Let me think… when Anna was born. Jennifer had concluded her last day of work on Friday, without much fanfare. She was looking forward to a few weeks off to tie up loose ends around the house, easing her way through the final weeks of pregnancy and into motherhood. The following morning, we were on our way to a parenting class (_Sleep Strategies_, if I remember right) when Jen felt so uncomfortable on the drive down, that she had me turn around and go home because there was no way she was going to be able to bear sitting on folding chairs all morning.
Back home, she laid down and relaxed and was soon feeling better. That evening, we decided to see a Padres game. A. J. Burnett was pitching for the Florida Marlins, and the Padres lost 0-3. How do I remember this detail, more than three years later, you ask? Because Jennifer was again feeling uncomfortable, and wanted to leave around the sixth inning, but Burnett was throwing a no-hitter. With the sensitivity and caring that only a proud father-to-be can muster, I told Jen, “Honey, we can have other children, but when are we ever going to see a NO-HITTER?” Burnett finished the game with no hits, seven strikeouts, and nine walks. We stayed.
The next morning, Jennifer went swimming and had continued bouts of discomfort during the day. Around dinner time, she asked me to put together a bag for the hospital. I grudgingly began to oblige, and quickly lost interest. In my defense, let me say that Jennifer’s list of things to bring to the hospital was a proper superset of every list of things to bring to the hospital ever published. It would have been easier to bring the hospital to us.
It was after ten o’clock when Jennifer, who was resting on [piece of furniture will remain anonymous, since many of you have since used it] announced that her water had broke. Actually, “announced” is the wrong word, as it neither indicates the urgency with which she made her declaration, nor evokes the sheer panic with which I reacted. The next few minutes I remember as being something of a blur, as I realized how little of the uber-list I had packed. I rushed around the house stuffing everything in sight into a duffel bag: pillows, towels, slippers, house plants. Finally, Jen said it was time to go, and I took the bag, the list, and mama-to-be down to the hospital. On the way, we called our good friends J. and D., who went to our house and played scavenger hunt with the copy we had left of the uber-list, and Jennifer’s mom, who seemed pretty nonplussed–it was 2am her time, and she expected we were only at the beginning of several hours of labor.
I realize now that Jennifer’s mom had a very different perspective on labor, having been through it twice, than did we. I had already been instructed, on a previous hospital trip, on the proper procedures for dropping off, parking, checking in, and the progression through different areas of the hospital at different stages of labor and delivery. In practice what happened was more like an episode of COPS, when a suspect on the run jumps out of a moving vehicle, hits the ground running, and flees cross-country while ducking gunfire. I may be wrong about the gunfire, but it was more than three years ago, so my memory may be spotty.
In triage, we mostly waited around, occasionally toting our duffel bag and pillows from place to place, until a nurse brought a portable ultrasound cart. The ultrasound determined that… well, I don’t remember that it determined anything, but I remember that it was there. Eventually we were moved to the labor and delivery room, where we waited around some more, while Jennifer was being fitted with all sorts of instrumentation, until the OBGYN finally showed up. She used another portable ultrasound to determine what Jen had known for weeks, which was that the baby was breech. Apparently, having a baby who is breech after the water breaks is the magic combination for a c-section. It was around this time that J. and D. showed up with the results of the uber-list scavenger hunt, just in time for Jennifer and I to be prepped for surgery. My surgery prep mainly consisted of reading and signing pages of liability forms, until Jennifer reminded me that I was supposed to be coaching her labor, which had reached the point that it needed some coaching right now. I multitasked by reading the forms to Jennifer while simultaneously coaching her breathing. I think it went something like, “the undersigned party of the first part (breathe in) hereby relinquishes all rights (breath out) of litigation with respect to the (breath out) party of the second part…”
After it was decided that a c-section was in order, things began to happen very quickly. Jennifer was moved to a wheelchair, then out of the room. I was still signing papers, and gathering up our stuff. The doctor and nurse were moving around with purpose. I went down the hall, and had only a few seconds to talk to Jen before she went in to be prepared for the surgery and I went to a different area to put on scrubs. Jennifer was shaking. She was being wheeled down the hall and was shaking so hard I don’t think she could have a held a glass of water if she wanted to. I could see she was scared, and she was cold, and things were not happening the way she expected. I took her chilly hand and held it in mine. “Everything is going to be okay.” I said it, but I was as uncertain as she was.
By the time I was dressed and allowed into the operating room, Jennifer was laid down on a table with a curtain separating her head from the rest of her body. I sat down to talk to her head. We talked for a little bit and she seemed in much better spirits. She couldn’t feel anything that was going on. “Have they started yet? It’s ok if you look.” she asked. I peered over the curtain. The doctor had opened the incision and was installing some very large stainless steel spreaders to keep it open, and using and unsettling amount of force to do it. “Oh yeah, they’ve started.”
Jennifer encouraged me to keep looking. I could see where the doctor cut into the uterus; there was a little spash of fluid, then almost immediately, two little feet came poking out, making little alternating kicks. The doctor grabbed the feet and quickly pulled Anna out, holding her upside down as the cord was clamped and cut. As Anna was handed to a nurse, still upside down, her little baby hand reached out and grasped a tube that was hanging next to the table where Jennifer lay. Comically, the nurse kept walking until she realized Anna was putting up some resistance, then turned around and pried her little hand off the tube.
I remembered that I had my camera with me, and snapped a picture of Anna being cleaned up. In a few moments, the nurse brought her over to Jen, who gently touched and stroked her face. The nurse handed Anna to me, then reached for my camera and asked if she could take a picture of the three of us.
“Just point and shoot, right?”
