TL/DR- We had a baby. Exactly 4 months, 12 hours, and 44 years after your dad was born on April 25th, at 5:53pm
My wife, the steady rock, was amazing. The care team was amazing. By the end, there were a lot of tears and a considerable amount of laughter that wasn't a direct result of my terrible sense of humor. (I only managed one joke, as the 1st name of one of the doctor's was "Brock" so I asked if anyone had ever referred to him as "Doc Brock". I was quickly shooshed by my wife, which could've been a shoosh or possibly her push-breathing during contractions.) It was a pretty normal birth on the perfect day, however it's forever skewed my relationship with TV birth's since it was only a month ago I was watching a TV program at the gym on Netflix that was showing a woman giving birth at home, with only her husband and a midwife while she glistened, sort of grimaced, and out popped a rubber baby with ZERO effort and I shouted "BULLLLLLLSHIT*" while on the treadmill. I'm surprised my membership wasn't suspended.
She was teeny tiny- not premature, mind you...she was fully formed, just pocket sized. Five pounds, fourteen ounces of blonde, curly-haired perfection**. Nurse Rachel got her wish and was able to meet her before the end of her shift, and from beginning of the show until baby made their debut was a whopping 45 minutes- an impressive feat we've been chalking up to really good luck, and my wife being fortunate enough to be active and ambulatory during the majority of her pregnancy. Afterwards, we welcomed family, checked the overwhelming number of voice messages when we finally turned our phones on, became accustomed to the few days of post-birth hospital life (You're surprise how few fucks you give walking into a gift shop or cafe' in naught but your sleep shorts and unkempt hair to get your wife some ginger ale.)
We welcomed few visitors outside of family before leaving, with one friend staring at the overnight nurse who left as she was visiting before commenting: "Jesus...they are beautiful". We were given the final departure instructions our last day-in the form of body healing and self care for my wife, which included no nookie for a few weeks. (Our nurse, somewhat aghast and conspiratorial, confided to us: "I have WALKED IN on people having sex the day after childbirth. And I have HEARD of women going in for their 3 month Ob/Gyn follow-up and learning they're PREGNANT!"...so if, uh...you know the depth of exhaustion and physical "don't even think-about-it"-ness post-childbirth, then to hear those two stories'd make your butt-hair cringe.)
When we left, our daughter was...impossibly...delicate seeming. In a car seat that seemed entirely too big for her, as she slept soundly the whole way home. It was a sunny day, Spring, I had just over a week left of time away from work, and I was still processing the fact that this was one of those days I'd remember as being the first of it's kind, and I'd never forget, until the literal day I shuffle off to the sweet unknown. A dad. A family. A crowd. And at the time as the billboards and exits on 94Westbound whipped by, I still wasn't 100% in my right head-space about the ordeal or what was to come
*"Arrow" season 7 finale. Oliver Queen and Felicity give birth to their daughter, Mia and it was hot soap opera garbage it was FINE OKAY? IT'S JUST A GODDAMN CW SUPERHERO SHOW WHAT DID I WANT AN EPISODE OF NOVA?
**Me. I had white blonde curly hair for the 1st ten years of my life that I hated until I discovered Aussie Sprunch Hairspray to paste it down. I worry that she'll hate it to, and be resentful of people who go out of their way to curl or perm their hair.
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Post-Partum Post-Mortem
So that, my daughter, is the story of you. I'll probably fill you in on the hairier details should you someday ask, or care. I don't know what kind of person you'll be, or if you'll wind up the kind of megalomaniacal evil genius that doffs their previous persona in the interest of growth, and has no love or sentiment toward their past. Mom and Dad will always remind each other of the details and the in-between, as we just did tonight filling in the 2020 Yoga Cats calendar (we give each other every year) with important dates and flip through 2019 to copy over birthday's. 4/25, the perfect day, will always be yours, and for mom and dad to remember the events that took place to get you here.
So far, 8 months in, I'm clearly no better a writer than I was when I started- much less when I started blogging 16 years ago. We had, and still have, those sleepless nights where we blink and through the fug of exhaustion wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. I changed my first diaper...a grown, 44 year old man rubbing his eyes at 2am and putting down a puppy pee pad on your changing table so he doesn't have to throw the towel-pad in the wash because he's lazy. Just tucking his hair back and doing it. We've taken professional pictures, shown you off to family and friends, celebrated birthdays and public outings to the park, to the mall. Made it through the Summer, the too-short Fall and Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas (daddy's birthday!) and into the new year. Your hairy brother- your first good boy- our doggo Blu has adopted you, giving you kisses and bringing you his stuffed pig. Our cat...has largely ignored you after you took over his sleeping cage in the nursery. (Aka- your crib) You're in day care, with all the other infant gnip-gnorks, being social and making your teachers smile when we drop you off and being sent home with smeary art work we love and lovingly stick on the fridge.
And though we laugh now at the thought of embarrassing you, mom and dad were antsy when it came to intimacy and learned (early on) how to navigate that in the brief moments when you were sleeping mere feet away and when your cries would make us laugh and stop and awkwardly stumble to check on your sweet self.
I want to give you the sun and stars, but I don't want to blind you to the world, my love. Even we have cloudy and dark days that come as a surprise. You were born into an uneasy and divisive time in the world as it is- but here at home mom and dad are human and so are you. We've been exhausted to the point of tears, sometimes unable to speak clearly or in the honest and steady way that used to define who we were. The early days of attention and audiences dwindle, and you suddenly find yourself back in a routine that makes you feel isolated, and very alone. Even when your house feels very full. The hubris of your dad thinking that there isn't too much he cannot handle and that nothing will really change will sink him, mentally, when things upturn like things always do when there's a newborn at home. And when you get older, changes can be very very hard.
There are dark days when your dad is tired of socializing with family, and the obligations become overwhelming. When he gets down because his mom and dad- your gramma and grampa- aren't here any more to see you grow up. Because his extended family is spread pretty far and is hard to visit all the time. Because his friends who are his framily have their own families and obligations, and it can make you feel like you've done something wrong, even if you haven't.
We've been sick, together, with you, and unable to have the other be the strong and healthy partner who steers while the other convalesces, and even experienced the fear and panic that happens when you find your infant daughter in the ICU with tubes and monitors and and a viral sickness that robs her of her little breath.
But from those moments, little love, mom and dad have grown as well. We imagined we'd be parents who wouldn't blindly panic at the first sniffle, and now are much more cautious in how delicate your health can be. We've both adopted healthier habits at home as well- we're both resuming our physical health routines (you laugh and stare as daddy does his silly stretches and kicks in the morning, and giggle when he sing-song counts the reps lifting weights while you're in your swing.) Daddy is teetotalling, maybe for good, and this is a word you'll understand better when you get older, but it's something your gramma had to do when he was a baby, and something your dad decided to do in order to adopt better habits and (hopefully) live to be 100. Or at least be the foxy 62 year old dad in the audience when you graduate high school.
And you've grown, my little peanut. I remember telling friends when you were this tiny, pink potato that couldn't hold up it's neck that I couldn't wait to see your personality, and it didn't disappoint. The first smiles, laughs, giggles, and articulating "da-da-da-da-da-da" over and over again put us over the moon. Even the moods, the fits, the thoughtful looks when we know you're crapping your pants are all things to wonder about. And like my wife is always reminding me- for as many things you're experiencing that are new and for the first time? We are, too.
And as much as I don't like conforming to the normal, I can't wait to see the kind of person you'll become. Mommy and daddy love you very much, my loving joy.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Friday, December 27, 2019
The calm before the storm...
If I can back up again...there are secure doors outside of the maternity ward at the hospital...
I forget if I mentioned it before, but when we had our hospital tour earlier in the year, when you arrive on baby day you learn that you're required to buzz the maternity entrance, wait, and then be let in. (There is NO dramatic kicking in the door demanding to see your wife) Security door buzzers sort of give me the smallest bit of pause for some weird reason. I think buzzers to be embarrassing, having to press a button which is probably making a BIG noise somewhere behind the doors while someone is sitting there, watching a video feed snickering at my not-able-to-be-let-in-ineptitude cruelly waits to see if I start looking around for help before buzzing me in. It sounds dramatic, sure, but on the morning of April 25th it's safe to say I wasn't in my right headspace already so these kind of scenarios seem perfectly reasonable.
What the door-buzzer-gatekeeper would have seen in the monitor around 9:30 am, was an adult man wearing the dad-iest outfit possible consisting of cargo shorts, a hoodie, short-sleeved patterned shirt, and brimming with enough baggage/luggage you'd think he's in the pre-check line at the airport to go on an overseas flight.
The buzzing ends. A telltale click as the doors swing inward...
I enter...
As I walk in there's this tall, attractive blonde nurse who's wearing an easy smile and looking at me (I assume) like she's seen MANY sweaty overweight nervous dad's day-in-day-out for years except... she's been making eye contact with me for...a little too long and...Is...is she... she is. She's still staring? And oh boy...NOW she's walking toward me and heyyyyyy, am I exuding new dad pheromones or something? Maybe it's the peanut butter from the dog earlier this morning? Do..do I still got game? Do I..play..games...gameboy...Nintendo...
(Note: The medical staff being fetching is going to be coming up later. Stay with us.)
She speaks to me..
Nurse: "Mike?"
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: (Says my wife's name)
Me: "Yes. Can you. I mean, sorry. Which, uh, is she in the same room we were in 2 days ago or has she..like. Moved?"
Nurse: (Laughing) "No. I'm NURSE Rachel."
Me: "I'm sorry. Ha. Could...are you serious? Because I'm kinda fucking frazzled and I don't know if you just said my wife's name or not"
Nurse: (More...laughing. This is good for me. I have an audience) "Sorry! Nope, come on down. She's getting prepped for her epidural and I snuck her some contraband peanut butter toast because she said she was hungry. You (points at me) are good. She (Clicks thumb back down hallway) is down thataway"
I already like Nurse Rachel quite a bit.
As I drop my stuff in her room, I'm relieved to see my wife was prepped and looking more comfortable than she had in weeks. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after to assist with the procedure and as he was checking my wifes lines he commented that they "Looked really good" with a hint of surprise. Nurse Rachel endeared herself to me even further with her feigned disgust at the passively condescending way he made the comment, and was having none of it.
"I know. I did them myself".
I guess I wasn't prepared for that kind of verbal sparring, but it was cool to see that she wasn't about to take his shit. He seemed unfazed as he moved on, and later I was told it wasn't meant to be prickish, but he makes dozens and dozens of rounds every day, does his job with clinical efficiency, and moves on,. So...it was a compliment? Question mark? Anway.
The light's in her room were dimmed so resting could take place when my wife's mom showed up to lend support as my wife drifted in and out of sleep. I took the time to walk and chat with Nurse Rachel in order to get caught up on doings in the brief time I went home and came back since apparently:
-A large construction team started doing loud, NOISY work on the automatic doors to surgery which were very close to my wife's room and were preventing her from sleeping. Nurse Rachel went out and took them to task for their inconsideration, and (HILARIOUSLY) the staff gave us a Target gift card for the inconvenience.
-The maternity wing of the hospital, very quickly and early, hit occupational capacity in the morning so the fact that we arrived as early as we did was a good sign, as they started having to direct new parents to their respective "B" choice hospitals. (No room at the Inn, dig?)
-There was an emergency C section that Nurse Rachel needed to assist with soon after my wife was set up with her IV's. (My wife recalled much screaming and calamity in the halls. Nurse Rachel ran off without so much as a word when her walkie started squawking. When she came back she said "We're good. Someone was just a prime candidate for a Caesarian today".) As our nurse herself, well we toured the wing and she showed me where to get the crunchy delicious hospital ice when I asked if I could have some, and told me a little about herself:
Married with 2 boys. She did some modeling (see?) to pay for nursing school. Loves her job. Gave me some indirect pointers and pro-tips for new parents that she said she wished she knew. ("Don't cut their nails until much, much later. You will chew their nails, which sounds gross but it's fine. I cut my first son's nails and didn't realize they weren't fully formed which meant I was snipping skin and he buh-LED!!! I was like...'UGH! I'M the WORST mom EVER!' You'll say you're the worst parent a lot for the first few months.")
I managed to catch a few winks in the afternoon so when I woke up we sent mom away for a little bit as the care team was coming in for some baby birthing business. The first thing I noticed was my wife's regular Ob/Gyn wasn't among them as the introductions were being made- not the end of the world, but you always hope that relationship continues from beginning to end.
The second thing I noticed? Which I meant to keep to myself forever in order to treat the day of the birth of my child with respect and sensitivity...was was that they were all young and cute. Great.
This doctor was a tan, brightly dispositioned woman with the kind of energy that said she finished an Ironman this morning before hitting a sunrise yoga class, who also had a really awesome laugh (sidenote- Wife wants it mentioned she probably shops at or models for Athleta) SHE says "So, I'll be attending the birth because your doctor isn't on call tonight, however we were classmates and did our residency together so we're actually good friends." (This was...really kind of cool to hear. I expected a lot of dispassionate and clinical business-minded folk sans humor.) We're then introduced to the remaining care team and told "We're hear to see where you're dilated to, and to break your water to see if we can't move things along a bit faster, yeah?"
NOT ON MY WATCH, DOC!
"Wait. WAIT wait wait wait wait. If THIS is true, then my biology classes lied to us, the birthing class lied to us. MY wife was SUPPOSED to be in the kitchen mixing SOMETHING and it was going to break and flow dramatically all over the hardwood floors. I'm feeling we're missing part of the experience!"
They laugh at my stupid faux umbrage, which is nice, as my wife's eyes roll back so hard it's as if she's inspecting her pillow. We all start chatting and I learn the care team is all under 30 and 2 of them are getting their residency. They are all blonde with hair in pony tails. One has glasses. All have Crocs on which I tell them we've noticed and I'm given the dispassionate commentary I've expected when I'm told it's easier to wash blood and human tissue off of them at the end of the shift. Rad. I mention my wife had to buy Crocs which my wife groans about, even sedated, because she hates that she owns Croc sandals even though they're comfy AF.
Before she leaves, Nurse Rachel hangs back and says something I imagine she says to a lot of people, but in the moment I wanted it committed it to memory: "So. I really like the both of you. A lot. My shift ends at 7pm, but I want to meet this baby tonight. I think it'll happen, so I'll be back in a bit to check. We're almost there."
And then we're left alone again. Just...I know who I am. I'm sensitive about being weird and strange and not-so-serious. I know I'm nervous and on a good day I'm a frassy talky-meat making stupid jokes. Conversely, I know the gravity of what we're going through that morning. And I want my wife to see me as me and not me playing a role of stoic dad. I want the care team to know I trust them and won't second guess them or act like I know more because I read something somewhere. The easier of a patient and patient partner I am, the better I think it'll be for everyone. If a little levity let's them know I won't lose my shit when it's go time, then I'd like to think my being silly while also being respectful make a better experience during this brief, emotional and intense affair.
Mom returns and brushes my wife's hair. I check my phone and confirm the pets and the house are taken care of before shutting off my phone for the last time of the evening.
My wife beckons me over as mom retreats to give updates to the family via text. I'm holding her hand and she says to me:
"I'm scared"
"I know. But we're in it. And I'm right here. And I'm not going any where. You got this."
"I love you"
"I love you"
"Why are all the doctors and nurses so hot?"
"I'm glad you noticed so I didn't have to keep it to myself"
"Seriously. And young"
"Ok. We'll carbon date them later."
It's too quiet. Nurse Rachel returns. She floomfs some pillows. Brings more water and ice. Checks machines...I'm curious.
"Hey".
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't there be more people here? I feel like we paid for more people" (Laughter. It's an affirming laugh. I didn't tell my wife that I was starting to shake a little.)
"Not right now. When it's 'go time', you'll know"
"Ok. Can I...Can I ask probably a stupid question?"
"Shoot"
"Have you ever had to deliver a baby by yourself before?"
Nurse Rachel stops tucking in my wife for a second and looks at me curiously before that look changes to sort of a hard steely squint.
"It's not a dumb question. And 'Yes'. LOT'S of times."
"Ah."
"Sometimes the doctor is late, sometimes the baby gets impatient...hell, I've even recruited the dad to help out and pull the kid out"
I have a purpose.
"Really?"
"Yup"
I step away from the bed and hold my arms out and bent up with my hands closed and pointing upward. "I'm ready".
"...I'm sorry. What are you doing?"
"Let's go. Let's do this"
Nurse Rachel looks really confused as she goes back to her actual job but I was saved by one of the residents laughing as she walked in (Blonde. Ponytail. Glasses. Cute.)
"He wants to get scrubbed for surgery"
Much relief. Joke grenade exploded.
"Seriously. I'm ready. I can do this. I've watched 'M*A*S*H' like, 5 or 6 times over. I'm hella ready"
"That's amazing. I LOVE 'M*A*S*H'..." (She loves it, by the way.)
"Me too. My Dad and I used to watch together when I I was a kid. I remem-..."
The birth mother objects, at this juncture...
"Stop. STOP. Please. No more jokes. No more. I don't want to be giving birth with the theme music from 'M*A*S*H' stuck in my head. Please."*
Chastened, I muttered an apology and moved back up to my station by my wife's head. At this point, things get a little muddled as I remember giving her sips of water and kissing her head a lot while the "blip" of the monitor next to me was steady. Muddled, mind you. And fast. Because I feel like I looked down at my wife and said supportive things, and then I looked up and before I really knew what was happening ("Do I need a mask? A gown? A shower?") a team of doctor's and nurses in gowns, plastic face shields, gloves, and the whole shebang swarmed in and broke my wife's bed apart into birthing mode with the speed and efficiency of an Indy 500 tire change.
It was "go time".
*My wife would later tell me as we were talking about it her brain was already envisioning the opening scene during the credits of the brown grassy fields as the helicopter shadow speeds over the landscape.
I forget if I mentioned it before, but when we had our hospital tour earlier in the year, when you arrive on baby day you learn that you're required to buzz the maternity entrance, wait, and then be let in. (There is NO dramatic kicking in the door demanding to see your wife) Security door buzzers sort of give me the smallest bit of pause for some weird reason. I think buzzers to be embarrassing, having to press a button which is probably making a BIG noise somewhere behind the doors while someone is sitting there, watching a video feed snickering at my not-able-to-be-let-in-ineptitude cruelly waits to see if I start looking around for help before buzzing me in. It sounds dramatic, sure, but on the morning of April 25th it's safe to say I wasn't in my right headspace already so these kind of scenarios seem perfectly reasonable.
What the door-buzzer-gatekeeper would have seen in the monitor around 9:30 am, was an adult man wearing the dad-iest outfit possible consisting of cargo shorts, a hoodie, short-sleeved patterned shirt, and brimming with enough baggage/luggage you'd think he's in the pre-check line at the airport to go on an overseas flight.
The buzzing ends. A telltale click as the doors swing inward...
I enter...
As I walk in there's this tall, attractive blonde nurse who's wearing an easy smile and looking at me (I assume) like she's seen MANY sweaty overweight nervous dad's day-in-day-out for years except... she's been making eye contact with me for...a little too long and...Is...is she... she is. She's still staring? And oh boy...NOW she's walking toward me and heyyyyyy, am I exuding new dad pheromones or something? Maybe it's the peanut butter from the dog earlier this morning? Do..do I still got game? Do I..play..games...gameboy...Nintendo...
(Note: The medical staff being fetching is going to be coming up later. Stay with us.)
She speaks to me..
Nurse: "Mike?"
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: (Says my wife's name)
Me: "Yes. Can you. I mean, sorry. Which, uh, is she in the same room we were in 2 days ago or has she..like. Moved?"
Nurse: (Laughing) "No. I'm NURSE Rachel."
Me: "I'm sorry. Ha. Could...are you serious? Because I'm kinda fucking frazzled and I don't know if you just said my wife's name or not"
Nurse: (More...laughing. This is good for me. I have an audience) "Sorry! Nope, come on down. She's getting prepped for her epidural and I snuck her some contraband peanut butter toast because she said she was hungry. You (points at me) are good. She (Clicks thumb back down hallway) is down thataway"
I already like Nurse Rachel quite a bit.
As I drop my stuff in her room, I'm relieved to see my wife was prepped and looking more comfortable than she had in weeks. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after to assist with the procedure and as he was checking my wifes lines he commented that they "Looked really good" with a hint of surprise. Nurse Rachel endeared herself to me even further with her feigned disgust at the passively condescending way he made the comment, and was having none of it.
"I know. I did them myself".
I guess I wasn't prepared for that kind of verbal sparring, but it was cool to see that she wasn't about to take his shit. He seemed unfazed as he moved on, and later I was told it wasn't meant to be prickish, but he makes dozens and dozens of rounds every day, does his job with clinical efficiency, and moves on,. So...it was a compliment? Question mark? Anway.
The light's in her room were dimmed so resting could take place when my wife's mom showed up to lend support as my wife drifted in and out of sleep. I took the time to walk and chat with Nurse Rachel in order to get caught up on doings in the brief time I went home and came back since apparently:
-A large construction team started doing loud, NOISY work on the automatic doors to surgery which were very close to my wife's room and were preventing her from sleeping. Nurse Rachel went out and took them to task for their inconsideration, and (HILARIOUSLY) the staff gave us a Target gift card for the inconvenience.
-The maternity wing of the hospital, very quickly and early, hit occupational capacity in the morning so the fact that we arrived as early as we did was a good sign, as they started having to direct new parents to their respective "B" choice hospitals. (No room at the Inn, dig?)
-There was an emergency C section that Nurse Rachel needed to assist with soon after my wife was set up with her IV's. (My wife recalled much screaming and calamity in the halls. Nurse Rachel ran off without so much as a word when her walkie started squawking. When she came back she said "We're good. Someone was just a prime candidate for a Caesarian today".) As our nurse herself, well we toured the wing and she showed me where to get the crunchy delicious hospital ice when I asked if I could have some, and told me a little about herself:
Married with 2 boys. She did some modeling (see?) to pay for nursing school. Loves her job. Gave me some indirect pointers and pro-tips for new parents that she said she wished she knew. ("Don't cut their nails until much, much later. You will chew their nails, which sounds gross but it's fine. I cut my first son's nails and didn't realize they weren't fully formed which meant I was snipping skin and he buh-LED!!! I was like...'UGH! I'M the WORST mom EVER!' You'll say you're the worst parent a lot for the first few months.")
I managed to catch a few winks in the afternoon so when I woke up we sent mom away for a little bit as the care team was coming in for some baby birthing business. The first thing I noticed was my wife's regular Ob/Gyn wasn't among them as the introductions were being made- not the end of the world, but you always hope that relationship continues from beginning to end.
The second thing I noticed? Which I meant to keep to myself forever in order to treat the day of the birth of my child with respect and sensitivity...was was that they were all young and cute. Great.
This doctor was a tan, brightly dispositioned woman with the kind of energy that said she finished an Ironman this morning before hitting a sunrise yoga class, who also had a really awesome laugh (sidenote- Wife wants it mentioned she probably shops at or models for Athleta) SHE says "So, I'll be attending the birth because your doctor isn't on call tonight, however we were classmates and did our residency together so we're actually good friends." (This was...really kind of cool to hear. I expected a lot of dispassionate and clinical business-minded folk sans humor.) We're then introduced to the remaining care team and told "We're hear to see where you're dilated to, and to break your water to see if we can't move things along a bit faster, yeah?"
NOT ON MY WATCH, DOC!
"Wait. WAIT wait wait wait wait. If THIS is true, then my biology classes lied to us, the birthing class lied to us. MY wife was SUPPOSED to be in the kitchen mixing SOMETHING and it was going to break and flow dramatically all over the hardwood floors. I'm feeling we're missing part of the experience!"
They laugh at my stupid faux umbrage, which is nice, as my wife's eyes roll back so hard it's as if she's inspecting her pillow. We all start chatting and I learn the care team is all under 30 and 2 of them are getting their residency. They are all blonde with hair in pony tails. One has glasses. All have Crocs on which I tell them we've noticed and I'm given the dispassionate commentary I've expected when I'm told it's easier to wash blood and human tissue off of them at the end of the shift. Rad. I mention my wife had to buy Crocs which my wife groans about, even sedated, because she hates that she owns Croc sandals even though they're comfy AF.
Before she leaves, Nurse Rachel hangs back and says something I imagine she says to a lot of people, but in the moment I wanted it committed it to memory: "So. I really like the both of you. A lot. My shift ends at 7pm, but I want to meet this baby tonight. I think it'll happen, so I'll be back in a bit to check. We're almost there."
And then we're left alone again. Just...I know who I am. I'm sensitive about being weird and strange and not-so-serious. I know I'm nervous and on a good day I'm a frassy talky-meat making stupid jokes. Conversely, I know the gravity of what we're going through that morning. And I want my wife to see me as me and not me playing a role of stoic dad. I want the care team to know I trust them and won't second guess them or act like I know more because I read something somewhere. The easier of a patient and patient partner I am, the better I think it'll be for everyone. If a little levity let's them know I won't lose my shit when it's go time, then I'd like to think my being silly while also being respectful make a better experience during this brief, emotional and intense affair.
Mom returns and brushes my wife's hair. I check my phone and confirm the pets and the house are taken care of before shutting off my phone for the last time of the evening.
My wife beckons me over as mom retreats to give updates to the family via text. I'm holding her hand and she says to me:
"I'm scared"
"I know. But we're in it. And I'm right here. And I'm not going any where. You got this."
"I love you"
"I love you"
"Why are all the doctors and nurses so hot?"
"I'm glad you noticed so I didn't have to keep it to myself"
"Seriously. And young"
"Ok. We'll carbon date them later."
It's too quiet. Nurse Rachel returns. She floomfs some pillows. Brings more water and ice. Checks machines...I'm curious.
"Hey".
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't there be more people here? I feel like we paid for more people" (Laughter. It's an affirming laugh. I didn't tell my wife that I was starting to shake a little.)
"Not right now. When it's 'go time', you'll know"
"Ok. Can I...Can I ask probably a stupid question?"
"Shoot"
"Have you ever had to deliver a baby by yourself before?"
Nurse Rachel stops tucking in my wife for a second and looks at me curiously before that look changes to sort of a hard steely squint.
"It's not a dumb question. And 'Yes'. LOT'S of times."
"Ah."
"Sometimes the doctor is late, sometimes the baby gets impatient...hell, I've even recruited the dad to help out and pull the kid out"
I have a purpose.
"Really?"
"Yup"
I step away from the bed and hold my arms out and bent up with my hands closed and pointing upward. "I'm ready".
"...I'm sorry. What are you doing?"
"Let's go. Let's do this"
Nurse Rachel looks really confused as she goes back to her actual job but I was saved by one of the residents laughing as she walked in (Blonde. Ponytail. Glasses. Cute.)
"He wants to get scrubbed for surgery"
Much relief. Joke grenade exploded.
"Seriously. I'm ready. I can do this. I've watched 'M*A*S*H' like, 5 or 6 times over. I'm hella ready"
"That's amazing. I LOVE 'M*A*S*H'..." (She loves it, by the way.)
"Me too. My Dad and I used to watch together when I I was a kid. I remem-..."
The birth mother objects, at this juncture...
"Stop. STOP. Please. No more jokes. No more. I don't want to be giving birth with the theme music from 'M*A*S*H' stuck in my head. Please."*
Chastened, I muttered an apology and moved back up to my station by my wife's head. At this point, things get a little muddled as I remember giving her sips of water and kissing her head a lot while the "blip" of the monitor next to me was steady. Muddled, mind you. And fast. Because I feel like I looked down at my wife and said supportive things, and then I looked up and before I really knew what was happening ("Do I need a mask? A gown? A shower?") a team of doctor's and nurses in gowns, plastic face shields, gloves, and the whole shebang swarmed in and broke my wife's bed apart into birthing mode with the speed and efficiency of an Indy 500 tire change.
It was "go time".
*My wife would later tell me as we were talking about it her brain was already envisioning the opening scene during the credits of the brown grassy fields as the helicopter shadow speeds over the landscape.
Sunday, December 08, 2019
Go time, take two...
3:45am on Thursday, April 25th 2019.
Before I forget, and my wife brushes her teeth, the dog needs his meds. Heartworm and Flea/Tick. The former he gobbles as if it was steak. The later, he fights...really...really fights. By the time I manage to get it down his hacking gullet I have peanut butter smeared up and down my arms.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck fuck fuck goddammit FUCK!!!"
"HONEY! Are you okay?"
"No. Yes! The goddamn dog just put up the fight of the century and I smell like a Reese's candy. I can't leave until I shower"
"O...okay?" (This...from the woman who is waiting...patiently...painfully...to dilate...these last three days)
As we set off to leave, I mention leaving the overnight stuff at home and we just grab snacks- anticipating we'll get sent home, but not until we get some better pain management advice. Sure, the baby is due but my wife hasn't eaten or slept in three days and isn't exactly going to have much energy when it's time to dance. Come to think of it, neither had I. And prosecco doesn't exactly count. I digress.
In the car, I'm full of apologies and hand holding. I'm sorry for being a dick. I hate you're in pain. I can't imagine any of this, but even if we need to go back every day for a butt-shot of morphine we'll go. I'll quit my job or whatever- you're not alone and I'm not going to leave your side. I love you.
As 4am rolls into 4:30, our same doc as before comes in and has the same sympathetic simpering comment "Back again, huh?" ("Yes. We missed you SO much") "Ok. If you can get up on the gurney I'll have another look" (My wife is pushing it around, not even able to get out of her coat unassisted and without feeling like she's going to fall over. I've had it.)
"Oh. Hey. I've got some good news. It looks like you're at 2cm!"
holyfuckingjesusfinally
"So...you guys could still go home and labor if you'd wanted, orrrrrr..."
"Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Drugs."
"..rrrrrr we could admit you and it looks like you want admitted?"
Jesus. Doctor Clue. Line one.
And just like that, we got a room at the Inn. Which, early sleeplessness notwithstanding? Was a blessing in disguise since the hospital hit capacity in the maternity ward by mid-morning and were turning people away to their back-up hospitals by afternoon. We made it in time. Score.
We also didn't have any of our shit and I had a ton of phone calls to make.
As the nurse helps my wife get situated, I tell her I'm going to go home and come right back.
"Why don't you take a nap, honey?*"
"Are...wait, are you sure?"
"Yes. You're exhausted. I'm here and I'm fine. Set your alarm!!! But yeah, grab a nap"
Don't have to tell me twice. BUT FIRST! I check with the nurse who's readying the room:
"Beg pardon? I'm needing to go home and get my pet situation taken care of and get our things. She's. She's not going to baby-up if I'm gone for 2 hours?"
"Nope. She'll be getting some low dose fentanyl and hopefully some sleep herself before the team comes in and gives her the epidural."
"Great"
"I mean...it probably won't happen but IT HAS!!!!" (Last part, emphasis mine. In my head")
"Oh. Ok. I better go then. One more thing...did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Nevermind. It's just the last nurse and I both went to Park Cen---"
"Well actually... back in the day I lived across Zane from this park by Crestview? Is that..."
"Hamilton park?"
"THAT'S IT! So wait...where did...
(Wife) "GO!!!"
Go I did. It was a bright sunny day. 1st day of the...last...first...day...anyway, I think I was thinking that the next time I drive this way I was going to have 3 passengers.
I got home and set my alarm for 1 hour. Put the bags by the front door. Texted the team who was pet-sitting. And passed TF out. When my alarm went off, it ripped me out of a coma so deep I almost didn't notice both my dog and my cat were under the covers flanking me and sleeping (This never happens). I got a text from my wife asking my status as she had eaten and was heading toward epidural town. As I sprinted out to my car, my neighbor across the street waved and yelled "Hi, Mikey!!! When's that baby of yours due again?!?!"
"ANY FUCKING MINUTE NOW, KATHY, AND I'M ALREADY LATE!!! GAHHHHHD BYEEEEEEE!!!"
Drama. And it was here, that the other imaginary scenario of me speeding toward the hospital while my wife Lamaze breathes with one hand on the window and one on her stomach with her leg up on the dash while I get a roaring police escort has been completely supplanted by my driving...fast...but carefully enough to not get pulled over before arriving.
In fact? I don't think I was thinking much at all. I thought I'd be more a flutter, but I was- for better or worse- in the zone. Which isn't really glamorous. I just needed an audience to get me back. And thankfully, there were nurses and doctors who would laugh at my jokes...goddammit.
Before I forget, and my wife brushes her teeth, the dog needs his meds. Heartworm and Flea/Tick. The former he gobbles as if it was steak. The later, he fights...really...really fights. By the time I manage to get it down his hacking gullet I have peanut butter smeared up and down my arms.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck fuck fuck goddammit FUCK!!!"
"HONEY! Are you okay?"
"No. Yes! The goddamn dog just put up the fight of the century and I smell like a Reese's candy. I can't leave until I shower"
"O...okay?" (This...from the woman who is waiting...patiently...painfully...to dilate...these last three days)
As we set off to leave, I mention leaving the overnight stuff at home and we just grab snacks- anticipating we'll get sent home, but not until we get some better pain management advice. Sure, the baby is due but my wife hasn't eaten or slept in three days and isn't exactly going to have much energy when it's time to dance. Come to think of it, neither had I. And prosecco doesn't exactly count. I digress.
In the car, I'm full of apologies and hand holding. I'm sorry for being a dick. I hate you're in pain. I can't imagine any of this, but even if we need to go back every day for a butt-shot of morphine we'll go. I'll quit my job or whatever- you're not alone and I'm not going to leave your side. I love you.
As 4am rolls into 4:30, our same doc as before comes in and has the same sympathetic simpering comment "Back again, huh?" ("Yes. We missed you SO much") "Ok. If you can get up on the gurney I'll have another look" (My wife is pushing it around, not even able to get out of her coat unassisted and without feeling like she's going to fall over. I've had it.)
"Oh. Hey. I've got some good news. It looks like you're at 2cm!"
holyfuckingjesusfinally
"So...you guys could still go home and labor if you'd wanted, orrrrrr..."
"Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Drugs."
"..rrrrrr we could admit you and it looks like you want admitted?"
Jesus. Doctor Clue. Line one.
And just like that, we got a room at the Inn. Which, early sleeplessness notwithstanding? Was a blessing in disguise since the hospital hit capacity in the maternity ward by mid-morning and were turning people away to their back-up hospitals by afternoon. We made it in time. Score.
We also didn't have any of our shit and I had a ton of phone calls to make.
As the nurse helps my wife get situated, I tell her I'm going to go home and come right back.
"Why don't you take a nap, honey?*"
"Are...wait, are you sure?"
"Yes. You're exhausted. I'm here and I'm fine. Set your alarm!!! But yeah, grab a nap"
Don't have to tell me twice. BUT FIRST! I check with the nurse who's readying the room:
"Beg pardon? I'm needing to go home and get my pet situation taken care of and get our things. She's. She's not going to baby-up if I'm gone for 2 hours?"
"Nope. She'll be getting some low dose fentanyl and hopefully some sleep herself before the team comes in and gives her the epidural."
"Great"
"I mean...it probably won't happen but IT HAS!!!!" (Last part, emphasis mine. In my head")
"Oh. Ok. I better go then. One more thing...did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Nevermind. It's just the last nurse and I both went to Park Cen---"
"Well actually... back in the day I lived across Zane from this park by Crestview? Is that..."
"Hamilton park?"
"THAT'S IT! So wait...where did...
(Wife) "GO!!!"
Go I did. It was a bright sunny day. 1st day of the...last...first...day...anyway, I think I was thinking that the next time I drive this way I was going to have 3 passengers.
I got home and set my alarm for 1 hour. Put the bags by the front door. Texted the team who was pet-sitting. And passed TF out. When my alarm went off, it ripped me out of a coma so deep I almost didn't notice both my dog and my cat were under the covers flanking me and sleeping (This never happens). I got a text from my wife asking my status as she had eaten and was heading toward epidural town. As I sprinted out to my car, my neighbor across the street waved and yelled "Hi, Mikey!!! When's that baby of yours due again?!?!"
"ANY FUCKING MINUTE NOW, KATHY, AND I'M ALREADY LATE!!! GAHHHHHD BYEEEEEEE!!!"
Drama. And it was here, that the other imaginary scenario of me speeding toward the hospital while my wife Lamaze breathes with one hand on the window and one on her stomach with her leg up on the dash while I get a roaring police escort has been completely supplanted by my driving...fast...but carefully enough to not get pulled over before arriving.
In fact? I don't think I was thinking much at all. I thought I'd be more a flutter, but I was- for better or worse- in the zone. Which isn't really glamorous. I just needed an audience to get me back. And thankfully, there were nurses and doctors who would laugh at my jokes...goddammit.
I have discovered a term I hate more than "Geriatric Pregnancy"
From Wiki:
"Pre-labor consists of the early signs before labor starts. It is the body's preparation for real labor.
Prodromal labor has been misnamed as “false labor." Prodromal labor begins much as traditional labor but does not progress to the birth of the baby."
From the doctor:
"Right now, your baby is sunny side up. She's pointing in the right direction, but you aren't dilated and your water hasn't broken. Also, you're not at 39 weeks "officially", so we can't induce. She's basically playing with the nerves on your spine, which is causing the discomfort."
From my wife:
(Indecipherable whimpering, retching, and breathing)
Have you ever heard someone scream IRL? Not like, "little kid screaming for the sake of screaming" or amusement park screams on the roller coaster. Or even theatrical screaming. I'm talking the good old fashioned can't take it any more variety. I rolled my ankle a few years ago carrying a heavy box down some rickety stairs. Thought it snapped in half. Screamed. Back in 2009 I got a phone call that my dad passed away. Fell to ground. Screamed. Neighbors even stopped over the next day to make sure everything was okay. Those were real screams, but i wasn't listening to myself.
The first time I heard my wife scream like that I guess I wasn't ready for the coppery flood of adrenaline in my mouth and my fists to clench involuntarily as I mentally wanted to find who was attacking her and DEFEND!!!!..Even though I was in a perfectly serviceable hospital with a perfectly respectable doctor who's arm was presently under a blanket checking my wife's nethers as her scream made my eardrums thud.
We were given the above disclaimer regarding pre-labor, and the TL/DR was that nothing could be done except we could try walking around for an hour. The doctor must've seen this before because she said "We just need some water breakage or some dilation. She's ready. The baby is ready. We just need to get past this last step."
Right.
You'd think we could have meandered the whole of Region's in an hour, but the fact was with the retching and the stopping to bend over and breathe...we barely got to the cafe'. (I was starving. It was almost 9 at night and we hadn't even thought of food, as if my wife could have eaten. She tried, bless her, to keep down some pita bread but it didn't stay and it was back up and into one of those barf bags with the plastic ring on top.) At one point, closing in on the end of our hour before it was back to the exam room my wife hobbled...interminably slowly...to the restroom. And after a long enough time the St. Paul Police security doubled back to give me another "why are you loitering outside the ladies room" look, my wife came out just as miserable and said she was glad I packed the change of clothes for her. (Making potty and retching...are not the best combination in the world.)
We made it back to the room for another peek from the doctor which brought another, albeit slightly lessened, scream with the news I was sort of anticipating- still no dilation. It was suggested we labor at home, but it was so late we asked to be admitted where my wife was gowned up and given a blissful shot of morphine in the butt before she got settled in to sleep. In one of the first of many weird coincidences and right before my wife's morphine shot, the nurse helping us out stared the chart a few times before saying my last name out loud about 3 x's.
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: "That's just not a last name you hear that often. Did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
Me: "Yyyyyesss?"
Nurse: "On Colorado?"
Me: "Jesus, we moved when I was five or six. Big white colonial that backed up to the farm field that's a housing development now"
Nurse: "YES! I thought I recognized the name. We were around the 'U' street on Douglas."
Me: "No shit? (Thinks back) So you might've known the _______?"
Nurse: "Yup"
Me: "OH! And the ______?!?!"
Nurse: "THAT was a big time party house!"
Me: "Did you graduate from PC?"
WIFE: "Hello? Can we play catch up later and give me drugs? Pleeeease?"
Crazy.
ANYWAY, the next day there was another cervical check, another (SLIGHTLY lessened) scream, and orders to go home and suffer. Basically. My wife was given a prescription for Extra Strength Tylenol ("It was like being given a band-aid for a compound fracture..." My wife cried while waiting to pick it up, she felt so hopeless.) We went home where my wife was able to get some more sleep but by the end of that day, it was back to the terrible screaming pain. The next day wasn't much better, except my wife had her final scheduled Ob-Gyn appointment which didn't yield anything more except sympathetic expressions from her doctor and the unhelpful "I know it's really uncomfortable, but..." responses.
The message was clear- You're in it. This is part of it. You're going to have to suck it up.
By the end of Wednesday, 4/24/2019...we were getting frayed. We were going back and forth if we should go back. I was missing another day of work at a brand new job. Her parents were both incredibly concerned after her mom came to visit and my wife broke down crying from the pain. I knew she wanted to go back and get help but I knew she'd be sent home to suffer some more. I started get the impression her family was thinking I was keeping my wife from getting help when there was nothing further from the truth. Hopeless and with my support person pregnant and miserable I.. I was just...hopeless.
It was a gray, miserable day. But it was warmer after a terrible Winter. And I needed to clear the fug after all the pain and our fighting.
So I checked on my wife and went for a quick 3 mile trot. After I got home I guzzled some wine and tried rubbing her lower back before telling her I needed to go back to work in the morning and if she said the word, I wouldn't. "I'm on day three of my unpaid maternity leave...and I can't afford to be off any more if it's not go time." It made me feel like an uncaring cad, but we both knew I needed the full 2 weeks to be home with EVERYONE when the everyone in question was finally under the same roof and no co-habiting in my wife's belly.
I showered and passed out, then woke up to moaning and crying and giving more lower back rubs before passing out, then getting woken up again. For good. For real.
"I can't take it any more. Can we please go in?"
You got it, my love. Just let me do the talking when we get there, because if I get another sympathetic look and we get sent home...I'm writing a nasty Yelp review.
"Pre-labor consists of the early signs before labor starts. It is the body's preparation for real labor.
Prodromal labor has been misnamed as “false labor." Prodromal labor begins much as traditional labor but does not progress to the birth of the baby."
From the doctor:
"Right now, your baby is sunny side up. She's pointing in the right direction, but you aren't dilated and your water hasn't broken. Also, you're not at 39 weeks "officially", so we can't induce. She's basically playing with the nerves on your spine, which is causing the discomfort."
From my wife:
(Indecipherable whimpering, retching, and breathing)
Have you ever heard someone scream IRL? Not like, "little kid screaming for the sake of screaming" or amusement park screams on the roller coaster. Or even theatrical screaming. I'm talking the good old fashioned can't take it any more variety. I rolled my ankle a few years ago carrying a heavy box down some rickety stairs. Thought it snapped in half. Screamed. Back in 2009 I got a phone call that my dad passed away. Fell to ground. Screamed. Neighbors even stopped over the next day to make sure everything was okay. Those were real screams, but i wasn't listening to myself.
The first time I heard my wife scream like that I guess I wasn't ready for the coppery flood of adrenaline in my mouth and my fists to clench involuntarily as I mentally wanted to find who was attacking her and DEFEND!!!!..Even though I was in a perfectly serviceable hospital with a perfectly respectable doctor who's arm was presently under a blanket checking my wife's nethers as her scream made my eardrums thud.
We were given the above disclaimer regarding pre-labor, and the TL/DR was that nothing could be done except we could try walking around for an hour. The doctor must've seen this before because she said "We just need some water breakage or some dilation. She's ready. The baby is ready. We just need to get past this last step."
Right.
You'd think we could have meandered the whole of Region's in an hour, but the fact was with the retching and the stopping to bend over and breathe...we barely got to the cafe'. (I was starving. It was almost 9 at night and we hadn't even thought of food, as if my wife could have eaten. She tried, bless her, to keep down some pita bread but it didn't stay and it was back up and into one of those barf bags with the plastic ring on top.) At one point, closing in on the end of our hour before it was back to the exam room my wife hobbled...interminably slowly...to the restroom. And after a long enough time the St. Paul Police security doubled back to give me another "why are you loitering outside the ladies room" look, my wife came out just as miserable and said she was glad I packed the change of clothes for her. (Making potty and retching...are not the best combination in the world.)
We made it back to the room for another peek from the doctor which brought another, albeit slightly lessened, scream with the news I was sort of anticipating- still no dilation. It was suggested we labor at home, but it was so late we asked to be admitted where my wife was gowned up and given a blissful shot of morphine in the butt before she got settled in to sleep. In one of the first of many weird coincidences and right before my wife's morphine shot, the nurse helping us out stared the chart a few times before saying my last name out loud about 3 x's.
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: "That's just not a last name you hear that often. Did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
Me: "Yyyyyesss?"
Nurse: "On Colorado?"
Me: "Jesus, we moved when I was five or six. Big white colonial that backed up to the farm field that's a housing development now"
Nurse: "YES! I thought I recognized the name. We were around the 'U' street on Douglas."
Me: "No shit? (Thinks back) So you might've known the _______?"
Nurse: "Yup"
Me: "OH! And the ______?!?!"
Nurse: "THAT was a big time party house!"
Me: "Did you graduate from PC?"
WIFE: "Hello? Can we play catch up later and give me drugs? Pleeeease?"
Crazy.
ANYWAY, the next day there was another cervical check, another (SLIGHTLY lessened) scream, and orders to go home and suffer. Basically. My wife was given a prescription for Extra Strength Tylenol ("It was like being given a band-aid for a compound fracture..." My wife cried while waiting to pick it up, she felt so hopeless.) We went home where my wife was able to get some more sleep but by the end of that day, it was back to the terrible screaming pain. The next day wasn't much better, except my wife had her final scheduled Ob-Gyn appointment which didn't yield anything more except sympathetic expressions from her doctor and the unhelpful "I know it's really uncomfortable, but..." responses.
The message was clear- You're in it. This is part of it. You're going to have to suck it up.
By the end of Wednesday, 4/24/2019...we were getting frayed. We were going back and forth if we should go back. I was missing another day of work at a brand new job. Her parents were both incredibly concerned after her mom came to visit and my wife broke down crying from the pain. I knew she wanted to go back and get help but I knew she'd be sent home to suffer some more. I started get the impression her family was thinking I was keeping my wife from getting help when there was nothing further from the truth. Hopeless and with my support person pregnant and miserable I.. I was just...hopeless.
It was a gray, miserable day. But it was warmer after a terrible Winter. And I needed to clear the fug after all the pain and our fighting.
So I checked on my wife and went for a quick 3 mile trot. After I got home I guzzled some wine and tried rubbing her lower back before telling her I needed to go back to work in the morning and if she said the word, I wouldn't. "I'm on day three of my unpaid maternity leave...and I can't afford to be off any more if it's not go time." It made me feel like an uncaring cad, but we both knew I needed the full 2 weeks to be home with EVERYONE when the everyone in question was finally under the same roof and no co-habiting in my wife's belly.
I showered and passed out, then woke up to moaning and crying and giving more lower back rubs before passing out, then getting woken up again. For good. For real.
"I can't take it any more. Can we please go in?"
You got it, my love. Just let me do the talking when we get there, because if I get another sympathetic look and we get sent home...I'm writing a nasty Yelp review.
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