Pushing, Pulling, and Tada

I arrived in the preoperative room which turned out to be the postoperative room too. A young Spanish speaking woman and her husband huddled behind a curtain as she recovered from an apparent emergency c-section to deliver twins. I could feel the anxiety and anticipation rising in my throat as I knew in minutes, I would be wheeled into the surgery room. The Good Prof had dressed in his gown, hat, and booties for surgery so of course I had to take a picture. Everything must. be. documented. The very handsome and dashing anesthesiologist came into the room and discussed the risks of a spinal. All I heard was "you might feel like you are not breathing." WHAT!? I might feel like I cannot breathe. Really? Fabulous. I'm sure I'll handle that swimmingly. After signing some papers stating that I understand I might die or die a lot, he gave me some bitter lemon drink to prevent me from regurgitating or something fabulous like that. Tasty.

After what seemed like eons they wheeled me into the surgery room where if I recall, I noticed a bad painting Jesus. I wonder if the surgeons ever say: I wonder what suture Jesus would use? Probably not out loud. I hauled myself up onto the most narrow surgery table I had ever seen. Now remember, this surgical room is used to do surgery on big pregnant women. At this point I had new worry: falling off the table mid-surgery. Oopsies! Patient slipped off the table! We'll just work on the floor. No biggy!

The anesthesiologist prepped me for the spinal and administered the happy drugs. I felt my legs start to tingle and lo and behold, the whole breathing thing. Casually I announced, "You know the breathing thing you were talking about? I'm feeling that." The doctor told me to squeeze his finger and said I was fine. Then, I started to feel my throat tighten. Oh no it di'nt! Again, I mentioned this like it was no big deal and again, he had me squeeze his finger and told me that it is the same sort of sensation as feeling like you cannot breathe and I am fine. Two minutes later I told him in a very matter of fact manner that I thought I was going to vomit. I guess my blood pressure dropped a bit and that happens. Thankfully, no puking and about this time The Good Prof arrived in the room along with three surgeons, various nurses, and of course, Jesus hung with us on the wall. Did that sound sacrilegious?

The Good Prof stood next to me and stroked my head because apparently I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. After a few minutes, the surgeon made the incision. She made it through the layers of Wessy Mama parts and opened what had been Wes's home for the last nine months. She announced that it was good that we did a c-section because the umbilical cord had fallen below his head. Next the doctor told me that I would feel some pushing and pulling. No kidding. This is when I thought for sure they could not possibly keep me on the table and surgery would now be moved to the floor, thank you very much!

Well apparently, they are professionals and kept me securely on the operating table. The anesthesiologist told Jay to stand up so he could watch Wes be pulled from me. And then BOOM. Okay, not boom. Tada! He was out and yes, he wailed. I mean pissed off, what the hell it was WARM, and cozy and oh yeah, WARM in there pissed. The doctor brought him around for me to see and he was there and he was mine and I loved him instantly.

The nurse took him to the warming table, wiped him off, and The Good Prof joined HIS SON to take photographs of him. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to get off that table and be right next to him. Unfortunately they do not give you that option when you have an open incision. They said something about organs falling out. Yeah whatever, don't thy know about duct tape? While The Good Prof went off with Wes to the nursery, the doctors began the process of closing me up. At this point, I looked up at the surgical lights and realized that I could see what the doctor was doing. Oh hai internal organs! You look like cheezburger? Again, I announced my observation but with less tension in my voice. And then I added, well if I had known I could see myself there, I would have watched Wes be pulled of me. How inconsiderate of them not to let me watch them cut me open. So not traumatic or anything.

Finally, about an hour and a half after I entered the surgery room, I was done and brought to the recovery room where it seemed to take for-ev-er to warm up. But guess what. They have this awesome thing called a bear hugger which is basically a blow up blanket with hot air. I could not convince the nurse to let me take it home with me. Some people are just not considerate.

After what seemed like many years and weeks, and days and hours, I returned to my private room, thank GAWD, and my sweet boy was brought to me. My beautiful, sweet, boy who is the light of my life.

Motivationally Challenged

Every day I think of something about which I would like to write. But as a new(ish) mother who lacks sleep and is trying to save the world, one client at a time, the motivation trickles away. I would much rather watch So You Think You Can Dance and Glee than create prose which some anonymous reader in some city far away takes in with great interest. Who am I kidding. I barely read blogs anymore let alone expect that I will make some effort to have others read mine. It's just not a priority anymore.

What I will say is that motherhood, parenthood, being a middle America family in a Midwestern town is a trip. My little boy is not only one of two of my great loves, he is my little friend. He is a wonder and delight. Especially when this little friend does this as we eat breakfast at our favorite restaurant:

Back in the Middle

The Good Professor headed to work to tie up some loose ends while I headed home and frantically dialed...everyone. My head spun one way and my thoughts the other. Really? He was arriving today? The Folksies (my parents) agreed to drive the next day to meet their newest grandson. I headed home and because I would be having a c-section, I took out all the items in my bag I would not need including various snacks for GP. Then I headed to the ATM for cash and believe it or not, I brought a bag of plastic bags to the grocery store to be recycled. These are things I do before delivering a child: I save the world from plastic bags.

I waited patiently for the GP to head home as we needed to be in the hospital by 1:30. As usually, the GP ran late and from what I was told by some of the women in his department, he was COMMANDED to leave. This is not surprising. Eventually, he meandered his way home and we smooched the cats and dog and off to the hospital we went.

As usual, it was cold in our small midwest city and the wind nearly knocked my pregnant body over but somehow as I pregnant woman I was not the klutzy being I usually was. Perhaps pregnant ballet would have been a good option for me. We stumbled through the admissions process and made our way to labor and delivery. Once there, we were redirected to postpartum where a nurse greeted us with: "I thought you were supposed to be here two hours ago!" Well yeah, we thought we'd catch the matinee before I had a baby surgically removed from my gargantuan belly. I love misunderstandings.

Thoughtfully, my doctor requested a private room for me. This meant I could spread all of my belongings throughout the room just like at home! Yay me! I undressed and put on a gown. The nurse took her clipboard and began to ask a litany of questions about my health, history, and whether Jay beats me. You have to love society these days. Once interrogatories ceased, I had the pleasure of having a urinary catheter inserted into me.

"Don't they do that after I'm numb?!" I pleaded but for some reason I don't recall, she inserted the nasty catheter sans anesthesia. And holy expletives, did that burn. Do not try that at home. Next two different nurses tried to place an IV and finally one had success. Cold fluid poured into my veins and then antibiotics were pushed. I lounged in all my gowned glory wide-eyed and wondering what would happen next.

The nurse reported that we would be going into surgery a bit later than planned due to an emergency c-section. This was the second time I was bumped for an emergency surgery. At age 14 an open heart surgery apparently had priority over my appendectomy. Like the heart is is so much more important than a useless angry organ. Whatever.

Finally, the nurse arrived with the wheelchair. I gingerly walked over and sat for a ride that would soon change my life.

Forever Changed - The Beginning

On a cold day in February, my life forever changed by the Little Professor. The Good Professor (GP) and I walked into the doctor's office ready to discuss my freakishly small pelvis and our seemingly large baby. My doctor performed yet another exam where the concluded my cervix was as closed as Fort Knox. And is that not what every expectant woman wants to hear the day after her due date? My doctor explained to me that our large baby and my v-shaped pelvis did not exactly make for a perfect union. I could wait and see if the Little Professor would ever want to exit his warm soothing chamber. Why would he ever want to leave the warmth of my belly when he would be greeted by harsh winds and snow up one's nether regions? Or, I could schedule a cesarean section to help the Little Professor enter this great, big, cold world.

GP and I already discussed it before this day, weighing the pros and cons. All we knew is that the Little Professor needed to enter this world safely. After a few more minutes of discussion, we concluded that the Little Professor would be delivered via a large incision and not my va-jay-jay. Yikes.

As we waited in the lobby for the delivery to be scheduled, I could feel my foot shake nervously. I kept my hands on my belly feeling the Little Professor's movements and kicks. How I would miss these moments with my little man but I would not trade them for meeting the Little Professor face to face. After what seemed like an eternity, the scheduler called us into a small office.

"Did you have anything to eat this morning?" she asked abruptly.

"Um, yeah. Why? I mean, aren't we doing this tomorrow?" I asked.

"The doctor wants to do it this afternoon and if you hadn't eaten breakfast, we could do it this morning," she told me nonchalantly like, oh yeah, we could have met for tennis this morning HAD YOU NOT BEEN SO VERY PREGNANT.

I sat there stunned as she called the anesthesiologist who told her that my surgery could not be performed until the afternoon. After given instructions about when to show up, we left the office somewhat in a stupor.

We were going to have a baby today.