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A Birth Story – Part 2

November 4, 2014

We were up at 4 am the morning of the c-section.  We had to be at the hospital at 5:30.  I ate something, but I don’t remember what.  My wife was not allowed to eat as she was having major surgery after all.

We loaded the car, I took one last pregnancy picture of my wife, and then off to have our son we went.

I parked my car in the garage, where it would stay for 3 days, and I carried all of our crap to our room.  It was our first…so yeah, it looked like we were on a 2 week vacation.

They took us into a room, hooked my wife up to some monitors, had us fill out some forms, and then more or less left us to feel nervous as crap.  One of the monitors was the heartbeat monitor for my son.  It was a very relaxing sound that was with us for the next TWO HOURS while we waited to go into surgery.

One of the forms we needed to fill out was the baby’s birth certificate.  It was then we sort of realized we never actually settled on a name.  The only name we had even discussed was Jack Jr.  We were still dealing with the fact we convinced ourselves we were having a girl..and already had a name picked out before the ultrasound said otherwise.  So, the conversation went like this:

Carey: “So…what do we name him?  Did you still want to go with Jack Jr?

Me: “Yeah, I think so.  I mean.  What do you think?

Carey: “It’s fine with me.”

Me: “OK, Jack Jr. it is.

For those that know me, they know I am NOT a patient man.  I get downright crazy when waiting for something big to happen.  Christmas eve was TORTURE!  So waiting in this stupid little room for 2 hours for the doctor to finally be ready for us had me going about insane.  I am not sure what I would have done with 24 hours of labor!

As if that wait wasn’t abhorrent enough, they came and finally took us to the OR.  When we get there the nurse leaves me sitting outside the OR while she got the spinal tap (too many husbands pass out I guess).  That took for damned ever. I also found out later that my wife had a near panic attack.  I was and still am furious I wasn’t there for her in that moment.

So, some 15 minutes later they bring me into the room.  There is my wife, surrounded by 2 doctors at her feet, 2 nurses at her head, and couple other nurses milling around doing nurse things.  At her head was the blue sheet I was told about right in front of my wife’s face, which was covered by a breathing mask.  As I walk in I can see they were already cutting on my wife, but I averted my eyes.

I sat down on a stole by her head, she managed a weak smile.  I smiled real big…which she of course couldn’t see since I had a mask one.  I reached down and grabbed her hand.  The rest happened fast.  I am talking the micro machines guy on crack fast.

They finish their incision and declare that he was folded in half and coming out ass first.  They began struggling to get him out.  As they YANK on my son’s legs and jam him back and forth within my wife’s womb to remove him, I see my wife’s shoulders jerk from side-to-side and back and forth.  I begin to see extreme discomfort on her face and I start to worry.

One of the doctors (she had two working on her) said “Wow, this kid has a really big butt.”  Desperate to try and do something, anything for my wife I tried to make a joke: “Hey!  That’s my son you’re talking about.”  Everyone giggled an appreciative giggle.  My wife didn’t.

The doctor declared they successfully got a leg out.  Then the other leg.  More rocking and shaking of my wife’s shoulders.  She looked horrible.  I found out later that every time they jerked her around it didn’t hurt, but it made her feel like she was an instant away from throwing up.

At long last, they got my son completely out of the womb.  Then, I waited that miserable wait every parent has waited.  I listened with all of my might.  And there it was, my son’s cry.

My entire being changed in the exact moment.  I have never felt more protective of anything in my entire life.  I am not talking about love.  I didn’t feel like I loved him for quite a few weeks, which surprised me, but which now I know to be normal.  I am talking a larger than myself feeling.  That crying baby on the other side of this damn blue sheet was mine and I would throw myself in front of a bus to protect him.

The doctor then said “you want to see him?”  I thought “dumbest question EVER dude” but I squeaked out a “yes.”  And around that infernal blue sheet came my first look at my son.

I looked at his face, and breathed a sigh of relief that is still floating around that hospital.  I had this recurring fear that he’d have something wrong with him, but he was perfectly normal.

What I saw was a pudgy blue baby. I can still visualize every little roll in his belly, the look on his face, and the two foot long poop dangling from his baby butt cheeks.  It was the tarry marconum stuff and it was just a stringy nasty mess hanging in mid air.

As quickly as they had presented him, they took him back to do all the post delivery cleanup and testing.  I finally remembered my wife.  I looked down at her, and saw a single tear leaking out of her eye among her pained smile.

I sat and held her hand and we looked into each others eyes.  She couldn’t talk because of the mask, so we just looked at each other.

A few minutes later they invited me over to cut a little piece of the umbilical cord, which I was happy to experience a little bit of that.  It was tougher than it looked, just like everyone said.  I gazed lovingly at my the baby who was to be my only son for as long as I could.  While I was there, they had to prick is foot for what was to be an every other hour ritual to check his blood sugar due to his size.

They weighed him after the umbilical cord, and he came out at 9 lbs 14 oz (probably would have been an even 10 lbs if not for that monster poop).

After that, they made me walk away from my son.  I hated it. They had me bid goodbye to my wife as they stitched her up. Back into the infernal room outside the OR.  Where, for the third time that morning, I had to endure a horrendous wait.

The story is continued in A Birth Story part 3

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