• Archives

  • February 2009
  • December 2008
  • November 2008
  • October 2008

• Subscribe

  Your email:
  
  Subscribe   Unsubscribe
  

If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!

 

Sunday 1-6-08 

San Francisco, CPMC

You sleep, swaddled like Moses, your trip down the river complete. What commandments will you bring us?

 

Welcome to the first sunrise of your life … the sky dabbed with tranquil blue. You made land at 6:09pm last night under blustery gray skies. The wind is now still, and light rain, good rain kisses and nurtures the earth. Our sweeping fifth floor view of SF and the Bay offers a wide perspective on the dawn of a new era. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “a day is a miniature eternity.” This day has the full spectrum of forever written all over it and you sleeping there peacefully have already taught me the real meaning of the word permanence.

 

Funny Kai, when you emerged from your mother I thought you were ugly, head oblong, chin mashed in. I feared you might be one of those guys who grows a beard to give the appearance of a chin. But you cleaned up nice. Guess I won’t be the guy with the ugly kid, after all. Am I really this shallow that at the most auspicious moment of my life I’m worried about my boy’s looks? Ummmm…..yes.

 

When you grabbed my finger in those first seconds it filled me with a sense of power. Your power became my power. The nurse says you look full term, though you showed up 4-1/2 weeks early, chomping at the bit like a little seahorse. They kept you in the nursery last night so your mom could get some sleep, while I slept on a rollaway at the foot of her bed. She feels refreshed after a shower. When big storms come many women give birth. Apparently, the drop in barometric pressure opens the flood gates. We got the last room at the inn here at CPMC. The last private one anyway. Glad we’re not sharing this time with a random family. These are sacred moments. Quiet moments.

 

And you…. you are vigorous and scrappy. 5 pounds, 14 ounces. 18 inches long. You are not fragile, though your feet are like tiny chicken wings and your forearm fits in a napkin holder. Apgar tests are 9 & 9, highest possible. Strong cry. Commanding presence. And fingernails! Guess you’re ready to claw your way forward in this hectic world. You already helped your mother join the timeless team of natural birth bombshells. She pushed like hell while you swam for the exit.

 

 

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

 

 

Saturday 1-05-08

Sausalito

 

 

I retrieved my exhausted wife from the Holiday Inn at 9:15am as the rain fell steadily. Fifteen minutes later she stepped onto our gangplank and her water broke.

 

 

Birth class kicked in and I quickly collected the recommended items: Jodi’s pillow and robe, toiletries, swim trunks and clothes for me, books, camera, birthing class book and my computer. As we left the house in the rain I saw the bag of shit I was holding on the gangplank when Jodi uttered those fateful words. I literally dropped everything at that moment.

 

Damn…I still need to install the car seat before we leave the hospital tomorrow, I thought as we pulled into California Pacific Medical Center in SF. We were in our room by 11:30am and I unpacked our things. I like things organized when I need to focus. A nurse placed the baby monitor on Jodi’s belly. Kai’s heart galloped at 150 beats per minute. Run little pony.

 

We love our doctor. Suzy McKay is a Harvard trained, no nonsense, no small talk, national rockstar ob/gyn. She and Jodi see eye to eye as strong capable women in a crazy mixed up world. Suzy saw us ably through three miscarriages in twelve months. She cried with Jodi the third time at nineteen weeks, and those tears helped Jodi at a moment when little else could. She instilled comfort and certitude into our pregnancy and we looked forward to marching with her into the final battle.

 

 

“Have you called Doctor Mckay,” Jodi asked.

“Doctor Mckay is out of town,” said the nurse.

 

 

That hurt.

 

Jodi’s contractions started at 1:15pm. Actually, they started sooner but the first painful contraction was 1:15. She was tired as she could possibly be and understandably cranky… as I am when I haven’t slept. The contractions progressed steadily and rhythmically and soon she asked for the anesthesiologist about an epidural. Jodi was unapologetic about an epidural if the pain got too bad, though she’d prefer to be in the sisterhood of natural birth. She also figured it would help her get just a smidge of sleep before the hard work began.

 

 

 

“When was your last blood thinner shot?” the anesthesiologist asked.

“9:30am, an hour before my water broke.”

“That was 4-1/2 hours ago. We like to see twelve,” he said. “When did you stop the baby aspirin?”

“Four days ago.”

We prefer that be 10 days,” he said matter of factly. “What day did you switch blood thinner medicines?”

“I’m not exactly sure of the day,” said Jodi.

“Can’t you see that in her records,” I asked.

“It’s Saturday and they have not been sent over yet.”

 

In fact our high risk specialist’s office was closed. Whether Jodi could get pain abatement or not depended on these very black and white answers, This was getting annoying!

 

“While it is improbable, there is a remote risk of paralysis with the epidural,” said the doc.

Jodi took a deep breath. “If I was your daughter would you recommend the epidural?”

“No,” he said.

 

 

With that, Jodi’s whole strategy and energy shifted. She put her game face on and became a ninja warrior. The pain heated up quickly and the nurse moved us to the showers (thus my swim trunks) where we sat her down and let the warm jets hit her tummy. I stood behind her and massaged her. An IV of Fentanyl hung on a rack just outside the shower to take the edge off, but she really had to do it with her breath and the throwing stars in her mind.

 

 

Back in bed the contractions were three minutes apart and Jodi was falling into me limply, trusting her yoga knowledge to sink into the pain.

 

“Go into shevasana,” I told her after each contraction.

 

Go limp like corpse pose. She told me later that really helped, and she was glad I wasn’t using all the canned phrases like: “You’re doing great!” “Just relax.” “You can do it.” That made me feel good, as if I was somewhat useful, seeing as how the division of labor in this whole thing was somewhat skewed to Jodi. As the dilation approached 10cm, we learned that Doctor Mckay WAS in town, shopping with her daughter at Union Square … and that she was en route. She wanted to deliver this baby, too. Suzy, still dressed smartly, strode up as Jodi was getting ready to push. She made a comment to a nurse as she took off her jacket and coat, revealing a sexy sleeveless top.

 

 

“Never hurts to have a hot doctor,” I said.

 

She smiled and went to work. It was amazing how quickly the final phase went, with Jodi holding the back of her knees in Happy Baby pose. Laurie massaged Jodi inside and soon the top of the baby’s head was visible, though still not outside the plane of her body. Suzy suggested the small Kiwi Vacuum to expedite things.

 

 

“I can get him out in the next two contractions,” she said confidently.

“Do it!” Jodi barked.

 

The rain falls outside and you are ready, Kai. Storming in. We are battened down with eagerness. Soon you will smile in my face…or cry. I do not care which. Just that your face will be before me. That I can drink you in like wind in a sail. Storm King! Avast. The seas are rich. The air golden in the hour before your arrival. You surf a deep ground swell. And we ride the waves that define you.

 

With that Suzy put a suction cup with a handle on the crown of Kai’s head and, with Jodi’s considerable cooperation, yanked him out on the first contraction. And there he was…

 

All covered in white sea foam. Alive and well and eager…4-1/2 weeks early. He grabbed my finger and squoze it seconds after emerging. A firm unwavering grip.

 

“I am here. Let’s DO THIS!” he said clearly with that squeeze.

 

The NIC team cleaned him up and checked him out. Healthy as an angel fish!

 

 

And I cut the cord.

 

Hello Kai.

Thank your mother.

 

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

← Previous Page

• Blogroll

  • Stuart Sheldon