Rosemary's Birth Story

First real chance to hold Rosemary. If I look a little yellow in the picture… I was! Rosemary Lucille Tignor

Born April 8, 2017

9 lbs 4 oz

9:30 p.m.

This, my dear sweet Rosemary Lucille, is the beginning of your life story.

You are treasured and you are loved. God has big plans for your life, to serve his will, to serve others, and to bring his light and joy to a searching world.

The word God gave me for you is “Perseverance.” May you never give up the tasks he gives you to do. May you work with endurance, grace and diligence in your every endeavor. May your perseverant spirit and love bring you ever closer to the godliness of the Lord Jesus. May your persistent spirit and never ending devotion to the giver of Life be a beacon of light and hope to a world that often wants to give up. May your perseverance bring you eternal life, bring others a witness to the faithfulness of God, and bring God glory.

When I first found out I was pregnant with you, I was surprised and a little scared. Samuel was just 5 months old and I knew with our upcoming move to Asia, being pregnant was not going to be easy. I waited two days to tell your dad, a record for me. You have a great dad. He loves you and he loves all our children. He reassured me everything would be OK and we would make things work.

But, we were a little scared that something was wrong too— because I wasn’t sick. And, I’ve always been sick at the beginning of a pregnancy. Usually, vomiting at all hours of the day and just a terrible icky feeling of fatigue for weeks. But, I wasn’t. So, we thought something was wrong and that we might lose you, sweet baby.

I was anxious to go to a doctor and find out exactly how far along I was and if you were OK. So, I scheduled an appointment at the UND medical clinic. And, they charged me about $200 and literally did not do a thing. I was really upset. No ultrasound. No check of any kind. They didn’t even weigh me that day or take my blood pressure. It was super frustrating.

I paid the bill but we didn’t even know if you were OK or not yet and we were leaving for Asia soon. It was unsettling to say the least to be making a major international move and wondering if I was going to have a miscarriage on the 24+ trip over.

I felt a little nauseous and sick as we waited in Dallas to board our plane to Asia. I wondered if you were OK, but Daniel and I were both cautious to believe because most of the pregnancy symptoms just hadn’t been there.

As soon as we got to Bangkok, I was eager to see a doctor and get an ultrasound. I was so anxious to know what was going to become of you. I walked to the hospital down the street from our hotel by myself and timidly asked for someone who spoke English to help me see a doctor since I speak absolutely no Thai.

After they figured out what I wanted, I waited for about 2 hours to see a doctor and have an ultrasound. I was doing the calculations in my head and thinking that I should be about 12 weeks pregnant by this point. I was nervous about the cultural and language barriers and nervous about the outcome of the ultrasound. The doctor wasn’t very friendly, but maybe because he didn’t speak much English and that seemed to make the whole situation worse for me. He did the ultrasound. And, he couldn’t find a heart beat. He said well, maybe it was just too soon, but I thought he just was trying to avoid the awkwardness of telling me the truth. He said the ultrasound was measuring only 7 weeks, which definitely couldn’t be right. And, he tried again, but couldn’t find the heartbeat. He printed out an undecipherable photo and I left.

Sad. Depressed. A least I knew, I thought. And, so I walked back to the hotel and told your dad. Well, we decided, time to press ahead. We had a lot going on. We had a lot of responsibilities. At least we knew. And, at least we could just try to ignore it now and move on. And, pray the miscarriage didn’t happen on a long bus ride, or on an airplane.

And, we plowed ahead with all that was before us. And, tried not to think too much about the impending miscarriage.

But a month passed and nothing had happened. And, we were back in Bangkok again for our first visa run after a rough month of trying to get settled back to life in Asia. I decided the best thing to do was go back to the hospital and ask for another ultrasound. I had heard when I had a previous miscarriage that sometimes a woman’s body just absorbs the tissue and I thought maybe that is what had happened. In some ways, that was at least a little comforting that you had just become part of me again, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. I still cried.

I made the walk from our hotel back to the hospital again, this time just wanting to know for sure what was going on so I could mentally and emotionally really move on. If you’ve never had to talk about a sensitive or embarrassing subject across cultures, you’re lucky. It’s not fun. It’s terrible. The cultural barrier and language barrier compounded my emotional state and I wanted to burst into tears every time I had to tell yet another person why I was at the hospital “I am pregnant. But I think I may have a miscarriage. No, this isn’t my first pregnancy. Yes, the kids are close together. Can I see a doctor? Can I have an ultrasound?” Ugh. I wanted someone else to do all the talking for me. I was tired of trying to hold it together for these people I didn’t know who stared at the crazy foreigner who had come to see them.

After I had told what felt like hundreds of people my concerns, I was finally brought to a doctor who would do an ultrasound. Finally, I would know and be “done with” this and could really move on, I thought.

The doctor positioned the ultrasound on my stomach and I looked away from the grainy monitor before changing my mind and staring it down instead. He positioned it for what seemed like a really long time of looking at nothing before finally coming to rest on a very, definitely, that-must-be the shape of a growing baby. You measured 16 weeks, right as you should have according to our calculations.

You were alive! My baby was alive. My sweet baby. Alive. Growing. Healthy.

How that first ultrasound was wrong, I do not know. I don’t care.

I’ll never be ashamed to have children close together. I will never be ashamed to bear life. To give life. To have my body broken for you, dear sweet child. I am thankful for you.

I left the hospital in a state of shock. Daniel and I had decided not to hope and just to prepare for the bad news that awaited us. You had been dead to us and we had already grieved. And, now, here you were, resurrected life!

As I walked the short distance back to our hotel, I knew the word God had given me for you: Perseverance.

It was a word just as much for me I felt as it would be for you. God knew only his strength and perseverance would get me through moving back to Asia, caring for three other children, and being pregnant.

Because we thought we were going to miscarry, we hadn’t told anyone we were pregnant, and now we were already 16 weeks along. We waited another month and then made the announcement. Some people congratulated us. Some people were reprovingly silent.

April is a hard time to be due with a baby in Southeast Asia. It’s a time to celebrate the New Year here and everything shuts down in the country for water festival. My official due date for you was April 4. My first doctor was going to be leaving town. And, the second doctor I reluctantly switched to at 36 weeks pregnant told me she was leaving for vacation on April 10 and if I didn’t have the baby before then, we’d have to go to another hospital in town to deliver, which I did not want to do.

The slightly better delivery table. Side note to explain why: Both hospitals I was choosing from only provide the very basics in care. The comfort of the mother is not considered in any of the design or procedure for labor. The “labor” room is a small room with 5 beds not spaced more than 2 feet apart with no curtain or anything separating them for privacy. But, the worse part of both hospitals is the delivery room and, in particular, the “delivery table,” which is a metal, completely flat table about 18 inches wide and only three feet long and way too high off the ground (so the doctor can easily see everything without bending at all). When I saw it, I about had an anxiety attack as I imagined the horror of being on top of that tiny table huge and pregnant without any hope of being able to switch positions without falling to my death over the side.

Well, my first choice hospital’s delivery table was a tad, slightly better, slightly less terrifying than the hospital I would have to switch to if you were born after the imposed April 10th deadline. Weeks before your birth, every time I thought of that terrible delivery table, I thought that maybe delivering you in the back of a taxi or quickly in my home wouldn’t be so bad after all! I kept debating in my head if I should be praying to make it to the hospital or praying that I wouldn’t.

So, I was hoping that I would deliver you before the April 10th deadline which would push me to the other, more terrible delivery table at hospital choice #2.

I had a doctor appointment scheduled for April 6 where I was fairly certain the doctor was going to strip my membranes and try to put me into labor. April 6 came, but Daniel and I both felt like we should wait as long as possible for you to make your appearance on your own. So, we skipped the doctor appointment and stayed home. And, waited. And, my anxiety was admittedly high. We prayed and waited. But, with the April 10 date lingering and a lot of anxiety about what we should do, we decided to go to the doctor on April 8.

Daniel came with me and we got to the hospital about 3 o’clock. But, our doctor hadn’t arrived yet, so we sat and waited. About 4: 15 I started having contractions that weren’t painful, but felt more real to me. So, I hoped and prayed they were real and that you could be born naturally. I had contractions consistently, every 5 minutes for the next hour as we waited for the doctor. When we saw the doctor about 5:15, she wanted to strip the membranes. I felt better about saying yes because of the consistent contractions. She did the procedure and told me I was already 7 cm dilated! Thankful for this news, she told us to go to get checked in upstairs at labor and delivery.

My contractions continued but were not painful and mostly we just sat around and talked and waited on one of the small beds in the labor room. The nurses and staff stared at me and talked under their breath about us. I think I am the only foreigner who has ever delivered at Zaw Nyi Bwa hospital.

We called a friend to bring us our hospital things (which we had left at home) and called an Australian lady, Robin, who lives in town and who had agreed to be with us for your birth. She arrived and we continued to chat and walk around.

About 8 p.m. the doctor came to check me and said I was only at 8 cm and she was a little put off by my “slow progress” since I had only dilated 1 cm in about 3 hours. She wanted to break my water, and suggested moving me to the terrible delivery table to do it. I preferred to let the process happen naturally if possible and stay in the more comfortable labor room as long as possible. She reluctantly said she would come back in an hour and check me again.

Waiting in the “labor” room until our hospital room was ready. Almost immediately after she left, the contractions picked up. For the previous three hours, the contractions had caused me practically no pain or discomfort, but now they were increasing in intensity and becoming more uncomfortable. Very quickly, the familiar pain in my hips began (I’ve had it with all my previous deliveries) and I was asking for help from Robin and your dad to apply counter pressure. I was sitting up on the edge of the bed with my legs dangling over the side, Robin on the left side of me and your dad on the right.

Just a few minutes later, I felt the urge to push. Daniel asked the nurse assistant (who had been ignoring us totally) to quickly call the doctor, which she jumped to do. As she was still talking on a phone, my water broke in a mess all over the place. Quickly, Robin checked me and saw your head crowning as I was yelling in Burmese, “Help me. Help me!” to the nurse across the room.

The nurse dropped her phone and jumped up on the bed to get into a position to help deliver you. She was standing kind of bent over me. And as she was trying to get situated, she slipped on the “mess” and fell hard on the floor getting completely dirty. She hurriedly got back up and got back on the bed standing over me again. My eyes were closed and I pushed twice and you were delivered over the edge of the bed.

The pushing and delivery was so quick, the nurse assistant who had fallen and delivered you by herself looked terrified by what had just happened. I saw her expression and thought something was wrong. I kept asking if you were OK and if I was OK.

Robin was trying to reassure me everything was alright. By this time, my doctor had arrived and they moved me to the terrible delivery table to finish the labor process. Robin came with me.

Your Daddy loves you! Your dad was with you in another room as the nurses dressed you and wrapped you up. I wanted to hold you and nurse you immediately but I was in that delivery room quite a while as I had a post-partum hemorrhage and they were trying to control the bleeding. After an injection and oral medicine, and painful pushing on my stomach (that hurt worse than the labor or delivery!), they finally let me move back to the other room and hold you and nurse you.

We couldn’t be more grateful that God spared your life and allowed you to be born after a full-term healthy pregnancy. We are so thankful that God was with us during your labor and delivery. We are thankful for your quick entrance to the world and your safe delivery. We are grateful for your life! Thank you, God, for adding Rosie to our family!

God created you to do good things! I am so proud to be your mom.