It's 8am and Dawn's in the hospital. Actually, Dawn, Annabella and I are in the hospital. We're here as a family; one of us writing this blog, one watching Little Einsteins, and the other lying in a hospital bed, grimacing in pain.
Dawn didn't sleep well. It seems as if her steroids wore off in the middle of the night and she spent much of her time tossing and turning on the couch. I heard the phone ring around 6am, first in my dreams, then from the living room. It was Dawn's doctor on the phone; her instructions, "head to the hospital, I'll meet you there."
Fast forward to 11am. Dawn's nurse, Jane, just informed us that we're slated for a c-section at 1pm. Holy shit, that's in two hours. It's time for me to get on the phone and start securing some help. It's time to start telling people what's happening. Damned if it ain't the day for the boy to be born.
Send a quick instant message to as many people as I have on my phone. Check. Call Dennis, bribe him to watch Bella while I'm in surgery with Dawn. Check. I may have told him I'd name the boy after him. I'm not sure, I'm very tired.
Tammie, my hero, stops by, grabs Bella, and runs her home for Dennis. I, in the meantime, grab a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria - on the advice of my drugged-up wife and her ever-mindful nurse - and sprint back to try on my new outfit - blue paper scrubs.
Surgery time.
I stood outside the operating room for thirty minutes while they got Dawn prepped. When I finally came in they had started their procedures. My job was simple, sit with Dawn, hold her hand, say encouraging things, and try not to lose it.
Of course I walk in and the first thing that happens is my glasses fog up. It seems I have no idea how to wear the mask they've given me. I'm basically BLIND. John, the anesthesiologist, shows me how to fix my mask. My glasses unfog and I can now sit comfortably watching my wife, her vitals, the doctors, the nurses, and absolutely every second of Dawn's c-section. WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!?
At one point Dawn says, "something smells funny." My response was something like, "it's OK, it's just your burning flesh." Hi, my name's Andrew, I cope with stress via humor.
This is where things start to go sideways for me. You see, up until this point everything could be considered "familiar". Up until this point everything is going as I'd imagined it would. My only frame of reference, mind you, is Annabella's birth at twenty-six weeks. Bare with me while I try to figure this out.
The boy was born breach and was handed immediately to the waiting neonatal team. There really was no noise from the boy when he was passed to the team. I was a bit worried.
I remember talking with Dawn a bit, all the while looking over my shoulder at the neonatal team in the corner. At some point he started to cry, and cry, and cry, and cry, and cry. I looked at Dawn and she was sobbing. I listened to my boy and watched my wife. A wave of emotion hit me and I just hung my head and weeped. With every cry from my son I felt weakened. I felt as if I'd given him everything I could. I felt as if he was crying for all of us.
I feel humbled by him and his cry. He's my son and I love him dearly.
A nurse looked at me, held up a scissors, and waved me over to his bed. "Do you want to cut the umbilical cord?" I didn't even hesitate. (I wouldn't miss it for the world.) I got to see him for the first time, so pink and red, so alive. He was still crying. You go son! I remember his beautiful face. After I'd cut the cord I just stared at him.
It occurred to me while I stood there that the doctor's and nurses weren't really doing anything. They weren't scrambling to get a pic line [sic] in him. The weren't racing through the halls to get him into the NICU. They were chatting with me, telling me how good he looked, how he was "doing great".
And then, something happened that I'll never forget.
They swaddled him up in a couple blankets and handed him to me. They just handed me my son.
Dawn was still on the operating table. She was completely awake and coherent when I walked over to her with her son. I asked, "Would you like to meet your son?", and she started to cry again. I placed him on her chest, six inches from her face and watched the two of them.
I will never forget that moment.
redding
