I am so excited to have a son. Can I just say that? Seriously, I can't wait to play football with him, teach him some submission grappling, make him mow the yard and trim the hedges, etc. So high was my excitement level over having a son, that I thought it would be only fitting to accompany him to the operating room on his second night in the hospital as he underwent the right of passage we men refer to as Circumcision. **Warning** for those of you who are a little squeamish when it comes to talking about sensitive biological matters, you may want to forgo this particular posting.
cir·cum·ci·sion
noun
1 : the act of circumcising: a : the cutting off of the foreskin of the males that is practiced as a religious rite by Jews and Muslims and as a sanitary measure in modern surgery
The second night of our stay in the hospital, the doctor saunters into our room on her nightly rounds through the hospital. She asks if we'd like to go ahead and get E circumcised tonight? We didn't have a lot going on so we said sure. Being a proud father, I agreed to accompany my boy back to the operating table. I believed that this wasn't something he should have to go through by himself. On some level I also thought that this would be a great sort of "male bonding" experience together. Future fathers be advised, if you would like to bond with your son...take him fishing, wrestle with him, in fact do anything other than escorting him to a room where a doctor will cut the tip of his penis off. Trust me, there are better ways to bond with your child and better memories to be had.
And now, a history lesson. The institution of circumcision was established when God told Abram that in order for He and his descendants to be God's chosen people, the 'ol foreskin-trim was going to have to be a part of the deal.
Genesis 17: 9-12 This is my covenant with you and your descendants after you, the covenant you are to keep: Every male among you shall be circumcised. 11 You are to undergo circumcision, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and you. 12 For the generations to come every male among you who is eight days old must be circumcised, including those born in your household or bought with money from a foreigner—those who are not your offspring.
Abram had to go and tell his people this lovely little tid-bit, I imagine that had to be a pretty hard sell.
Abram speaks up after dinner. "OK everyone I have an announcement. I talked to Yahweh this morning...he says hello by the way. Anyway, the good news is He's really keen on us being His chosen people, the bad news is it's going to involve some minor surgery for us guys."
"What kind of surgery?" Ira Goldberg asks from the back of the room.
"It's nothing really, we just have to cut our foreskins off, oh and also I don't think were going to be able to eat bacon." Abram tries to gloss over the details.
"Wait a minute, what was that?" Morty Weinstein interjects.
"Yeah I know, no bacon. That really sucks."
"No, no the part before that."
"Oh right, the foreskin thing...I thought that was kind of weird too at first, but...you know, He's God so..." Abram explains. Like I said, a tough sell.
But I digress.
I carried E back to the operating room, I could tell by the look in his eyes, he knew something was up. The overhead florescent lights gave off an unnatural light as they sang their humming song. The doctor placed E down in a chair like contraption that I’m pretty sure was loosely modeled after the middle-ages torture device called the iron maiden. After strapping his head and all "five" of his other appendages down with Velcro straps, doc began to prepare a litany of stainless steel objects many of which resembled the middle-ages torture devices known as thumbscrews. I was beginning to see a theme. Now that I think about it, the whole scene played out like one of those action movies where the hero gets captured by the terrorists, and they take him into an interrogation cell that has a single light bulb hanging above a wooden chair. Then the terrorist says something like, "We have ways to make you talk." as he slowly unwraps a small collection of sharp metal tools. I halfway expected our doctor to bust out some sodium pentothal, and try to coerce E into divulging his secrets from the womb.
Here's an interesting detail, until recently the only pain reliever our doctor used for this procedure was...a pacifier dipped in sugar water. What!!!! If you are going to cut into my son's member, you better be dipping his pacifier in something a little more substantial, like Oxycodone or Ketamine. Thankfully doc had enough foresight to include some injections of a numbing agent in addition to the sugar water. With all the gentleness of a Mafia hitman, the doctor began giving a series of three or four shots directly into my son's penis. E momentarily began shrieking like a mad banshee, I proceeded to black out briefly.
I came to my senses and assured the medical team that I was fine. The look in their eyes led me to believe that I probably looked as queasy as I felt. "Are you Ok?" the doctor asked. I was having hot flashes, dizzy spells, and my legs felt like I was cruising the high seas on the Black Pearl, "aye aye Capn' Sparrow!" I barked at the doctor. "Let's get him a chair" was her response.
Having allowed some time for the local anesthetic to kick in, the doctor began to prepare the child's groinal region. She placed E's "man tackle" into a device that looked like a cross between a Pez dispenser and a cigar cutter. I find it ironic that fathers traditionally hand out cigars to their fellow male friends and family members at the birth of their sons. Not coincidentally has this tradition died down since fathers have been allowed to watch the circumcision procedure.
The details of the circumcision are somewhat vague in my memory. I believe that this is due to my post traumatic stress and the measures my mind took to protect itself. However there are certain images that have been burned into the limbic region of my brain, consequently I have a recurring nightmare where I am holding E in my arms running through a field as we are chased by the doctor whose eyes are full of malcontent as she wields a small French Revolution era Guillotine.
As far as the procedure goes, I seem to remember a stretching of skin, the use of scissors to cut the skin, a disk like device that used a twisting motion to strip the skin, a peeling back of the skin, & finally some clamping of the skin. At one point I found myself involuntarily crossing my legs, as I vicariously felt the pain that E had to be enduring. The doctor tried to make small talk with me, presumably because she could see that my flesh was taking on a sort of green tone and my eyes were rolling back into my head. On the verge of passing out I muttered "Now's not a real good time doc," as I cupped my crotch and keeled over. As the doctor finished up the circumcision there was a lot of screaming in the air, I can only imagine the sounds had to be similar to those on the battlefield at Gettysburg. Cries of pain and anguish rang out in that small room, however the doctor politely asked me to quiet down and gather myself. When I dried my eyes I saw that E was more or less unaffected by the torturous dealings doc had dished out. He was contentedly sucking on his pacifier and looking about the room.
It was hard to change E's diaper for about a week as he healed up. The skin around his "area" was pink and raw, and I felt nauseous every time I looked at it. However, three and a half weeks removed from the event, E seems to have healed up nicely. Our pediatrician says the circumcision looks good, and per my inquiry, doesn't believe E has suffered any long term emotional damage brought on by the ordeal.
I still look forward to teaching my boy to catch a football, how to properly submit an opponent with a kimura, how to shave, tie a tie and play a G chord on the guitar. So, I guess all's well that ends well. If I have another son, I don't know if I will watch him get circumcised. It's too soon to tell whether or not my fragile mind is capable of withstanding another round. If I do indeed have to witness this rite of passage again, I can assure you that I will be heavily sedated.
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Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The insomniac texts, 1st entry
Sept 5th, 3:27 am.
I am currently on my 43rd hour of not sleeping since bringing our newborn children home from the hospital. Tired...so tired. The sounds of my children squeaking and squawking fill the air; they are incessant. Helpless though they may be, their whimpering has kept me awake for longer than my mind can bare. Unsure of what is reality and what is merely a sleep deprived hallucination, I drift to the kitchen stopping only to say hello to the leprechaun burying his treasures beneath the tile in our hallway. As I open the refrigerator, a light bulb goes off in my head. I make a note so I won't forget my brilliant idea later, "solar powered cow" I scribble on the notepad magnetically clinging to our fridge. Upon further review, I'm unsure what this means, but assume I will figure it out tomorrow.
Right now I need something...but what? Fruit Loops! Toucan Sam stares at me from the back of the cereal box, "Do this cross word puzzle" he beckons me. I stare at his first clue, "A _____ a day keeps the Dr. away" 5 letters. I should know this. It's there on the outer rim of my consciousness... but I cannot recall it from the nether regions of my memory.
Tired...so tired.
The cereal loving cartoon Bird is smiling, his multi-colored beak is mocking me. His lifeless eyes seem to speak to me saying, "Bawk! I can sleep whenever I want to, stupid human. Bawk!".
"You will pay for this Toucan! I will empty this box in a days time!" I exclaim aloud. Too loud. The children stir in their sleep, I fear I may have awoken them and further delayed my chances of ever falling asleep.
I hold my breath and dare not move for fear of making a sound and waking the children fully. "Lub dub, lub dub", I can hear my heart pounding in my head. Can the children hear it as well? Every sound in the house is amplified. Please God don't let them wake up yet, I need to sleep, I will do anything, please!
Tired...so tired.
The children begin to stir. "Blast!" I shout under my breath. I run to their bed side, and begin to sing Brahms lullaby to them. Unsure of the actual words, I make them up as I go. "Go to sleep, Go to sleep, Go to sleep little babies. You are sleepy, freaking sleepy, Toucan Sam is a jerk." Slowly the children's breathing settles, they shift ever so slightly and fall back asleep. Exhaling stealthily, I lay my head on the floor and sing Brahms lullaby to myself.
Tired...so tired. Drowsily the room around me begins to fade. Miraculously, I slip away into REM sleep. I dream of hunting the Toucan with my new found friend the leprechaun. I am awoken a mere three and a half minutes later to the piercing shrieks of my kids crying for food. Noooooooooo!!!
Tired...so tired.
I am currently on my 43rd hour of not sleeping since bringing our newborn children home from the hospital. Tired...so tired. The sounds of my children squeaking and squawking fill the air; they are incessant. Helpless though they may be, their whimpering has kept me awake for longer than my mind can bare. Unsure of what is reality and what is merely a sleep deprived hallucination, I drift to the kitchen stopping only to say hello to the leprechaun burying his treasures beneath the tile in our hallway. As I open the refrigerator, a light bulb goes off in my head. I make a note so I won't forget my brilliant idea later, "solar powered cow" I scribble on the notepad magnetically clinging to our fridge. Upon further review, I'm unsure what this means, but assume I will figure it out tomorrow.
Right now I need something...but what? Fruit Loops! Toucan Sam stares at me from the back of the cereal box, "Do this cross word puzzle" he beckons me. I stare at his first clue, "A _____ a day keeps the Dr. away" 5 letters. I should know this. It's there on the outer rim of my consciousness... but I cannot recall it from the nether regions of my memory.
Tired...so tired.
The cereal loving cartoon Bird is smiling, his multi-colored beak is mocking me. His lifeless eyes seem to speak to me saying, "Bawk! I can sleep whenever I want to, stupid human. Bawk!".
"You will pay for this Toucan! I will empty this box in a days time!" I exclaim aloud. Too loud. The children stir in their sleep, I fear I may have awoken them and further delayed my chances of ever falling asleep.
I hold my breath and dare not move for fear of making a sound and waking the children fully. "Lub dub, lub dub", I can hear my heart pounding in my head. Can the children hear it as well? Every sound in the house is amplified. Please God don't let them wake up yet, I need to sleep, I will do anything, please!
Tired...so tired.
The children begin to stir. "Blast!" I shout under my breath. I run to their bed side, and begin to sing Brahms lullaby to them. Unsure of the actual words, I make them up as I go. "Go to sleep, Go to sleep, Go to sleep little babies. You are sleepy, freaking sleepy, Toucan Sam is a jerk." Slowly the children's breathing settles, they shift ever so slightly and fall back asleep. Exhaling stealthily, I lay my head on the floor and sing Brahms lullaby to myself.
Tired...so tired. Drowsily the room around me begins to fade. Miraculously, I slip away into REM sleep. I dream of hunting the Toucan with my new found friend the leprechaun. I am awoken a mere three and a half minutes later to the piercing shrieks of my kids crying for food. Noooooooooo!!!
Tired...so tired.
My Wife the Cyborg
First off for those of you who haven't been to Comic Con, don't generally recognize Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy as the greatest cinematic achievement of all time, or have no idea what a Graphic Novel is; I should probably explain what a Cyborg is because you clearly don't speak Geek.
Cy-borg (sigh-bore-g) noun: Cybernetic Organism, a person whose physiological functioning is aided by or dependent upon a mechanical or electronic device, i.e half-man/ half-machine. As made popular by Arnold Schwarzenegger's portrayal of the Terminator in James Cameron's Film of the same name.
I don't know how my wife does it. "It" meaning, finding the energy to selflessly take care of the kids, a home, and a husband, all the while staying beautiful, energetic, and fun. I'm amazed, and frankly a little suspicious.
During our postpartum stay in the hospital, I slept in our little room on a fold out chair. The chair provided very little in the way of comfort, or a solid night's rest. At best I was drifting in and out of sleepy town. Due to the lack of sleep and it's effects on my cognitive state, I can neither confirm nor deny the possibility that my wife was either: A. replaced by a Cyborg replica; or B. possibly outfitted with complex cybernetic technologies.
Before you jump to any conclusions about my sanity, and start saying things like; "that's a little far fetched Josh " or "sounds like science fiction to me Josh" or "You've read to many comic books because you have no life or friends and you spend too many weekends at home like a loser playing role-playing games like Settlers of Cattan with the few geeky friends you do have Josh, and it has clearly gone to your head and now you are creating some weird fantasy movie for you to play out." Allow me to make my case.
My reasons for questioning Jami's possible Cybernetic persona are three fold:
1. Jami has managed to consistently and routinely feed the twins almost every 2 hours since we got home from the hospital. When She isn't feeding she methodically works her way through a series of routines that include, pumping, doing laundry, vacuuming, and wiping things down in our house in an effort to keep our home clean and tidy. She does all of this without complaint, and still contends that she loves me; even though I'm incapable of noticing when the laundry could be washed, when the vacuum could be run, when the bathroom mirror could use a little Windex love, or when I complain about getting up at 3am to feed our helpless children who are a gift from God.
2. Jami has gotten exactly 34 minutes of sleep in the 3 weeks we've been home from the hospital, yet she is still stunningly beautiful and has tons of energy.
3. In the middle of the night I stumble groggily out of bed to the whimpering sounds of our children slowly waking from their restful sleep, to find that Jami has already stepped up and started feeding them, while simultaneously reading them a story and baking cookies. Her hair is in pristine condition her clothes are immaculate and she has a smile on from ear to ear.
This is not normal. At least it's not normal for humans, however this seems like quite the typical behavior for cyborgs. When you've eliminated all other possible alternatives, whatever is left no matter how illogical, must be true. My wife is obviously a cyborg. I am left with no other option but to covertly stockpile weapons and establish an evacuation plan for me and the children, in the event that, God forbid, my beautiful cyborg goes haywire. A rogue cyborg is not to trifled with, if you don't believe me watch the Terminator I & II.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
It's Game Time part 2
Before we go any further, let's back up to about week 31 of Jami's pregnancy. Our doctor told us to go to the hospital because we thought Jami was going into pre-term labor, due to the fact that she had more than 6 "contractions" in an hour. Whatever those symptoms she was having, I have a hard time calling them contractions.
Back to the birth story. As we sat in triage, Jami was experiencing the grandeur of real contractions. The difference between the contractions of 31 weeks, and her current contractions was significant to say the least. Her previous "contractions" were almost ticklish compared to what she was now experiencing. Jami said it felt like a really intense and painful version of abdominal crunches that one might do to tone one's midsection. Judging by her reaction when the contractions hit, it looked more like doing a crunch whilst being tortured by a electrocution device made from a converted car battery and a piece of chain link fence in some Vietnamese POW camp; I kept waiting for Jami to answer any questions I might have had by repeating only her name, rank, and social security number.
"How are you feeling babe?"
"Private first class, Jami L. Cecil, 318-49-1234!"
"Can I get you some ice water?"
"Private first class, Jami L. Cecil, 318-49-1234!"
If you've ever seen a woman have contractions, you know that they come in waves. You also know that it's obvious when she's having one. She has a sort of distant stare, as if she's remembering a far off time when she thought getting pregnant would be a wonderfully beautiful experience. If you've ever seen a woman have contractions, you also know NOT to ask her questions or take her picture. She can't answer your questions because contractions literally take her breath away. She doesn't want her picture taken because she believes you are in some way making light of her current painful state, which YOU are responsible for. Since I had never had the pleasure of witnessing contractions before, these realities were unknown to me. I was taking pictures like Ansel Adams, until Jami gently asked me to cease and desist.
"DO NOT TAKE MY PICTURE RIGHT NOW!" she said in a guttural voice several octaves below her normal pitch. I was half-way expecting her to start speaking in Latin, and for her head to begin spinning around. I was reaching for some Holy water just in case this whole pregnancy thing was just a ruse and I actually needed to do an emergency exorcism.
"The power of Christ compels you." I said under my breath.
Eventually our doctor stopped by to tell us that we could go ahead and do the C-section at 12:30, which was a little less than two hours away. I was conflicted, three emotions were stirred up within me.
1. Joy. My little guys were almost here! I have been waiting so long, imagining what they would look like and what it would feel like to hold them.
2. Empathy. I felt really bad for Jami, she was clearly in a lot of pain. I wanted to be able to take it all away from her.
3. But also...Fear. I felt woefully unprepared to be a father in less than two hours. Shouldn't we wait a bit longer? I mean that's only thirty minutes after lunch, I seem to remember something about not going swimming for at least twenty minutes after you eat; I can only imagine that something as immense as giving birth would require at least a two week waiting period following a noon time meal. Let's just slow down there doc.
From about 11:30 till about 12:30 when we were moved from triage to the delivery room, life sort of got blurry. Probably because my world was spinning at a pace akin to those contraptions astronauts find themselves spinning in for gravity defying training purposes.
We arrived in the delivery area, where Jami and I had to part ways momentarily. The nurses took Jami back to prep her for surgery, which included the much needed spinal anesthetic that would help Jami's labor pains evaporate. I was given some materials to wear over my clothes so as not to contaminate the sterile environment of the delivery room.
I opened the package I was given, inside I found what I at first thought was a "Haz-mat suit". Between my frazzled nerves, and the intricate structure of the suit I had to wear over my street clothes, it took roughly 45 minutes and the help of two nurses, a physical therapist, and a hip-replacement patient that had just come out of surgery to help me into my new duds. I had my booties on, my jumpsuit zipped up, a mask pulled taught against my face and a lovely hospital-blue hair net to cap off the ensemble.
Trying to calm myself down, I paced back and forth across the hospital room stopping repeatedly to sanitize my hands with the foam dispenser attached to the wall. Left, right, left, right, left, right, turn; left, right, left, right, left, right, sanitize. I was like a germ-a-phobic Buckingham palace guard with OCD. My routine was finally broken when the nurse came back to get me and bring me in to the delivery area.
Jami was sprawled out and strapped down to the operating table. The doctors had set up a base camp comprised of a tent of blue sterile napkins covering the lower half of Jami's body. Her belly was rising up from the middle of the sanitary blue ocean like a Leviathan out of the deep sea.
I've heard many a person say that watching the birth of their child was one of the most beautiful events they'd ever witnessed. I'm not sure what program they were watching, but it can't have been the same thing I saw. What my eyes were privy to, was a cacophony of violence and a menagerie of bodily fluids. It began with a thick coat of rust tinted iodine slathered across my wife's stomach. With the skill of a samurai, the doctor took her scalpel and made a careful and precise incision just below my wife's waistline; that was the last I saw of anything I would classify as skillful, careful, or precise.
The doctor and her cohort maneuvered both of their hands on either side of the gap the incision had made. They proceeded to lean back with all their weight, tearing the gap and the tissue beneath even wider. It looked like they were having a tug-o-war using my wife's abdomen for a rope. Once the exit wound was wide enough, the team of doctors and nurses began the process of securing the portal from which the babies would be brought forth; this included a lot of clamping, sucking, and more tugging. As the queasiness began to rise up inside of me, the surgical team began to stuff a giant hoop inside the hatch they had carved into my wife's belly. I proceeded to throw up a bit in my mouth. I was later told that the hoop was a gentler way of performing a C-section which allowed them to not take several major organs out including the uterus. My thought is: if this is a newer gentler way, what did the old way look like?
"Nurse hand me my field knife, and give the patient a stick to bite down on...this is gonna get messy." said the doctor in the movie that was playing in my mind's eye.
The doctor said something to the effect of are you ready, and plunged her hands into the cavity in my wife's midsection. When she withdrew her hands there was a tiny human head gripped between them. I can remember a Christmas when I was young and my cousin let me hold her new baby at grandma's house, my mother kept cautioning me to be gentle and support the baby's head and neck. You can imagine my horror then, when this medical professional was yanking and twisting my offspring out of their womb...by the neck!
My first thought when I saw my children for the first time was pure joy! They were finally here, with me and their momma. The whole moment was surreal, and a tear welled up in my eye. Once I caught my breath, I realized that my children were beautiful yes, but...also kind of gross. They were covered in goop, had a blueish gray pigmentation, and heads that were seemingly too big for their little bodies; but mostly covered in goop. Let me reiterate, that when the doctor presented my children to me fresh out of the womb, they were beautiful yes; however I did want to ask the doctor, "Hey doc, you're gonna clean those up before you hand em over to me right?"
Thankfully the answer was yes. Once the kids were pulled from whence they came, the medical team quickly took them over to little stations set up in the room. As I followed the flurry of action, I saw people poking, prodding, wiping and weighing my babies. Excitement and emotion grew inside me, I can't believe these are mine. When the doctor finally told me I could touch them, I was overwhelmed. I extended my finger and touched my daughter's hand, to my amazement she gripped it and squeezed. Inside I melted, and decided as soon as I got a chance I would get on the internet and buy my little girl a pony. Seeing my children grab hold of daddy's finger was one of greatest moments of my life.
After Jami was sewed up and cleaned up, the babies got to meet their momma. To see the love in her eyes as she met the children she had been carrying for 9 months was another of the greatest moments of my life. I have a new appreciation for my wife; what she is capable of, her unconditional love, and her selflessness amaze me.
So there we were, Mom and dad; with our babies 50% me and 50% her. We were a family for the first time. My heart was, and is...full.
Back to the birth story. As we sat in triage, Jami was experiencing the grandeur of real contractions. The difference between the contractions of 31 weeks, and her current contractions was significant to say the least. Her previous "contractions" were almost ticklish compared to what she was now experiencing. Jami said it felt like a really intense and painful version of abdominal crunches that one might do to tone one's midsection. Judging by her reaction when the contractions hit, it looked more like doing a crunch whilst being tortured by a electrocution device made from a converted car battery and a piece of chain link fence in some Vietnamese POW camp; I kept waiting for Jami to answer any questions I might have had by repeating only her name, rank, and social security number.
"How are you feeling babe?"
"Private first class, Jami L. Cecil, 318-49-1234!"
"Can I get you some ice water?"
"Private first class, Jami L. Cecil, 318-49-1234!"
If you've ever seen a woman have contractions, you know that they come in waves. You also know that it's obvious when she's having one. She has a sort of distant stare, as if she's remembering a far off time when she thought getting pregnant would be a wonderfully beautiful experience. If you've ever seen a woman have contractions, you also know NOT to ask her questions or take her picture. She can't answer your questions because contractions literally take her breath away. She doesn't want her picture taken because she believes you are in some way making light of her current painful state, which YOU are responsible for. Since I had never had the pleasure of witnessing contractions before, these realities were unknown to me. I was taking pictures like Ansel Adams, until Jami gently asked me to cease and desist.
"DO NOT TAKE MY PICTURE RIGHT NOW!" she said in a guttural voice several octaves below her normal pitch. I was half-way expecting her to start speaking in Latin, and for her head to begin spinning around. I was reaching for some Holy water just in case this whole pregnancy thing was just a ruse and I actually needed to do an emergency exorcism.
"The power of Christ compels you." I said under my breath.
Eventually our doctor stopped by to tell us that we could go ahead and do the C-section at 12:30, which was a little less than two hours away. I was conflicted, three emotions were stirred up within me.
1. Joy. My little guys were almost here! I have been waiting so long, imagining what they would look like and what it would feel like to hold them.
2. Empathy. I felt really bad for Jami, she was clearly in a lot of pain. I wanted to be able to take it all away from her.
3. But also...Fear. I felt woefully unprepared to be a father in less than two hours. Shouldn't we wait a bit longer? I mean that's only thirty minutes after lunch, I seem to remember something about not going swimming for at least twenty minutes after you eat; I can only imagine that something as immense as giving birth would require at least a two week waiting period following a noon time meal. Let's just slow down there doc.
From about 11:30 till about 12:30 when we were moved from triage to the delivery room, life sort of got blurry. Probably because my world was spinning at a pace akin to those contraptions astronauts find themselves spinning in for gravity defying training purposes.
We arrived in the delivery area, where Jami and I had to part ways momentarily. The nurses took Jami back to prep her for surgery, which included the much needed spinal anesthetic that would help Jami's labor pains evaporate. I was given some materials to wear over my clothes so as not to contaminate the sterile environment of the delivery room.
I opened the package I was given, inside I found what I at first thought was a "Haz-mat suit". Between my frazzled nerves, and the intricate structure of the suit I had to wear over my street clothes, it took roughly 45 minutes and the help of two nurses, a physical therapist, and a hip-replacement patient that had just come out of surgery to help me into my new duds. I had my booties on, my jumpsuit zipped up, a mask pulled taught against my face and a lovely hospital-blue hair net to cap off the ensemble.
Trying to calm myself down, I paced back and forth across the hospital room stopping repeatedly to sanitize my hands with the foam dispenser attached to the wall. Left, right, left, right, left, right, turn; left, right, left, right, left, right, sanitize. I was like a germ-a-phobic Buckingham palace guard with OCD. My routine was finally broken when the nurse came back to get me and bring me in to the delivery area.
Jami was sprawled out and strapped down to the operating table. The doctors had set up a base camp comprised of a tent of blue sterile napkins covering the lower half of Jami's body. Her belly was rising up from the middle of the sanitary blue ocean like a Leviathan out of the deep sea.
I've heard many a person say that watching the birth of their child was one of the most beautiful events they'd ever witnessed. I'm not sure what program they were watching, but it can't have been the same thing I saw. What my eyes were privy to, was a cacophony of violence and a menagerie of bodily fluids. It began with a thick coat of rust tinted iodine slathered across my wife's stomach. With the skill of a samurai, the doctor took her scalpel and made a careful and precise incision just below my wife's waistline; that was the last I saw of anything I would classify as skillful, careful, or precise.
The doctor and her cohort maneuvered both of their hands on either side of the gap the incision had made. They proceeded to lean back with all their weight, tearing the gap and the tissue beneath even wider. It looked like they were having a tug-o-war using my wife's abdomen for a rope. Once the exit wound was wide enough, the team of doctors and nurses began the process of securing the portal from which the babies would be brought forth; this included a lot of clamping, sucking, and more tugging. As the queasiness began to rise up inside of me, the surgical team began to stuff a giant hoop inside the hatch they had carved into my wife's belly. I proceeded to throw up a bit in my mouth. I was later told that the hoop was a gentler way of performing a C-section which allowed them to not take several major organs out including the uterus. My thought is: if this is a newer gentler way, what did the old way look like?
"Nurse hand me my field knife, and give the patient a stick to bite down on...this is gonna get messy." said the doctor in the movie that was playing in my mind's eye.
The doctor said something to the effect of are you ready, and plunged her hands into the cavity in my wife's midsection. When she withdrew her hands there was a tiny human head gripped between them. I can remember a Christmas when I was young and my cousin let me hold her new baby at grandma's house, my mother kept cautioning me to be gentle and support the baby's head and neck. You can imagine my horror then, when this medical professional was yanking and twisting my offspring out of their womb...by the neck!
My first thought when I saw my children for the first time was pure joy! They were finally here, with me and their momma. The whole moment was surreal, and a tear welled up in my eye. Once I caught my breath, I realized that my children were beautiful yes, but...also kind of gross. They were covered in goop, had a blueish gray pigmentation, and heads that were seemingly too big for their little bodies; but mostly covered in goop. Let me reiterate, that when the doctor presented my children to me fresh out of the womb, they were beautiful yes; however I did want to ask the doctor, "Hey doc, you're gonna clean those up before you hand em over to me right?"
Thankfully the answer was yes. Once the kids were pulled from whence they came, the medical team quickly took them over to little stations set up in the room. As I followed the flurry of action, I saw people poking, prodding, wiping and weighing my babies. Excitement and emotion grew inside me, I can't believe these are mine. When the doctor finally told me I could touch them, I was overwhelmed. I extended my finger and touched my daughter's hand, to my amazement she gripped it and squeezed. Inside I melted, and decided as soon as I got a chance I would get on the internet and buy my little girl a pony. Seeing my children grab hold of daddy's finger was one of greatest moments of my life.
After Jami was sewed up and cleaned up, the babies got to meet their momma. To see the love in her eyes as she met the children she had been carrying for 9 months was another of the greatest moments of my life. I have a new appreciation for my wife; what she is capable of, her unconditional love, and her selflessness amaze me.
So there we were, Mom and dad; with our babies 50% me and 50% her. We were a family for the first time. My heart was, and is...full.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
It's Game Time part 1
8:45 am- Wednesday morning, I'm sipping down the last few drops of my coffee getting ready to head in to work. I was thinking about how my day was going to look, when my beautiful wife sticks her head around the corner and says, "I should warn you, I think I'm leaking."
My first thought, "Leaking? Humans don't leak."
"I don't know if that means my water has broke or not." Jami elaborated.
Understand that this is a lot to take in before having a full cup of coffee, I'm still a little groggy and zombie-like at this point. Jami tells me she'll keep me posted on her plumbing issues as I head out the door and off to work, my mind never really registering the weight of her words.
10:15 am- I'm sitting behind my desk typing some emails, when my phone rings. "My water's broke, they want me to come in." Jami said rather bluntly.
"Who is this?" I offered.
The oxygen level in the office immediately drops by 82%. My saliva glands unanimously agree that it would be in everybody's best interest to stop working, and my mouth feels like I just had a snack of cotton balls, sand, and crackers. Adrenaline releases into the bloodstream, which tailspins me into hyper-alert mode. Unfortunately, though I'm hyper-alert, I have no real direction; as such, I'm kind of like a crazed lumberjack lost in the woods hacking his way through the forest cutting down a lot of trees but not really getting anywhere.
10:17 am- In a moment of clarity, I realize that I should probably pick Jami up, seeing as she is the one carrying the children in her womb. I make it from my desk to the driver's seat of the Pontiac Vibe in just three strides. (note to self: Check with Guiness Book of World records to see if I've set a new land speed record...will probably need to measure distance)
I take off in the Vibe, and reach 80 mph before I've even left the parking lot. A slew of injured critters, and possibly a sweet elderly woman in a motorized cart, mark the trail I blazed back to my house; they should've seen me coming...I had my hazard lights on.
I make it home in just under 13 seconds. I walk in the door and see Jami is comforting the dog, or maybe it was the other way around, I didn't stop to ask. I hurdled both dog and spouse, head to the bedroom to pack my bag; socks...check, underwear...check, sweatpants...check, t-shirts...check, jeans...check, toiletries...check. For some reason I ask Jami if I should pack my bathing suit? Not sure what I was thinking there, perhaps I might have time for a leisurely swim before we bring two new lives into the world.
I stuff my items into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I race out into the hall, I pick Jami up in a fireman's carry and sprint towards the car. I throw Jami into the car, and realize that in my haste I accidentally picked up Bailey our Golden Retriever. I go back into the house with dog, exchange her for the wife, she refuses to be carried, I still have no saliva and can't seem to get enough O2 into my system. I'm trying to stay composed so I don't panic Jami, inside I'm a hot mess and I'm afraid it's starting to show.
10:20 am- With 2 car seats, a double stroller, breast pump, diaper bag, mom's bag, my bag, and my contracting wife in tow; I pull out of the drive way and make a B-line towards the hospital. The sound of steadied breathing filled the car. Breathe in 2, 3, 4...out 2, 3, 4. I talked myself through these ancient breathing techniques desperately trying to calm myself down, Jami was having a pleasant conversation on the phone.
10:21 am-We pulled into the hospital, I parked in the closest space available. As I ushered Jami from the car, I struggled to swallow because my saliva had yet to make its trumphant return. Voices were shouting at me from every direction, confusing me. I was unsure which voice to listen to.
"Sir you can't park here!"
"Sir you need to move your car immediately!"
"Sir this zone is for ambulances only, you're blocking an emergency lane!"
With squealing tires, I started to take off towards more civilian type parking. Jami's contractions were picking up in intenstiy, so she serenely suggested I drop her off out front; as serenely as a woman can be when she has a vice grip around her husbands throat. I dropped Jami off and moved my car to the next closest parking space, conveniently located in the long term parking lot several miles from any entrance. As I rode the tram back to the hospital's main entrance, I sounded the alarm to alert the media that I was about to become a father. Two mass texts to our friends; and a phone call to mom and dad, "come on if, you're comin!", was all my saliva deprived mouth could say. I stood before the entrance of Clarian Hospital, like Frodo before the gates of Mordor, I knew my life was about to be radically changed.
to be continued...
My first thought, "Leaking? Humans don't leak."
"I don't know if that means my water has broke or not." Jami elaborated.
Understand that this is a lot to take in before having a full cup of coffee, I'm still a little groggy and zombie-like at this point. Jami tells me she'll keep me posted on her plumbing issues as I head out the door and off to work, my mind never really registering the weight of her words.
10:15 am- I'm sitting behind my desk typing some emails, when my phone rings. "My water's broke, they want me to come in." Jami said rather bluntly.
"Who is this?" I offered.
The oxygen level in the office immediately drops by 82%. My saliva glands unanimously agree that it would be in everybody's best interest to stop working, and my mouth feels like I just had a snack of cotton balls, sand, and crackers. Adrenaline releases into the bloodstream, which tailspins me into hyper-alert mode. Unfortunately, though I'm hyper-alert, I have no real direction; as such, I'm kind of like a crazed lumberjack lost in the woods hacking his way through the forest cutting down a lot of trees but not really getting anywhere.
10:17 am- In a moment of clarity, I realize that I should probably pick Jami up, seeing as she is the one carrying the children in her womb. I make it from my desk to the driver's seat of the Pontiac Vibe in just three strides. (note to self: Check with Guiness Book of World records to see if I've set a new land speed record...will probably need to measure distance)
I take off in the Vibe, and reach 80 mph before I've even left the parking lot. A slew of injured critters, and possibly a sweet elderly woman in a motorized cart, mark the trail I blazed back to my house; they should've seen me coming...I had my hazard lights on.
I make it home in just under 13 seconds. I walk in the door and see Jami is comforting the dog, or maybe it was the other way around, I didn't stop to ask. I hurdled both dog and spouse, head to the bedroom to pack my bag; socks...check, underwear...check, sweatpants...check, t-shirts...check, jeans...check, toiletries...check. For some reason I ask Jami if I should pack my bathing suit? Not sure what I was thinking there, perhaps I might have time for a leisurely swim before we bring two new lives into the world.
I stuff my items into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I race out into the hall, I pick Jami up in a fireman's carry and sprint towards the car. I throw Jami into the car, and realize that in my haste I accidentally picked up Bailey our Golden Retriever. I go back into the house with dog, exchange her for the wife, she refuses to be carried, I still have no saliva and can't seem to get enough O2 into my system. I'm trying to stay composed so I don't panic Jami, inside I'm a hot mess and I'm afraid it's starting to show.
10:20 am- With 2 car seats, a double stroller, breast pump, diaper bag, mom's bag, my bag, and my contracting wife in tow; I pull out of the drive way and make a B-line towards the hospital. The sound of steadied breathing filled the car. Breathe in 2, 3, 4...out 2, 3, 4. I talked myself through these ancient breathing techniques desperately trying to calm myself down, Jami was having a pleasant conversation on the phone.
10:21 am-We pulled into the hospital, I parked in the closest space available. As I ushered Jami from the car, I struggled to swallow because my saliva had yet to make its trumphant return. Voices were shouting at me from every direction, confusing me. I was unsure which voice to listen to.
"Sir you can't park here!"
"Sir you need to move your car immediately!"
"Sir this zone is for ambulances only, you're blocking an emergency lane!"
With squealing tires, I started to take off towards more civilian type parking. Jami's contractions were picking up in intenstiy, so she serenely suggested I drop her off out front; as serenely as a woman can be when she has a vice grip around her husbands throat. I dropped Jami off and moved my car to the next closest parking space, conveniently located in the long term parking lot several miles from any entrance. As I rode the tram back to the hospital's main entrance, I sounded the alarm to alert the media that I was about to become a father. Two mass texts to our friends; and a phone call to mom and dad, "come on if, you're comin!", was all my saliva deprived mouth could say. I stood before the entrance of Clarian Hospital, like Frodo before the gates of Mordor, I knew my life was about to be radically changed.
to be continued...
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