As Seen On TV: Part One

So it's been a while since my last post, and I dare say (thankfully) that it's because we've been somewhat busy.  Our twosome has recently finally become a threesome; actually Camden, sitting at my feet, has asked me to amend my count to "threesome become a foursome."  I've been plotting how best to describe our birthing experience ever since we were first admitted to the Labor & Delivery ward, and it seems as if it cannot be confined to one post alone.  So herein, I shall begin to describe the processes leading to birth of our daughter; subsequently, I shall describe our postnatal experiences.  Without further ado, please indulge me...

Exactly how real, human, actual childbirth takes place: as seen on TV.

Despite all of our willing, wishing, and hoping, no amount of walking/spicy foods/jumping up and down could get this kid out early.  On Monday (April 21), we went back to the OB/GYN's office, as I had feared in my previous post.  This was Jan's calculated due date, so as Monday waned, BGA became fashionably late.  The doctor determined that everything was, as always, progressing well but slowly.  They attempted to help us along by stripping her membranes... for those who are unfamiliar, I'll let you click on the link and investigate for yourselves, but suffice it to say that from my "stand above your wife's head" perspective, it looked a heckuva lot like the doctor was filling my wife with stuffing in preparation of a Thanksgiving feast.  They then informed us that if nothing had happened by Friday, we were to go for an ultrasound in order to check her fluid levels, and subsequent to that, we were to return for a "non-stress test" on the following Monday.

Following a week of burning our GI tracts with spicy foods and wearing out our walking shoes, Friday rolled around quickly.  I was not feeling optimistic, as I had been hoping all week that BGA would make her arrival and get me out any number of responsibilities: work, class, office hours, etc... no dice.  This particular morning we had made an ultrasound appointment at 7:30am so that if everything was fine, Jan could continue on to her school and I could catch the train downtown to mine with plenty of time.  We decided not to put our hospital bags in the car because it would only jinx us further, and if Jan had to go on to her school afterwards, they would be a risk of being stolen from the trunk of my car.

  

The ultrasound technician (the very same one from our first appointment confirming our pregnancy), nearly addled with seasonal allergies, began to calculate the fluid levels betwixt BGA and the walls of her ever-narrowing aquatic base between sneezes.  She began to remark that she was unable to get an accurate measurement of our daughter's head because it was so low, we were unable to pick it up on the screen.  (...a good sign, perhaps?)  When it finally came time to do some basic calculations, she spouted numbers out loud.  "1.6... 0... 1.7.  What's that?"  "3.3!" I exclaimed excitedly, although mostly from properly summing the numbers and not from knowing why; "What is it supposed to be?"  She informed me that the target level was 5cc or greater, and then spoke the life-changing sentence we had been waiting to hear: "You kids aren't going home; you're going to Labor and Delivery."

So, we hurried home to let out the dog, gather our bags, use the bathroom, and dash off to the hospital.  ...I may or may not have used these few minutes to pack my bag with a few extra items as well, which really made Jan run around the house like a chicken with her head cut off.  At one point I was compelled to reach between her legs and realize that the baby wasn't actually coming out at that moment, and that we could take our time.  Nevertheless, that did not mean I was about to give up the opportunity to drive almost recklessly fast to the hospital.  Jan cautioned me to slow down, but I insisted that it was arguably the one time in my life I could drive that quickly and legitimately tell any cop pulling me over that my wife was in labor.  ...alas, though, my wife played copilot and chose the absolute slowest and most red-light-riddled route to the hospital.

Trixie and The Mach 5 were quite jealous of the Hyundai SantaFe.

We arrived in Labor and Delivery right in the middle of what can only be described as a birthing sh*tstorm; pregnant women were dropping babies EVERYWHERE!  As we were waiting to meet our nurse and be led to our room, we overheard one woman be wheeled out of here room.  As she tossed back her hair, she flippantly and coolly remarked, "Oh, I can't believe how easy it all was!  Three pushes, and this baby just crawled right out."  .....BITCH.

We were introduced to our team of nurses, who we learned had the same name (herein, I shall refer to them as "Team L").  After half-jokingly making sure that neither of them dotted the "i's" in their name with hearts, we were fortunate to learn that they both had the same dark and twisted sense of humor that we did.  After meeting briefly with the doctor, Jan was connected to a fetal monitor and started on an IV drip so she could received doses of penicillin (she had tested GBS positive).  We quickly recalled that this was to be her first IV ever (years before I had tried to get her to donate blood, but she had been screened out prior to the needle because of a recent trip to Central America).  Team L literally oohed and aahed over her veins, salivating like vampires for a good puncture site.  Despite their best efforts though, they blew through the first vein on her arm and had to back out and try for their secondary site.  Jan winced in pain and I panicked, thinking that if she was this hurt from the IV, we were in some SERIOUS trouble later on.  After they finished turning her left arm into Swiss Cheese (only teasing, Team L...), our OB/GYN introduced the medication Cervidil at 12:00 noon on Friday, April 25 and informed us that we should make ourselves comfortable, because she typically leaves this medication in for 18 hours.

  

I spent an hour looking around for a T.A.R.D.I.S. before I could be sure that this wasn't some Dalek relative.

  

It was at this point that I began to unpack our bags.  Between Jan's hospital bag, my hospital bag (which was my rucksack, stuffed to the gills and actually containing our camera bag), and a bag of foodstuffs, we were basically tailgating the birth of our daughter.  After unpacking a bit, I finally took a step back to survey our setup, and began to appreciate just how fortunate we were to have received our room.  It was one of the biggest hospital rooms I had ever set my eyes on, and it was all ours!  The full bathroom was a nice touch, but I particularly liked the multiple rocking chairs, that seemed to say, "Y'all settle up here on the porch and get yo'self some sweet tea."  Of course, Jan was center stage, right under the spotlights; between the stage lighting and the wood floors, it seemed as if she was literally about to open "The Vagina Monologues" at the Winter Garden Theatre.

Cue the Overture; it's time to raise the curtain for Act I...

I was careful to take my time going around the room, pushing all of the buttons and touching all of the medical equipment in between visits from the doctor and nurses.  Lucky for me, Jan had implored me to wear my "I [heart] My Pregnant Wife" t-shirt, which was quickly making me very popular on the unit.  The nurses gave me the code to get into the room with the refrigerator and ice-chips, and we peppered the discussions about Jan's vagina with chit-chat to include the benefits of going to the cafeteria over actually ordering a tray, and who the better night nurses were.

  

During the final scheduled visit from the doctor that evening, it was determined that while Jan was progressing towards labor, she was only dilated 2cm.  The medication that she was given was working effectively, but it did not look like I would be meeting BGA that evening.  The fetal monitor was showing that Jan was having contractions regularly every 2 minutes, and had been since noon... I was already impressed, especially since she wasn't making a peep.  We had contacted a few family members to let them know that we were in the hospital, but they were either very excited or didn't believe us when we told them that nothing was happening that night, because they all came to visit.  Mercifully, they brought food; Jan wasn't required to force down the hospital's interpretation of manicotti, and I could stop subsisting on juice cups from the L&D refrigerator.  Matt even stopped by after he got off work that night with some sandwiches from a local grocery store, a few cans of soup, salt and pepper shakers (because he had noted that hospital food was notoriously bland), and a few bags of candy (these would come in handy later).

The only show we got that evening was whenever Jan needed to go to the bathroom.  We would have to unplug her IV pump from the wall, disconnect her fetal monitor, shimmy her out of the bed, and shuffle her across the room with wires, straps, and lines coming out of her gown at a variety of angles.  She was on her own while in the bathroom to not disturb the medication delivery, and then to readjust herself before climbing gingerly back onto her puppy-padded, underwearless throne.  This procedure was initiated more often than she would have liked, given the fact that she was not only being pumped full of liquid, but also the natural, pleasant effect that repeated doses of antibiotics can have on the lower gastrointestinal tract.  Yes folks, these are the glorious aspects of pregnancy NOT covered in television and the movies.

  

If they only knew what this was doing to my ego.

So there we were: like the guy who shows up a week early to burning man, we were all drugged up and ready to go, but nothing would be happening for some time yet.  Jan flipped through the few TV stations that did come in and eventually settled on the back-to-back broadcasting of 300 and Gladiator as a favor to me (thank you, TBS), knowing that she would soon pass out after taking her sleeping pill.  I then resigned to the inquisition-esque torture of the chair-bed provided for spouses/overnight guests.  As I watched the outnumbered Spartans slay Xerxes' Persian warrior slaves and Russel Crowe fight his way back to glory in Ancient Rome (well, as best I could thanks to FCC restrictions on language and gore), I wondered what bloodshed awaited me in the morning.......