2007/05/02 21:34
A Margarita Is Born
Sed prods me awake Tuesday morning at 6:40. "Did you want a shower? Then you better do it now."
Five days ago, her attending doctor had cornered her at work, worried about the size of the baby in Sed's diminutive body. Dr McWhorter's advice was that if Margarita had not come naturally by April 24, Sed should be induced. Beyond ready to get the kid out at that point, my wife had no objection to this.
Which is why we're getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to get started. Time, tide and uncomfortable pregnancy wait for no man.
From the moment we walk into triage, Sed receives the celebrity treatment. Nurses applaud giddily as we head to the pre-exam room, and residents jostle for position in the tiny cubicle, trying to out-well-wish each other. The place is dead -- we have a labor room within an hour. It pays to know when to go.
The Oxytocin drip starts at nine. There's no turning back now. Once the artificial hormone is introduced, Sed either delivers naturally or undergoes a Cesarean. At 12:30, Melanie the midwife breaks the water, strengthening Sed's contractions and moving us closer to being parents.
For a few hours, the room is Grand Central Station. All but four residents make an appearance, and only one of those is not on vacation. The service isn't particularly busy today, and Sed's room makes a good hiding place for the doctors on call. Each is excited for us as we make the next great foray into adulthood.
Only Sed's cervix isn't cooperating. It was three centimeters dilated when we arrived, and doesn't pass five until almost 6 in the evening. From here it's supposed to be a relatively short jaunt to the necessary ten -- another centimeter every hour would put us roughly at the swing resident's prediction of an 11:53 delivery.
At 10:30 Sed gets sick. She barfs cherry popsicle into a foam cup, getting overflow all over her gown, her bed, and her hands. Apparently, this is even further cause for excitement -- vomiting during active labor generally speeds the process (and as I learned later, 90% of puking laborers are fully dilated).
Not this time. Sed's contractions slacken dramatically at this point, and even increasing the pitocin beyond its normal maximum rate doesn't bring them back to strength. She's stalled at seven centimeters when Melanie comes in at 11:30 and lays down the ultimatum: either Sed makes significant progress within the hour or it's section time.
Sed really doesn't want surgery. But despite her best efforts -- changing positions, mental exercises, talking to her cervix -- at 12:30 Melanie and Dr. McWhorter prepare her for the knife. I haven't eaten since 3, but when Nicole the nurse brings me crackers I can't even look at them.
They wheel Sed away to the operating room while the nurse helps me gown up. My wife is shrouded from the shoulders down when Nicole leads me to the surgical suite, shielding my eyes from the impending goriness below. I sit in a chair beside Sed's head, holding her hand and trying not to think about what's happening on the other side of the curtain (which isn't hard, as excitement and fear blur everything except my wife's face, which is far calmer than I am).
At 1:13 someone says, "Dad, do you want to watch your daughter being born?" I stand up, and out of a slash in Sed's belly slides my baby girl, already squalling. She's covered in yellow-white vernix, with dark hair in matted curls and bloody smears dotting her body. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
They weigh her, towel her off, put a hat on her head, and call me over to meet my daughter. As soon as I get close enough for her to hear my voice, she quiets, gazing up into my eyes, melting my heart. I tell her that her name is Avery, that her mom and I love her very much, and that we can't wait to start her big adventure.
Five days ago, her attending doctor had cornered her at work, worried about the size of the baby in Sed's diminutive body. Dr McWhorter's advice was that if Margarita had not come naturally by April 24, Sed should be induced. Beyond ready to get the kid out at that point, my wife had no objection to this.
Which is why we're getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to get started. Time, tide and uncomfortable pregnancy wait for no man.
From the moment we walk into triage, Sed receives the celebrity treatment. Nurses applaud giddily as we head to the pre-exam room, and residents jostle for position in the tiny cubicle, trying to out-well-wish each other. The place is dead -- we have a labor room within an hour. It pays to know when to go.
The Oxytocin drip starts at nine. There's no turning back now. Once the artificial hormone is introduced, Sed either delivers naturally or undergoes a Cesarean. At 12:30, Melanie the midwife breaks the water, strengthening Sed's contractions and moving us closer to being parents.
For a few hours, the room is Grand Central Station. All but four residents make an appearance, and only one of those is not on vacation. The service isn't particularly busy today, and Sed's room makes a good hiding place for the doctors on call. Each is excited for us as we make the next great foray into adulthood.
Only Sed's cervix isn't cooperating. It was three centimeters dilated when we arrived, and doesn't pass five until almost 6 in the evening. From here it's supposed to be a relatively short jaunt to the necessary ten -- another centimeter every hour would put us roughly at the swing resident's prediction of an 11:53 delivery.
At 10:30 Sed gets sick. She barfs cherry popsicle into a foam cup, getting overflow all over her gown, her bed, and her hands. Apparently, this is even further cause for excitement -- vomiting during active labor generally speeds the process (and as I learned later, 90% of puking laborers are fully dilated).
Not this time. Sed's contractions slacken dramatically at this point, and even increasing the pitocin beyond its normal maximum rate doesn't bring them back to strength. She's stalled at seven centimeters when Melanie comes in at 11:30 and lays down the ultimatum: either Sed makes significant progress within the hour or it's section time.
Sed really doesn't want surgery. But despite her best efforts -- changing positions, mental exercises, talking to her cervix -- at 12:30 Melanie and Dr. McWhorter prepare her for the knife. I haven't eaten since 3, but when Nicole the nurse brings me crackers I can't even look at them.
They wheel Sed away to the operating room while the nurse helps me gown up. My wife is shrouded from the shoulders down when Nicole leads me to the surgical suite, shielding my eyes from the impending goriness below. I sit in a chair beside Sed's head, holding her hand and trying not to think about what's happening on the other side of the curtain (which isn't hard, as excitement and fear blur everything except my wife's face, which is far calmer than I am).
At 1:13 someone says, "Dad, do you want to watch your daughter being born?" I stand up, and out of a slash in Sed's belly slides my baby girl, already squalling. She's covered in yellow-white vernix, with dark hair in matted curls and bloody smears dotting her body. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
They weigh her, towel her off, put a hat on her head, and call me over to meet my daughter. As soon as I get close enough for her to hear my voice, she quiets, gazing up into my eyes, melting my heart. I tell her that her name is Avery, that her mom and I love her very much, and that we can't wait to start her big adventure.
Geez, Rick, your elegance in your writing never stops surprising me. I can't think of anyone else who could capture those moments quite like you. Did I mention I teared up? Anyway, I am so happy for you and Sed. Congrats again!
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