Introducing Quinton Herbert Hales

Thursday, February 21, 2013 
I was having contractions most of the day. But, they were contractions like I’ve been having for a month or more. They didn’t hurt. They were occasional. And, there was nothing exciting about them.

But, I made it a point to go pick up the rocker/recliner that we purchased on Monday. On the way home, I stopped at Walmart to buy some snacks—even though I knew that the hospital would have food and snacks available for me. I just wanted to make sure I had some snacks that I would definitely enjoy. When Mark came home from work, he said, “You went to Walmart?” He was a little confused because he had just been shopping. But, I explained about the snacks.

The other thing that I finally finished on Thursday was my bag. I finally finished packing my overnight bag with everything that we don’t use on a daily or very-often basis. This included the new snacks I just bought. 

Mark had a church basketball game at 10:00 pm. That’s right: 10:00 pm. He came home at 11:00 and was pretty wired—adrenaline and such. So, after reading scriptures together, he went out to the living room to read his book and I turned off the light and went to sleep.

Friday, February 22, 2013, Quinton’s Birth Story!  

I woke up at 1:00 with a real contraction. I was surprised. A few minutes later, I had another. And then another. They were eight minutes, then five minutes, then ten minutes…and none of them were very long. I didn’t have to “breathe” through any of them. I actually fell back asleep after a while.

I woke up again about 2:00, I got up to go to the bathroom. I was having contractions more consistently. Mark got up from the couch and came into the room. I told him it was time to call Mindi, our neighbor a block away. Mark said his phone recorded that call at 2:08 am.

We hurried and gathered our stuff together. We unhooked Emma from her pump so she could get out of bed in the morning. We put everything in the truck. And we waited.

And waited.

I finally had Mark call Mindi again because the contractions were coming one right after the next. They were getting strong and painful. I was starting to get worried. This second phone call was 2:32 am.

I got in the truck. Mark backed it out into the driveway—then got out. (I’m still not sure why he got out.) He paced for another minute and Mindi finally showed up. She rolled down her window and she and Mark started chatting. I rolled down my window and said, “WE HAVE TO GO NOW!” So, we did.

As we were driving up the road, I told Mark, “I don’t know if we’re going to make it to Jordan Valley.” Mark said, “Really?” I said, “We’ll see. But, I don’t know.”

We neared the intersection on Bangerter where Walmart sits. The light was red. I studied the car across the intersection there and commanded Mark to run the red light. He was a little surprised. “RUN IT.” So, he did.

Then I told him, “We are not going to make it to Jordan Valley. We have to stop at Riverton.” Again, “Really?” “YES.”

So, we took the next intersection and turned into Riverton Hospital’s parking lot. We tried to follow signs to Labor and Delivery—but since I wasn’t planning on delivering there, I hadn’t found out where to go. In fact—I have already PAID for the hospital bill at Jordan Valley. Our insurance doesn’t even cover Riverton Hospital.

But, there is no way I wanted to deliver a baby in the truck, which is exactly what was going to happen because I actually felt like pushing IN THE TRUCK.

Yah, so we drove around the whole hospital looking for the Labor and Delivery signs. There were some—and then they disappeared. At this point, we were coming back up to the Emergency Room entrance. That’s where we went: to the ER.

Mark jumped out of the truck; I couldn’t because I was in the middle of another contraction. Mark ran into the ER only to find NO ONE WAS THERE! He turned back to me, looking panicked. I’m still frozen mid-motion in a contraction. Mark turned back to the desk, hoping to find a bell or a magic wand or a giant red button. Nothing.

My contraction let me out of gridlock and I was able to walk into the ER. As I walked in, someone came in from the back and saw two bewildered adults, one obviously in labor. “You’re in labor?” “Yes.” She took my name and date of birth. She called someone else to come take me to Labor and Delivery. I told them that we couldn’t make it to Jordan Valley because I felt like pushing in the truck.

The second lady helped me onto a wheelchair. Mark went back to the truck—I found out a minute or so later just to turn it off. However, I was a little panicked that he wouldn’t know how to find us.

The lady wheeled me down one long stretch of desks and turned into a long hallway. She was WALKING merrily along. In my head, I was screaming, “DID YOU NOT HEAR ME!?! I SAID I NEEDED TO PUSH IN THE TRUCK!!!” Then she pushed the button on an elevator. Thoughts, “AN ELEVATOR!?! A FREAKIN’ ELEVATOR!?! WE’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!!!” Also in my thoughts, “Oh no, Mark is really not going to find us!”

We get to the right floor and she wheels me down an even longer hall into the Labor and Delivery unit. A nurse is there waiting for us. The ER nurse leaves. That new nurse starts to wheel me into a triage room but when I tell her I felt like pushing in the truck, she said, “Let’s just go straight to a delivery room.” Good idea. But, we were there in the triage room just long enough for me to put down my purse and forget that I did.

We go to Delivery Room 5. There are three other nurses there, so four total. They help me strip down and put on a gown. There’s no way on earth I would have been able to do that with the contractions like they were. They help me onto the bed—flat on my back on the bed, very far away from the bottom of the bed where the stirrups (or whatever they call them) are.

I tell that I feel like pushing. But, the nurse who has taken charge asks if she can check me. I say, “Sure.” She wanted to wait for the next contraction, but changed my mind when I said I wanted to push. She checked while I was contracting and declared me at a “9.” In my mind, I thought, “Are you kidding? A ‘9’? No way…bull crap!”

And then the next contraction was there and I was pushing. That’s right—either she was insane or I was insane. Perhaps both of us. Because, I was pushing—and Baby started crowning.

The nurse asked me not to push, to just hold in a second. Ha! Right. I was pushing.

Out came Baby’s head. Again, the nurse asked me not to push. This time she gave a reason: because she was trying to help me not to tear down there. But, I had to push. This time, though, I was trying to not push as fast as I did with Baby’s head.

Somewhere in these few minutes of excitement and pushing, I let out five large roars of pain. I only remember letting out two roars with Emma. Mark commented how loud I was. So?

Regardless, out came Baby. Baby Boy! Mark announced it.

A baby boy. I said, “That’s what we guessed. We guessed boy.” The nurses were impressed we didn’t know beforehand the gender of the baby.

Then I started shaking. As in shock. I couldn’t stop shaking.

The nurse in charge had started putting information into the computer. She turned to the room and asked, “Did anyone get the birth time?” Mark said, “2:50.” None of the nurses, in all the excitement, had thought to get the time. Funny. It was seven minutes from the time we pulled in front of the ER to the time Baby was born. SEVEN MINUTES. Emma was born in 14 minutes from the time we parked in the garage.

A little while later, a doctor came in. She was one of my doctor’s colleagues. She told me Dr. Moreland lives far away and that she was the closest doctor to the hospital. This new doctor (I forget her name) delivered my placenta and sewed up my second degree tear.

Our boy weighed 7 pounds 14 ounces and was 19.5 inches long. I was a little surprised. For some reason he looked bigger to me.

We started talking about names. From the moment I saw his beautiful face, he looked like the “Quinton Herbert” I liked so fondly. But, I tried not to push that name on Mark.

Mark called his mom and my parents.

My purse was no where to be found so we couldn’t give the nurses and hospital staff my ID and insurance information. Finally, we found it in the triage room.

February 22, 2013, The Rest of Quinton’s Birthday 
I was tired. Sooo tired. I was also waiting for the natural high I experienced with Emma. I didn’t experience it in quite the same way. I guess you could say that I was able to be awake for pretty much the rest of the night, which is atypical since I value my sleep. But, I wasn’t giddy and giggly like I was when I delivered Emma.

They took me to a room of my own. They drugged me up. And, the rest of the day began: regular interruptions to check my uterus and bleeding; regular interruptions to check my vitals and Baby’s vitals; and regular interruptions to check my pain.

Gratefully, they never took Baby away from our room. They never required him to spend nursery time. They let me give me skin to skin. It was so nice.

Mark went home about 7:00. Mindi texted a little after 6:00 saying both Emma and Zachary were awake and confused. Totally understandable considering how little they are.

That morning, a pediatrician came in. He declared Baby as sound. Then Dr. Moreland, my doctor, came in. We had a chuckle about the delivery and that I was supposed to see her that morning on a regular visit. Then, a social worker came in.

“Normally I wouldn’t even come talk to you. There are no reasons—except…. You have Altius [Insurance].” “Yes.” “Did you know that we don’t take Altius?” “Yes.” “Then why are you here?” I told him the story, including the fact that it was seven minutes from door to delivery and the fact that the nurses delivered him—they didn’t even have time to get a hospital doctor there for delivery. He was happy to declare, “Oh good. You have a really good case. I don’t think the insurance will have a problem approving this. As soon as you get the bill, write your insurance an appeal letter. Considering this was an emergent care situation, they should approve it.” That was actually quite a relief to me—because I had been worrying about it from the time I told Mark to pull into Riverton’s parking lot.

Mark, Zachary, and Emma came to visit us about 11:00. They each got a picture with Baby.

Mark and I decided “Quinton Herbert” fit. Mark announced the name via Facebook a little after noon that day.

They went home and had naps. They came back later, about 7:00. Melanie and Marcus Ray came to visit us about the same time. Oh, how I love the Rays. I wish they were our neighbors.

Melanie called me later when they left. This is the conversation she reported to me:

Melanie: “Zachary, are you excited for Quinton to come live at your house?
Zachary: “Who?”
Melanie: “You know, Quinton, your baby brother, the baby who is with your mom.”
Zachary: “WHAT!?”
Melanie: “Yep, he’s going to go home tomorrow and live in your house.”
Silence for five to seven seconds….
Zachary: “OH MAN!”