Ellaven's Birth Story

You've Got To Go Through Hell Before You Get To Heaven


Katie: It was Sunday September 4th, I awoke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom for about the 3rd time that evening.  Nothing unusual about that at this point in my pregnancy, however there was an extra "release" of fluid when I went.  Hmmm, that's strange, but I am sure it's nothing.  I got back in bed.  About an hour later I awoke in a puddle.  OK, that's something to take note of.  I immediately called Shiela, our midwife to see what she thought so that I could let Will know what to do.  We discussed that it was most likely my bag of waters opening.  She would check me on Monday, but it was probably best to get Will home sooner than later.  After paging Will a couple of times, I slept very little.  I was excited and a little nervous about starting labor already with out him home.  Finally he called around 9am and we decided that he needed to get home as soon as possible.


Will: On the morning of Monday September 5th, I woke up in my dusty trailer and noticed the little red light blinking on my pager. Katie's water had broken. It was our worst case scenario ... I had to get home fast from Black Rock City on Exodus day ... when 10,000 slow-moving cars stood between me and my wife. 


With help from my campmates, I quickly packed my bags and my trailer, and as I was about to set foot in my car to drive off, I overheard somebody say that I-80 was closed both ways in Reno due to accidents on the freeway. Rather than risk getting bogged down in gridlock, I decided to check this playa rumor. 

Flying Home from Burning Man

Burning Man board member Will Roger confirmed my fears, telling me it would take 24 hours for me to drive home at that point. He took me out to the BRC Airport and helped me flag down a ride in a 4-seater Mooney airplane, flown by pilot Ben Woodard, who was headed to San Carlos, just south of San Francisco. Exactly three hours later, I stood in my house, only to have Katie tell me her water had, in fact, NOT broken as she'd thought.


Katie:  While Will was getting off the playa and home to mama, I spent the day preparing with Natalie.  She went shopping for me.  We finished up the last of the organizing stuff we needed to do.  I cancelled dinner at my mom's house that night.  It seemed our little one was on her way and she would be early.


Will: But it was critical that I was home, because by late Monday night and early Tuesday morning, her contractions (we call them "surges") were occurring in the 4-1-1 pattern (1 minute surges, 4 minutes apart, for 1 hour) signifying impending active labor. We called in the birth team, set up the rented birthing tub in the living room, filled it up, took care of Katie, and waited.  And waited ... and waited ...


While the surges kept on, and were increasingly painful, the labor wasn't progressing. The baby was quite content to hang out right where it was, as Katie's body was being brutalized. She would regularly seize up with the worst pain she's ever felt in her life, her lower back, upper legs and uterus full-on cramping.  The problem was, it wasn't labor ... just horrible cramping.


We tried everything from herbs to Tylenol, stretching to acupuncture, showers to soaks in the tub, cranio-sacral work to network chiropractic, emotional soul-searching and psychological purging. And NOTHING worked. She didn't sleep more than about an hour at a stretch in those 5 days.


On Thursday night, after four days of this torture, we went to the hospital to have them load her up with a shot of morphine to conk her out (therapeutic rest, they call it) so she could at least sleep for one night, and hopefully the surges would stop. The morphine was supposed to knock her out for 6-8 hours, and it only lasted 2 hours ... and the surges continued, only now that she was relaxed they were even worse.  

Epidural Relief

On Friday, we had a long, soul-searching talk with our midwife, and we agreed it was necessary to abandon our plans for a home birth, and go into the hospital for a mercy epidural, and hopefully proceed with a vaginal birth there. We checked into St. Luke's on Friday afternoon, by which time Katie was so debilitated she had to be taken to the Labor and Delivery floor by wheelchair. She got an epidural, and welcome relief ... and she became herself again. She was dilated to 5 centimeters by midnight, and they gave her a small dose of pitocin to see if it would move things along. They also broke her bag of waters, and continued to monitor her all through the night. She developed a slight infection and fever, common after the bag of waters is broken.


At 8:30am, dilated only to 7 centimeters, the OB decided to insert an intra-uterine catheter probe (IUCP) to determine the strength and location of the contractions so they could determine how much more pitocin would be appropriate. When it was inserted, Katie immediately started to cough and convulse, her eyesight and hearing suddenly impaired ... she couldn't feel her fingers.  She'd experienced a vasovagal nerve response. The vagus nerve runs from the base of your brain down the center of your body, enervating all the major organs in your body. When triggered, everything goes haywire, fast ... and it did. They say that you feel as if you're actually dying ... and that's what Katie thought. In reaction to this stress, the baby's heart decelerated dangerously low for about two minutes. They rushed Katie into the OR, and the team went into action, preparing for surgery.


Katie: Even as I was having this horrible overwhelming reaction, I felt a certain clarity.  I was hopeful that they could stabilize us both and avoid the c-section, but as the shaking grew worse, I knew a c-section was inevitable.  I was feeling sorry for having failed at delivering our child in a more gentle and natural way.  Even through the convulsions, I asked the OB to allow the cord to stop pulsing before they cut it, but unfortunately that was impossible in this emergency situation.  It was only after they delivered Ellaven and she was in such bad shape that I realized how precarious our situation was and how much distress she was in.  This was the scariest feeling of being completely helpless and truly at the mercy of the medical team caring for us.  Immediately following the birth, I was so grateful for the capabilities of our medical team and their incredible skills.  I knew in my heart that we would both be OK.  

Will: One moment everything was fine, and then next I was standing in a sterile "bunny suit" and mask, pacing and watching as they set up the OR, while Katie was flopping like a fish on the table as she convulsed uncontrollably. The nurses attempted to pin her arms down crucifixion style and load her up with a local anesthetic as she stared into the lights. Finally, they'd set up and I rushed in to comfort her. I managed to say about ten words (hard-pressed to hide my panic) in her ear before they pulled the baby out. Ellaven was born at 8:44am on 9/10/11.

I went over to the other side of the OR where they had Ellaven laid out on a table. "It's a girl!" I called to Katie. But her little body was gray, floppy, and unresponsive. They had an oxygen mask on her, forcing 100% oxygen into her lungs, as she wasn't respirating on her own. I watched as the nurses repeatedly lifted and released her legs, only to have them drop loosely to the table. I was told we had to get her up to the nursery for further care ... on the way I glanced over and saw Katie's internal organs laid out on trays around her, and the open cavity of her abdomen as the doctors worked furiously on what I learned later was major hemorrhaging. 

Intensive Care

I asked the nurse to show Ellaven to Katie on the way out ... they locked eyes, and Katie smiled and said "I love you." As we left the OR, I saw our midwife, who joined me as we went up two floors to the nursery, where a pediatrician, a nurse and respiratory therapists quickly went to work on her, inserting an IV for fluids and antibiotics (in case she had contracted Katie's infection). She was acidotic, which makes for excessive CO2 in the blood, and her lungs were cranking a mile a minute to get enough oxygen. They switched from the hand-pumped mask to a CPAP, which forces oxygen directly into the nose. They moved her from 100% oxygen to 40%, to see if her blood oxygen level would hold ... it didn't.  They moved her back up to 100%.

They repeatedly suctioned her mouth with a bulb, and suctioned deeper into her trachea using a thin tube. They drew blood and sent it to the lab to test for bacterial infection. They took an x-ray of her chest to see if there were any perforations in her lungs. The x-ray showed haziness, but no holes. We talked to her, stimulated her muscles, and desperately encouraged her to cry, which would help expectorate the fluid in her lungs. She had barely uttered a peep this whole time. Her blood oxygen level hovered around 85, sometimes popping up to 90 (it should be 95-100), but with no guarantee that if she came off the forced air that she'd be able to maintain it on her own.


I was haunted by the question of whether Ellaven was at risk of suffering brain damage from the oxygen deprivation she'd experienced.  All this time, I didn't want to ask because I was afraid of the answer. I finally mustered the courage to ask, and the nurses assured me that even with all this, she was getting more oxygen now than she had been in utero, and that wasn't a concern.


After a couple hours, I forced myself to leave Ellaven and went down to see Katie. Once she was able to move her legs, they let her leave the recovery room, and we rolled her up to the nursery so she could see Ellaven. By this time, Ellaven's color was more pink, and her lungs were working significantly less hard. But when Katie entered the nursery, and was able to touch and hold her, Ellaven seemed to click into reality, her shocked system suddenly settled, and for the first time I felt like she was going to be OK. 

Katie Holds Ellaven

Katie: The minute I was rolled into the nursery with Ellaven, I could feel her breathing relax and her spirit lift as she was laying there hooked up to so many tubes and wires.  I knew from my training and mother's instinct that the sooner I could hold her, the better she would be.  Once in my arms, her breathing came down to a level that was much more stable and gave us hope that she'd be able to breathe on her own.  It was heartbreaking to not be able to hold her and keep her with me, but I understood from her condition that it would be necessary to transfer her to CPMC's NICU for better care. 

The Transport Rig

Will: The medical team determined that she should be taken across town to CPMC for monitoring, as CPMC has a sophisticated NICU, putting more tools at our disposal. We loaded Ellaven up in an incubation transport rig that looked like it could be shot into space, and I rode with her in the ambulance to the CPMC California campus. We arrived at precisely 1:11pm and got her settled in the NICU. The doctor asked me for -- and I gave -- consent to do a lumbar (spinal) tap to determine if any infection had infiltrated her spinal fluid, which could allow bacteria access to her brain. It was disturbing to have to make that decision without Katie's input, but I didn't have a choice. I watched as they did the procedure -- amazingly, she fell asleep half way through.

Ellaven and Katie, Day 1

Katie arrived an hour later in a separate ambulance, and settled in to what would be her room for the next five days, as she recovered from the emergency C-section and the after-effects of the vasovagal reaction. We spent as much time as possible in the NICU, so we could give her the attention and closeness she didn't get initially -- we maintained as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, and Katie breastfed as often as she was able.


As it turned out, the NICU was more of a precautionary measure than a medically-necessary one (after four hours she was breathing room air on her own), and though she was stuck with needles, suctioned, spinal tapped, connected to cables, wires and tubes, and had to druck an annoying IV attachment on her hand, she still had it better than the other little kids (mostly preemies) in the NICU. I felt for those parents, and felt strangely guilty as we watched Ellaven settle into herself, get grounded, and start to thrive.

Ellaven and Dad, Day 2

Finally cleared by the tests on her blood and spinal fluid, Ellaven was released from the NICU after two days that felt like an eternity. We went from the NICU to the nursery to be examined before she was released to us. She arrived in the nursery at exactly 1:11pm. Then she was released to room in with us, and we stayed another two days in the hospital, our first days together as a family, recovering physically and emotionally from what was the worst and best week of our lives.

Ellaven, Day 3

Everything with Ellaven at this point is absolutely perfect. She's a healthy, beautiful little person, and we are extraordinarily lucky to have made our way through this ordeal unscathed. We've tried to guess what the universe was trying to teach us, and the best I can reason is it's reminding me that life is precious, and to not take it for granted. And with Ellaven now here and healthy and incredible, I don't see how I ever could.

Katie's VIP Wristbands

We'd like to thank the amazing people who helped us with and through this experience. Our wonderful midwife Sheila VanDerveer without whom we simply could not have gotten through it, our doula (and Katie's best friend) Natalie Mottley, Katie's sister Kristina who held our spiritual space, and the amazing and truly human teams of doctors and nurses at St. Luke's and CPMC whose commitment was surpassed only by their formidable skills.  We wanted a homebirth very badly, and that was our plan, but we also knew that if we ended up in the hospital, it would be because we absolutely needed -- and wanted -- to be there. And when that's how it went down -- well, we owe a great debt of gratitude (and apologies for my shitty attitude towards hospitals in general) to this team for their work.


About Ellaven's Name

Ellaven, 9 Days Old

Ellaven has shown a curious tendency towards numerological significance. Katie told me she was pregnant on 1/11/11 at 11:11pm ... completely coincidentally. Ellaven was born at 8:44am on 9/10/11 (her actual due date) and weighed 7lbs 11oz ... her pH was 7/11 (but that's not something to brag about). She arrived at CPMC at precisely 1:11pm, and was released two days later at exactly 1:11pm. Ellaven's (and my and Katie's) hospital wristband ID#s were 117755. Finally, Katie and I plan to legalize our marriage on 11/11/11 at 11:11am (however, that happens to be Veteran's Day, so we might be screwed). But so ... as a tribute of sorts, "Ellaven" (pronounced ELL-ah-ven) is a play on the number 11.  


We're excited to see what this kid has in store for us.

The Pants Family

Catching Up ...

OK, it's been a while. Like ... way. Gah, sorry about that.

I think since I've been actually writing for a living, it's gotten harder to write for my own edification. Funny that, actually ... I had an epiphany in the shower back in August that, hey, I get paid ... to write. I'm a writer! It took me 8 months to come to that realization. Well, if you knew how long I've aspired to be a writer, and never did enough (read: anything) to actually accomplish that goal, it's pretty shockingly gratifying to have somehow backed into the job.

Here's a rapid-fire, stream-of-consciousness, top-10 (and other hyphenated adjectives) recap of what's gone on since, what? May? Since my dad was in the hospital? Gah, I'm lame. OK, here goes:

1. Went down to Sun City, AZ (see also: Hell) to take care of my dad and mom while he was hospitalized and went through surgery. It was rough as hell, but it all came out well in the end, particularly my dad's physical health, my mom's mental health, and the level of mutual respect and admiration between me and my parents. There's a lot of intense detail in there, someday to be written, but in short: it was a win-win with a happy ending (not that kind of happy ending, you pervs).

2. Katie and I got two kittens from the SPCA. Two medium-length black fur brothers. They were this striking charcoal gray when we got them, so they're named Earl Gray and Smudge. Practically impossible to tell them apart, short of small tufts of white fur behind Earl's ears. Earl is known as Earl Gray Pants of the Famous Pants Family. Smudge is ... Smooodge. They're never-ending fun, especially when biting our toes during sex. Awesome.

3. Helped manage the main stage at The Crucible's Fire Arts Festival, which was a hoot as always. One of the jobs that fell to me was climbing 25' towers and lighting the pilots on giant propane accumulators (read: flame throwers) every time they were blown out. (Note to self: add to resume the ability to have large explosions go off around my head without so much as a flinch.)

4. Flew to Michigan over 4th of July weekend to help manage the greening team at the new, model for sustainable music festivals Rothbury Music Festival. And that? Was an awesome week.

5. Went to Burning Man. Please enjoy my stock answer when asked how it was: "It was great." So there you go. The event has become more of a community gathering for me rather than a let it all hang out self-expression thing, and that's all just fine. C'est l'evolution. Spent a few days post-event with friends at Katie's family's place in Tahoe which was the perfect decompression.

6. Curated the art for the Treasure Island Music Festival, which was a ball. Brought in Bryan Tedrick's giant steel wing sculpture "Spread Eagle", hanging art from Ezra Li Eismont to decorate the artists' dressing rooms, an excellent interactive piece from Mary Corey March, and artistic furniture customized by Calliope Gazetas and Heidi Sandoval. Very much looking forward to working with Noise Pop and Another Planet Entertainment again on future events ... they were great folks to work with, and they know how to put on a great show.

7. I curated a small show at Gallery N!NE, featuring the works of Thomas Hammel and Ursula Xanthe Young (who I'd wanted to show for well over a year now, and finally got the chance). It's up October 4-13.

8. Currently curating a gallery of photography, and managing a silent auction and a raffle for the Black Rock Arts Foundation's Artumnal Gathering fundraiser at the Bentley Reserve, coming up November 22. Come, dammit!

9. Katie's private massage practice is going exceptionally well (categorize under: told ya so), and she's now working less and making more than ever as a result. And she's enjoying it immensely. Thank god.

10. It looks as though I'll be doing yet more writing for Burning Man, which is exciting.

I think that about covers the important bits, other than watching blithely as the global economy circles the drain. You know, stuff like that. More to come, now that we're all caught up.

Dad Down ...

My 83-year old dad is in the hospital with 2 malignant tumors, one on his kidney, one on his bladder. He was scheduled for surgery to remove them on May 15, but he has since developed a staph infection, and is in quarantine for 7 days. He seems to be responding to IV-fed antibiotics, so hopefully it's not a MRSA (drug-resistant strain of staph), and he'll be able to get back in the surgical queue, but it's all up in the air right now.

My 80-year old mom is freaking the fuck out. And my mom does not freak out. She's realizing the full force of the potential of losing my dad, who she's been with for 45 years, and is coming unwound. Plus, her friends all left Arizona for Utah yesterday, as is their summer routine, leaving her largely alone. So she's surrounded by empty houses, no friends, no prospect of going to Utah (which she loves), stuck in Sun City (which she hates), and my dad in the hospital. Since my dad's always taken care of all the finances (somewhat secretively ... the classic East Coast farmer mentality), she's struggling with how to pay a bill, or which bank account to use. She's having trouble getting answers out of the doctors, and it's clear from our conversations that she can't even process the answers squarely at this point.

This all came on my radar really abruptly (welcome to my stoic family), and I don't even know what to think about it at this moment, except that I gotta get down there and take care of my mom. I'm working on getting DSL installed in their house so I don't suffer under the dial-up, and I'll be able to continue working apace. I have no idea what my timing is right now for going or coming back ... or what's going to happen.

Yay ... good times.

Alchemy

San Francisco isn't much of an art buying town. Art creating? Yes. Art appreciating? Certainly. Art buying? Not so much. If an artist wants to make a career of it, the sad fact is that they have to leave the Bay Area, and head to one of the big art cities: New York, LA, Chicago, or Miami. San Francisco runs a distant (and depressing) 5th.

As unfortunate as that may be, it shouldn't be too surprising, really ... more than anything, San Francisco has a storied tradition of bleeding edge creativity, rugged entrepreneurship, and flying in the face of the norm ... oftentimes swinging wildly at it. Our strength is thus in underground and emerging artists who aren't aiming at the mainstream unless they're doing so through a set of crosshairs.

When that's combined with the laid-back attitude and studied casualness for which the Bay Area is known, it can be understood why audacious spending on a scale commensurate with serious art collection just doesn't happen here. San Franciscans value one another more for what they create than the price tag of the art they hang on their walls.

What the Bay Area needs is an innovative structure for its art market that takes this reality into account, and works with it -- augmenting its strengths and offsetting its weaknesses -- to enable Bay Area artists to make a semblance of a living creating exactly the art they want to create, without having to compromise their vision. Otherwise, artists whose work deserves to be seen, and whose voices need to be heard, will forever while away their days as your neighborhood barista.

I'd like to see this new market become a reality, and to that end, I've been curating art exhibitions for a variety of events featuring an eclectic mix of emerging artists, styles and media. The most recent was part of False Profit's Alchemy, an interactive art event at San Francisco's CELLspace. It hosted over 600 attendees, all of whom seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves as they took part in the various interactive aspects of the evening. The gallery featured a variety of oil paintings, pen and ink drawings, photography, collage, print-making, sculpture (works in steel, vinyl and cement), video, and an interactive site-specific installation. The represented artists ranged in age from 21 to 50+.

It was great working with the smart, driven folks at False Profit, and to have the opportunity to exhibit a strong showing of emerging artists to an appreciative crowd. Now ... to just get that crowd to put their money where their appreciation is ....

The Crucible's "Firebird" Fire Ballet

I just wrapped up stage management duties for a two-week run of The Crucible's latest fire ballet, this time it was their take on Stravinsky's Firebird.

I say "take" loosely, of course, since I have a feeling the traditional presentation of Firebird didn't include disco, funk, fire, a stunt motorcyclist, a flaming tutu, and an actual (not a prop) Pontiac Firebird being flown onto the stage. Yep, for reals.

It's always a good time working on the Crucible's productions. You missed this one? Sucks for you. Big mistake. Next time, go. Good cause, good show, good time ... you won't be left wanting for "You have got to be kidding me, they did not just do that. Good lord, they did just do that."

Big props to the Cru crew and their raging talents, constant innovation, and big hearts.

Yuri's Night

Billed as the annual celebration of Yuri Gagarin's being the first human shot into space (the first terrestrials sent were fruit flies ... followed by a dog, which died a panicked, painful death within hours of launch ... brutal, but I digress), Yuri's Night World Space Party is a collection of 198 parties taking place in 51 countries on 7 continents around the world on April 12th. The Bay Area, certainly no slouch when it comes to parties, stacks the deck by throwing it at the birthplace, home and retirement community of awesome: NASA's Moffett Field.

If you're lame, like me, and get your tickets late, like I did, you really take it in the pooper. At $50 a pop, that's a tall order for getting your money's worth. At the very least, there had better be singing frogs and free-flowing booze and mile-high porn if I'm shelling out $50. Sadly, none were in attendance. And yet ...

It was way cool. Long story short, Yuri's Night was simply the closest thing to Burning Man off playa. It was like somebody had taken the coolest parts of Black Rock City (the art, the scientific innovation, the music, the interesting smart people), combined it with long beer lines, and paved it.

Instead of artists slaving away on large-scale art installations all year long, Moffett Field's freakishly large, awe-inspiring buildings, mongo planes and gigantic signs warning of various ways you can be killed more than provided the recommended daily allowance of WTF? Plus, looking around and seeing a NASA logo when you've got a head full of whatever (and many seemed to, I might add)? That's pretty cool.

Next year, check it out. Get your tickets early.

Hillary Is Officially Pathetic

Today was the Pennsylvania Democratic Primary. Hanging on to any shred of hope, against the odds and all evidence to the contrary, Hillary Clinton remains determined to stick it out and "fight". Because she's "a fighter".

*sigh*

Hillary has become that girl at the prom who hasn't quite gotten the clue that nobody wants to dance with her. She moves in a personal fantasy world, determinedly oblivious to the fact that nobody's going to make out with her tonight ... she keeps trying to talk to different boys, smiling expectantly. Now she's trying to get in a limo to the after party, while the people inside are making quick excuses that there's no more room in the car, Hill, but she just knows she can fit!

Barack, the nice kid, who had spent all school year being kind to her, now sits in the corner of the limo, uncomfortably half-smiling toward her before looking down at his shoes as the doors of the limo close and it pulls away, leaving her standing at the curb.

She's that girl. Nobody wants to remember that girl, and the suffering she brought upon herself. Because we're reminded of the suffering we wrought upon ourselves through our complicity.