrix to bed had arrived just in time. And my girlfriend Claudia was there too. But my husband, he wasn't there. He was fifteen floors below me in the emergency room.

Randall and I have a very honest relationship. He might fudge the numbers when I ask him how much he spends on comic books or what the state of the house really is when I’m away for work but for the most part we tell it like it is. 

On the morning of Marigold’s birth I found out that he had been lying to me for two days. 

I had been lying to Danielle for two days. I had a fully herniated disc. Sometimes described as an "exploded disc". It's a problem I’ve suffered from for decades and right then I couldn’t stand for more than a few seconds at a time. It was one of the worst flair ups I’d ever experienced.

But I wasn't going to tell Danielle that.

A few days before Marigold was born Randall tweaked his back lifting Bea. He’s had back issues for as long as I’ve known him and over years of dealing with it, he’s figured out what works best for him in how to treat it.  So that’s what he did.  For days I saw him doing his exercises and stretches in an effort to get things back in place. I could tell he was in pain and I was scared because we were days from my due date.  But he kept telling me it was ok.  That it wasn’t “out.”  That it was just stiff.  Just a little sore. 

It would be fine in the morning.

The exercises and self-treatments I had developed over the years just weren't working. I knew that extreme stress didn't help and I was running every calming mind exercise I had over and over again.

But mostly I just kept praying for one more day. For just a little more time.

I woke up on Sunday and knew today was going to be the day. The mild contractions I had been having over the past few days and intensified in the night and my doctor had told me during my exam a few days before that the baby was "no where near coming" which, was exactly what he had told me 24 hours before Bea was born. I turned to Randall and told him that it was going to happen today. He said he was happy. But he looked panicked. For big things he goes into Zen mode. He speaks calmly. He acts decisively. But right now he looked scared. I asked him point blank about his back. I asked him if he would be able to take me to the hospital. 

He said. "I don’t know". I called my mom and told them to come right away.

I had to stand. I had to get up because my wife needed me and I wasn't going to miss the birth of my daughter. So I chewed down a couple Percocets I had left over from my appendectomy and hobbled to the shower.  I got about half wet. I remember my hair in my face in a big slick. But I couldn’t move it. My back had suddenly started to seize up and I had put my arms out to the walls to brace myself. It felt like someone was pouring hot cement down my back. A straight scorching line from my shoulder blade to the back of my knee. It was so intense that I felt myself being folded over backwards. I screamed and went down hard. When I hit the shower floor it was like I had been stabbed. For a fleeting second I thought I broke my back and my leg was completely numb. In a panic I told myself to just get out of the shower. Don’t pass out I said. I crawled out and managed to drag myself to the foot of the bed. I climbed up naked and soaking wet.

I called for help.

I heard screaming from upstairs. I had been oscillating between being ok with the possibility of him not being there to not being able to reconcile him missing the birth of his daughter. In that instant I knew I'd have to get right with it in my head. My parents had arrived by then. They said “you have to call and ambulance, he needs to go to the hospital.”  I knew they were right.  Shortly after 2 paramedics arrived, they assessed the situation and called for 3 more.  They arrived.  And called for a fleet of firemen.  Each time a new group arrived they took one look at me, hugely pregnant and said, “Are you ok?”  I honestly didn’t know anymore.  Wrought with worry, I had stopped timing my contractions.  They felt like they were stacked on top of one another.  I knew I was in active labour, I just didn’t know how far along I was.  With 2 ambulances and a fire truck parked out front of our house, it took 9 first responders, 2 shots of fentanyl, and a nerve blocker to get Randall out of our bed, down the stairs and into an ambulance.

I screamed and swore. Cried and pleaded. It felt like nothing they could give me would ease the pain. I've hurt before but not like this. At one point I remember begging the paramedic to just knock me out. They don't do that. It's dangerous. But I begged anyways. I'm going to stop talking about this now because it's making my stomach tight and I feel like I could start bawling. Instead I will just tell you that those first responders were rockstars. They were so kind. So calm. So helpful. We are all blessed beyond words to have these people here in Canada. We are so, so very lucky.

Annnnnd I'm bawling anyway.

Once Randall was on his way, I took one breath and said to my Dad “I’m going to call an Uber, I need to get to the hospital.”  Now, I love my father very much.  But I can tell you he wasn’t exactly the person I had in mind to be with me for the delivery.  My Ma would have been my person but she needed to stay home with Bea to get her settled for bed, she had kept Bea occupied downstairs and as calm as possible while they carried Randall out of the house, so Dad was my only choice. Once I had a second to process what was about to happen, he saw the fear on my face, he held my hand over top of the little blue suitcase in the back of that Uber and told me it was going to be ok.  I’m crying now thinking about it.  It was a moment I won’t forget. And I’m sure he won’t either. Pulling up to the hospital he proudly proclaimed to the driver “we’re having a baby!” to which I added, “we’re not having a baby, he’s my Dad not the Dad.”

I got checked in and examined and was advised that I was 5 cm dilated.  I explained to the wonderful doctors and nurses that my husband was downstairs in emergency and we were waiting to hear about his current condition.  That our hope was he could somehow come up to where I was on the 15th floor to be there for the birth.  They suggested we get the epidural going and that would slow my labour down a bit to buy us some time. I FaceTimed him to let him know I was heading to get the epidural, and told him the nurses were looking into a way to get him upstairs.

Now, my number one, all-time, BIGGEST FEAR was not making it to the hospital in time for an epidural.  At every OB appointment I asked how far apart my contractions should be before I go to the hospital, because I didn't want to miss the window. I also goggled it endlessly because I kept hearing that second babies come fast.  There was absolutely NO WAY I was going to do this without it.

As I was being examined my girlfriend Claudia, arrived at the hospital. She came straight to see me on her way home from a weekend away in Quebec; arriving at the hospital with her weekend bag.  She checked on me then went to the emergency room to check on Randall.  My Dad grabbed my bags and we started to make our way to the Labour and Delivery room for the epidural.  The walk over started fine.  I was ok.  The pain was tolerable and the contractions felt manageable but by the time I got to that room everything had changed.

I was now in searing pain and was begging for them to get the needle in right away. I can't explain how fast that pain had escalated. Claudia was back with me at this point so I suggested to my Dad to go to the waiting room, so as not to witness that enormous needle being inserted into his daughter’s spine. It took every ounce of strength I could spare to sit still and upright long enough for the anesthesiologist to get it inserted.  The pain had taken over my whole body and there was no break from it, not one little moment to catch my breath.  I think everyone in the room was as confused as I was because minutes before I been okay. He got the needle in and I asked how long. “15 minutes,” he said.  15 minutes. Okay I thought, I could survive this for 15 minutes. 15 minutes is not that long. I would eat a little and by then they would have gotten Randall wheeled upstairs beside me. It would be a little different than I had imagined but it would be fine.

I sent Claudia downstairs to get me something to eat.

The day Marigold was born, my partner Ryan and I were driving home in an epic snowstorm. It was one of those storms where when you finally loosen your grip on the wheel you realize your hands no longer work and that they will remain in this shape forever. I’d been messaging with Danielle over the 6 hour drive and it very quickly became clear that 1) best laid plans often go awry and 2) she was having this baby—like now-- and she sure as hell wasn’t about to do it alone.

The already heart-pounding drive felt like an eternity and I as we finally pulled up to the hospital, Ryan wished me luck. I hopped out of the car and slid my way in across the ice and sleet. I put on my Dr. Quinn-iest game face and made my way up to the 15th floor.

I walked in to find Danielle’s dad John sitting in the waiting room completely surrounded by bags and coats. He showed me to Danielle’s nook in the holding area and as I pushed the curtain aside and walked in, we locked eyes and both started bawling.

Now, I don’t have children. I’ve never been in a delivery room or witnessed a birth- not even on video. I have no idea what’s about to happen, nor do I think it’s going to happen very fast. I’m blissfully oblivious.

The doctors recommend Danielle eat something to help with the epidural and tip me off that the coffee shop is closing at 9pm. I look at the digital clock on the wall, it’s 8:20.

I’m focused and on a mission: there will be no airport-grade carb left un-purchased in that display case. I leave John and Danielle in the room and head back down the escalator. Does she want a sandwich? A muffin? A scone? No one wants a scone!

I settle on a variety of sandwiches and every muffin known to man and head back to the delivery room feeling a sense of accomplishment. I‘m nailing this!

I pass John, pale as a ghost, on my way into the delivery room. He says “It’s happening now”.

What? I say.

Marigold had started coming and I could feel it. I screamed in pain and yelled to the nurses. She’s right there.  I can feel her.  She’s coming right now!  They assured me no, the epidural had only been administered minutes earlier "we're a ways off still" they said. 

She's coming RIGHT NOW I screamed again. 

They took another look because I kept insisting and looked almost shocked. They immediately called the doctor in.

This baby is coming the doctor said.

"I know!!!!" I screamed.

It was then they told me there would be no time for that epidural to kick in. 

I walk in the room and a nurse thrusts a surgical mask and cap onto my baked goods. My mind is rushing, I have no idea how to be helpful, what to say, what to do. I unclenched the muffins, (taking a minute too long to carefully set them aside somewhere clean so we can eat them later). I placed the mask and cap on and rushed over to my friend. She looks scared, strong, exhausted, beautiful. We grab each other’s hands and breathe together.

It’s going to be ok.

Is it?

Yes. You’re doing great, push, girl keep pushing

I can’t.

You can!

I cant!

You WILL!

Ok

I waited too long!

We are here now.

OK

You push this baby OUT!

I can?

You can

OK 

We locked eyes and in an instant, I saw the strength of a million women in my friend. I could see her muster up every ounce of strength and courage in her body and push herself beyond her own limitations. She let out a push so powerful I caught my first glimpse of the top of Marigold’s head.

Is that…wait. Oh my god. I CAN SEE HER HEAD!

You can? Yes! PUSH!

Some of the next bit is a blur but I remember asking the room full of people if my Mom was here yet.  A nurse went out to the waiting room and in a scene out of a movie asked “is there a Mary here?”  By the grace of angels looking out for me, she was.  She had made it in time to be by my side.

I looked up and Danielle’s mom Mary suddenly floated into the room. This woman is an angel – she actually floats.

Relieved she made it, I took a step back and with this slight perspective shift, it suddenly all felt strangely calm. I looked around and took in the scene. I saw Mary and Danielle surrounded by a team of women nurses and doctors and felt overcome with an indescribable energy. I stumbled around for my phone and started capturing as much as I could.

So, clutching the hands of Claudia (sorry, for almost breaking your hand, girl) and my Mom, I pushed and pushed and pushed until I couldn’t anymore. I screamed, begged, pleaded and even told the doctor and nurses repeatedly that I was done.  The pain was too much and I wasn’t pushing anymore.  It had only been a few minutes of pushing but I didn’t see how I could do it for any longer.  They then said the baby’s heart rate was dropping. Claudia looked me dead in the eyes and calmly but firmly said “Danielle, you’re doing this.”  In that moment I found a strength I didn’t know I had. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally. One final gear.

Marigold was born around 9pm. The doctor lifted her into the air and placed her on her exhausted Mama while Nonna Mary cut the cord. We hugged through tears and called Randall on Facetime so he could meet Marigold.

It had been maybe 45 minutes since Danielle and I had FaceTimed. When my phone rang again I was anxious to hear if we had a plan for getting me up there yet. Instead when I opened my phone, my brain, well it just exploded. Like everywhere. All over the walls, my bed, the hallway and everyone in the waiting room.  In fact I am now absolutely certain that expecting to see your wife but instead seeing your newborn child is precisely why the exploding head emoji exists. I will live my entire life and never experience anything as dumbfounding.

An hour or so later, once things started to settle down, I tucked in at the end of the Danielle's bed to do what I always do with my girlfriend when something major happens – debrief. 

So tell me the truth, what did you see? She asked as she bit into a muffin.

I took a bite of my own.

Everything, girl. I saw it all. 

And then, we laugh and we cry.

Unfortunately, hospital rules prevented Randall from coming up to see us.  So a few hours after Marigold was born I was wheeled down by a porter to see my husband.  So much had changed in such a short period of time and I needed to look in his eyes.  To tell him how beautiful and strong his daughter is.  To remind him that it was going to be okay. And to promise him we’d get him home soon.

Randall spent a few days in the hospital and to say I missed him would be an enormous understatement.  As cheesy as it may sound, I felt like part of my body was missing.  Trying to figure out this new baby on my own brought me to tears countless times.  Tending to Bea whose whole world was upside down while my own body was attempting to heal and recover was so, so hard.  Yes I had my amazing Ma for support, but I didn’t have my teammate.  My person.  My rock. 

After what seemed like an eternity apart, RG came home a few days later. The image of him coming through that door will be etched in my mind forever, tears pouring down both our faces.  In disbelief he was actually home and in all we had been through.  He was still in tremendous pain, on a walker and couldn’t get up stairs so we had arranged for a hospital bed for him in our dining room.  It was there he met Marigold for the first time.  We spent almost a month home together like that.  And as much as it was painful, frustrating and difficult we have some truly wonderful memories from those long, slow days together. 

Marigold was born at 9:06pm on January 5, 2020.  I was reminded of a lot that day. That life certainly doesn’t go according to hopes and plans.  That even in the toughest of times, there is so much to be grateful for.  That doctors and nurses are exceptional people.  That I have the most incredible family and friends.  That I’m stronger than I often give myself credit for. 

And that I’m the luckiest Mama on earth.