The Arrival

7/30/2003

Auntie,

Below is a (none too) brief recount of our last week’s adventure. I know many of you worry about being a bother during this rather busy time and so have been hesitant about stopping by or calling. (This must have been my slacker brothers’ excuses anyway.) Therefore, here are some ramblings by a somewhat sleep-deprived new dad who’s still having trouble “getting a grip on it all”.

Or too busy for editing

Important side note here. My readers are made of two types. The first are those who have experienced the Miracle of Birth. These people consider me a wimp and would love to tell me about their 46 hours in labor and how “back in the day” nurses used to offer smokes to expectant mothers in the waiting room. The other type of reader are those who have not experienced this Miracle. They just think me just weird for describing such a bizarre occurrence and expecting anyone to believe it. Just wanted to let you all know I’m on to you.

It’s about 7:12 pm and I’m in the baby room awaiting his return from the Land of Nod. He has been quite the sleeper today. My fear is that this bodes ill for this evening’s sleep prospects. Must be the heat. Whenever you just start to sweat from sitting on the couch, it’s too hot.

The New One actually seems to be tolerating it much better than we, despite all the swaddling. Because we’re such worrywarts, he got his temperature taken about 5 times today. It’s under the armpits nowadays but he still doesn’t like it.

Xander’s been home for a little over two days and things are going reasonably well. Wendi’s in charge of feeding him and recovering from her C-section. (She’s still sore about the mid-section but gets around pretty well.) And anything else that strikes her fancy. Today it was adding a bit more organization of X-man’s room. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly and Wendi’s gotta push back the Forces of Chaos and Disorder.

Me? I’m in charge of assisting Wendi and the feeding. (It’s a one and a half person job. Only ask if you really want to know.) My other duties include staying in somewhat regular contact with friends and family, taking Xander Watch if other’s are busy and generally catering to Wendi’s every need. Since she’s recovering from surgery, she doesn’t do bending or lifting terribly well so there is a lot of diaper changing (which we do on a pad on the floor) in my life now. I’m also “Mr. Burp” to the newborn set.

Tina’s job is to make sure WE don’t cease functioning. She does the food prep, takes care of the rabbits, most of the shopping. Grandmother will also take a Xander Watch if we’re too tired to do anything. The word is “Godsend”, folks.

Though we’re certainly busier than we were, say a week ago, we’ll not throw up our hands and cry in the shower type tired or frustrated. This is party our well behaved, champion sleeper son’s doing and partly my mother-in-law’s doing. Things will be much more difficult when she’s decided she’s had enough of coddling us. Hopefully, by the that time, we’ll have figure out what we’re doing.

But how did we get to this point in our lives? I could go WAY back in my explanation but for decency’s sake, how about we just go back to last Thursday morning? The time of our weekly visit to Dr. McMillan, Wendi’s OB/GYN. (Speaking Politically Correctly, Dr. McMillan would be “our” baby doctor but let’s face it, there is NO part of me she wanted to poke or prod. I was just there to open doors and carry bags.)

The 8:00 appointment went well. Wendi’s blood pressure had come down to acceptable levels and the baby’s heart rate sounded good. Just to be on the safe side, Dr. McMillan was going to induce early and she thought Sunday night sounded about right. This sounded okay to us as well. We’d have four days to work on the baby room, go to Red Robin, talk to relatives and stuff.

Immediately after this regular appointment was the non-stress test where the baby’s heart rate is measured over a longer period of time while the mother notes when the baby kicks. This went slightly less well as Person-to-Be’s hearts rate was just under comfort range. Time for another test. This time it was a sonogram (AKA ultrasound) This also went less well as it showed the baby not having enough amniotic fluid. The baby seemed “under stress”. Plans changed. Sunday evening became Thursday morning. Yikes.

Fortunately, Wendi is a smart person and insisted we pack bags on the off-off-way-off chance we wouldn’t be leaving that building without a kid in hand. She is smart. We would be physically prepared, though not mentally. Harrison Hospital is the other half of the building that our (Wendi’s) doctor’s office is at so it was simply a matter of going upstairs. They put us in a very nice room and hooked Wendi up to several machines that went ping! This was mid-morning. Soon after she was hooked up, they administered a medication (“oxytocin” or something like that) designed to gradually induce labor. The Old School method of releasing the body’s own oxytocin was squeezing the nipples. (The mother’s) They chose the IV route.

There we sat for hours and hours with really not much happening. Wendi lay on the bed with monitors hooked up to her. We watched TV and contacted folks by cell phone. (My one positive contribution was ensuring that the phones were charged up.)

Eventually, I noticed several similarities between this hospital stay and the last one I spent time in: Sacred Heart, with Mom. Lots of cups of ice chips. Staff-members bringing in heated sheets laughingly called “blankets”. The happy face to sad face pain charts. And always the All-Powerful/All-Knowing Nurses coming in to help with the fear and pain. Those wonderful nurses.

Personally, it was the feeling of Just a bit more time. Just give me a little bit more time.  Life always has other plans.

Anyway, I just found it amusing that the standard procedure for checking into this world is basically the same for checking out.

Eventually, Tina showed up to assist as only a Mom can. And the nurses brought more chipped ice. By late afternoon, it was clear that the IV wasn’t doing the trick and further steps were to be taken. (We had enough time to watch a movie favorite Tremor by this time though.) So Dr. McMillan broke the “bag of waters”. (AKA Amniotic Sac) Actually, she popped it but let’s not quibble.

This really sped things up and intensified the contractions. We were able to see the scale and timing of them on one of the many “ping” machines. Granted, Wendi didn’t need no stinkin’ ma-cheens to tell her that they were coming on and probably could have done without the “Holy Cow! How’d that feel? That one was 30 points higher than the last one!” comments from the peanut gallery. Wendi described it as having a really full bladder. Then having a REALLY full bladder. Then, a REALLY, REALLY full one and so on.

After a very long hour? Two? The doctor said she wasn’t really any further along and there were mild signs of baby distress and it was time for The Next Step. Bless her heart, Dr. McMillan seemed genuinely apologetic and said if Wendi wanted to, they could go into this labor thing for another hour. Wendi, after all those God-Awful contractions sans pain medications (again, because of possible harm to the allegedly distressed baby) was very ready for the benefits of 21st Century medicine. Hell, at this point, she would’ve welcomed leaches had they offered any hope of relief.

They got an epidural in her which provided immediate relief, put me in a silly looking gown and wheeled her away to the OR. There, she was shifted to the operating table, a large screen was placed just below her collarbone to discourage husband puking and I just tried not to touch anything that might break. Wendi remained conscious the whole time, feeling no pain but plenty of pressure. Sometime during the procedure, she asked the anesthesiologist what that burning smell was. He basically told her it was her. The doctors were cauterizing the wound. And doctors there was aplenty. In addition to our OB/GYN, there was an attending OB/GYN, the anesthesiologist, the pediatrician and about a zillion nurses. Like I said, I tried to be on my best behavior.

After a remarkably short time, Wendi’s doctor asked if I’d like to see the kid’s head. Though the question of where the rest of him might be ran through my mind, I didn’t want to seem a wimp so I carefully peaked around the screen just long enough to get a glimpse of this gooey muppet-looking thing. In short order, they had him out and the nurses whisked him away to do the Apgar Test, a standardized test given to all newborns. Fortunately, he had all his fingers and toes, a reasonably normal skin color and cried with gusto. One test passed. About 2.4 million to go.

While they sewed and burned my wife, I went with Alexander to the nursery where he stayed for about 3 hours, under a warm lamp while the nurses and pediatrician continued to check vitals and tell me what a fabulous looking baby he was. Who am I to naysay the experts?

The rest of the evening was a blur. I eventually tried to find Wendi but she was still being sewn and burned. I chatted with Harold and Tina who were pleased as punch everything went well. Wendi was soon wheeled in, very groggy and very cold. (I guess Ors are kept a perfect temperature as long as you’re wearing something more than just a sheet.) While she was being heated under heated blankets, Alexander Eric was wheeled in on his portable bassinet.

Harold and Tina were elated, of course: kisses, hugs and handshakes all around. (I heard Tina murmur, “This one is from Jeanne.” to Xander after her second infant smooch.) As it was well after midnight at this time, they went to our place to sleep and the three of us went to sleep in the room. Well, only I was really awake at this point.

The next two days were a series of nurse visits, doctors visits, friends stopping by, Aunt Ginny and Cousin Inge and Heath visiting and yet more nurse visits. And lots and lots of “That’s normal. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing fine.”

Right, like that’ll work.

And Alexander? He slept most of the time, which is standard operating procedure for day olds. Friday night, he simply wouldn’t stop crying unless we picked him up. After about 6 hours of this, we availed ourselves of the nursery’s offer to take him off our hands for the evening so we could get some sleep. Something we were sorely lacking at this point. The nurses assured us that this was pretty normal and that parents need their rest also but that didn’t keep me from feeling like Turd Father of the Year.

Despite his occasional bouts of fussiness, he’s a fun little fellow. His variety of expressions are quite comical. His most common look is one of concern though. Perhaps he’s figured out who the president is…

As to whom he takes after, it’s hard to tell. He has a tendency for hiccups. That’s me in a big way. Wendi also noticed he has slight bumps on his ears which are similar to mine. Ears being as distinctive as fingerprints, you know.  Most importantly at this stage, Alexander can sleep well. This makes a BIG difference to rookies like us. And boy, can that boy fart. Oh My God, when he breaks wind, it stays broken!

Despite the trials, we survived and went home on Sunday. Stepping outside of that air-conditioned building was an exhilarating experience. Harrison Hospital is a great place but we were ready to go home.

Since coming home, we’re eased into a routine that seems to work: 8 or 9 feedings a day (each feeding takes about 45-55 minutes) throughout the majority during the day. The longest stretch is about four to four and a half hours starting at midnight. This gives the illusion of a good night’s sleep. We take another nap right after the 4:00 AM feeding when Tina takes the watch. We’ll need to rejigger with this in a few days.

Whatever we’re doing seems to be working okay. During our appointment with the pediatric nurse yesterday, we learned that Xander had gained back nearly all his original birth weight. She was very complimentary about how well he looked and the job we were doing.

My gut just eats this sort of thing up though my head says that pediatric nurses say this to any new parents. Lord Knows they need it.

Walking through the house, there are reminders of the life I used to lead. The books I used to read, often two or three at a time, the radio I’d listen to and the large bathtub we’d take long hot baths in every night. All gone with the wind type stuff. Or maybe not.

I am also reminded of Mom quite a bit. Maybe it was all the time spent at the hospitals, maybe it was that she missed “the news” by so little time. As she would say, “Such is life.”

Well, that’s about it. This thing’s been written in 10-25 minute snatches over Tuesday and Wednesday. Now there’s at least some sort of record to go into the “For Posterity” folder. And maybe you all got something out of it.

Thanks,

Your Son/Brother/Nephew/Cousin/Friend/Arch-Nemesis

Brian