Jack's non-standard approach to life started early... when we drove up to Methodist (new Women's Pavilion) at 9pm for our induction, the overworked and frazzled receptionist looked up and said: "Have you eaten dinner?" It turned out that all laboring rooms were occupied - maybe there is something to the full-moon stories. So off we went - not much to find in Cordova at 10pm on a Tuesday, we found out, but soon parked at a nearby Rafferty's and whiled away a couple of hours eating chicken alfredo and enjoying an unusually cool evening.
Since the hospital wasn't calling back, we slowly drove back. Finally admitted, my drip (not sure now which one) was started around midnight.
The night passed uneventfully. Around 6 a.m., another drug was added to the drip (or took the place of the first one?). The morning just crawled - I started to have weak contractions, and there was some progress when Dr. B stopped by around 9 a.m., but nothing major was happening.
By 1 p.m., I was uncomfortable enough, but nowhere near active labor. Dr. B stopped by again on her lunch hour, and we talked. My main concern remained about timing of Jack's transfer to Le Bonheur - here we were, already in the afternoon hours. I wanted to know how late she was comfortable letting me go. She suggested waiting until 3 p.m.
Just a short while later, she stopped by again. Having run into Jack's planned neonatologist, they've gone over the timeline and agreed that even if I was in active labor by 3, that would leave no good time to get Jack transported before the end of day shift at both hospitals. So she asked if we were ready to consider initiating a C-section.
While she was out, Allan and I have already discussed this... Yes, I was ready, and on top of the timing concern, I realized at once that I was too tired and unnerved - the natural delivery suddenly loomed unsurmountable. So we gave an OK for C-section.
The next 30-40 minutes were tough... I couldn't believe how quickly things went into motion. Within minutes of Dr. B's departure to get ready, I was on a wheel chair, with new medicines piping in, quickly taken out of the labor room and on my way to the operating room. I remember cold - bright - lonely (Allan had to stop to get scrubbed) and still very uncomfortable to the point of pain from ongoing uneventful contractions.
There were at least a dozen people in the operating room. I 'hugged' a nurse while the spinal went in (I'm not squemish, but that stuff still makes me nervous) and within moments I was limp from my chest down. I remember most of all how fast everything was progressing... I was on my back with the screen in place; Dr. B was there; finally the discomfort subsided and the pain went away; Allan was finally there too. Dr. B and her assistant warned that I won't feel pain but will feel a lot of pulling and tugging - which is exactly what commenced just moments later. Odd sensation... Apparently, Allan watched the whole thing. Later he'll say how professional and efficient the doctors were - within minutes, he saw (and I felt) Jack come out, and I heard him cry.
There was such a huge sense of relief - in small part from just not being in pain anymore, and suddenly this enormous ball of tension broke for me to the point of shivering, and while I was being stitched up I was listening to Jack being attended to... He didn't cry much after his first 'sounds'. Someone from the medical staff quickly recited his stats (8 pounds 3 ounces, 21 and 1/4 inches) and then Allan was standing on my side of the screen again holding Jack wrapped up in a blanket, and I had tears rolling down. I saw him for total of several seconds - long enough to kiss his head - before he was wisked away to NICU.
I remember Dr. B saying (as she was working on closing the incision) how pink Jack was - "If we didn't know something was wrong, we would have never suspected it." So much for my 'blue baby'...
I don't remember how I got to the recovery room - medical elevators were involved, I'm sure. At some point, Allan was allowed to go to NICU to see Jack, and some time later he brought back the camera with his pictures. Jack looked so serious, so composed. NICU was waiting on the Pedi-Flight crew from Le Bonheur - and Jack was already hooked up to monitors. He would spend the next three weeks in the company of these wires and monitors... Of course everyone kept saying how great he was doing. It seemed obvious that he would be doing great. I don't believe in my heart I had allowed for any other option, and these updates were more of a formality to me than anything else.
Jack was born at 2:14 p.m. Around 4 p.m., Josh (our Lutheran pastor) drove up with my Mom and Maya. I was so glad to see Maya. She was a little intimidated at first and wanted to leave - I think - but we were still all in the room when the transport team brought Jack's 'incubator' by my room on their way out.
He was still quiet, my little man. He had those serious, determined eyes, even from behind the plastic of the 'box'. The Pedi-Fligth-ers stayed for about 15-20 minutes, allowing everyone to see him, yet I don't think I got a moment to just observe him for myself, with all the commotion and puffed-up humor in the room that typically accompanies a serious occasion like this...
And then he was gone. Josh, Mom and Maya left at about the same time that Le Bonheur's tank of an ambulance left with Jack, and Allan went with them to see them off. How quiet everything was, for just a few moments... I think that's the first time I started to feel the pain of the incision, and just laid there for a while, overwhelmed and hopeful.
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