I go to work on Wednesday thinking in the back of my mind that my wife may give me a call and say come to the hospital. It’s what happened with our son, so I figured it might happen again. There’s a certain advantage to avoiding the worry of whether or not to drive to the hospital because the contractions are a certain length apart. It’s almost like going to a baby store.
Sure enough, my wife calls and I quickly post a few words here to let folks know. (Another advantage. Had I been at home, there would have been no post.) Knowing the drill, I calmly and casually beat down the door to my office and run to the car. Everything was calm and serenity in my mother-in-law’s Honda, which was a good thing. There was all kinds of chaos going on around my car: people diving onto the ground, cars swerving, and lots of people waving their arms yelling and carrying on. Like I said, the calm of the car was comforting as the stick-shift groaned and gasped into unfamiliar gears.
I got to the maternity ward and everyone was happily awaiting our blessed event. It turned out that my wife’s water was dangerously low, so they were going to induce her as mildly as possible. It involves something called posteglanderin (sp) and is a good bit milder than petosin. We wiled away a few hours waiting for the effects to take hold. My son played happily on the floor and generally made certain that he was the center of attention for as long as possible.
I have no idea where he gets this need to be a ham.
About 7pm, my wife begins to wonder if she is feeling contractions or not. The monitor says that she is, but she is never quite sure. As she had decided to have no , and no epidural, we began the relaxing exercises to deal with the pain. As the medicine took effect and the contractions came more frequently, my wife became the picture of calm.
Seriously, ask anyone that was at the birth. They would watch the contractions on her belly, read them on the monitor, and stand agawk that her expression never changed from one of perfect serenity. She was in another place. This turned out to be good as I popped my ankle while sitting next to her. She didn’t hear the pop or the muffled strangulation noises coming from me as I searched for my happy place. Our friend signed to me asking if I was ok. I signed back that I was trying to be calm like my wife. I bit my hand to demonstrate how much it hurt – I noticed later that I still had the bite marks.
About 10:30 pm, she decides to go to the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to come out, I know that the baby is coming. She asked for the bathtub to be filled and I am relishing the idea of climbing into the jacuzzi tub with her for the final part of the birth. After what seemed to be a few days, the tub finally fills enough for her to get in. It’s then that I realize that this was the room with the single tub, not the family sized tub. She also indicates to me that she doesn’t want the jets running. Sorry, Kurt, no jacuzzi action was involved in the birth of our daughter.
Once in the tub, she finally breaks her silence to say that she is not going to be able to finish the delivery. She didn’t raise her voice at all, she said it about as matter-of-factly as you would tell someone that you’re going to the store. By this time, the nurse midwife and two nurses are in the room, but not the bathroom. The nurse midwife quickly reassures her and everyone prepares for another long period of labor.
What happens next can only be described as a tornado. There was a lot of concentrated, yet furious activity that occured in the space of about five minutes. I was sitting on the tile floor next to the tub with my hand of my wife’s shoulder. I figured out that my role was to be seen and not heard. (This was much better than last time where my role was to be chided, cramped, and not comforted.) The touchstone to the malestrom was my wife saying, “I think I need to push.”
The nurse midwife asks where the pressure is occuring and as my wife is saying where it is, she lets out her only yell. My mother-in-law and my son wake up upon hearing this and make their way to the bathroom. The third year med student in the bathroom with us begins to process what is happening, but is somewhat frozen by the effect of everyone else’s activity. The nurse midwife throws off her coat in a Zorro-like motion and dives with outstretched hands toward the tub. The nurse in the other room hears the nurse midwife’s order for something, and dashes toward the bathroom as well. Our family friend, a physician’s assistant and witness to hudnreds of births knows that she needs to get the video camera, but is unable to move toward the camera to retreive it due to the flow of people coming in. It was something like a salmon swimming against the current and all I could think was that our child would be born soon and I hoped that it was a .
My wife is the eye of the storm. She pushes without much sound and I see our child make an entrance into this world. The nurse midwife asks my wife to push, despite the lack of a contraction. She pushes one more time and our daughter is born.
Moments later, my mother-in-law, our son, the nurse from the other room, and the video camera arrive simultaneously. Our friend asks me how to work the camera, but I find I don’t remember myself. I take the camera and go on instinct, an instinct which proved to be right.
What Happens Next
Our daughter is very beautiful. She was, of course, covered in white mikly fluid and a lot of other things. I got to cut the cord and see her snuggle against her mother’s chest. Her big eyes and dark hair are the most beautiful I have ever seen.
However, we all notice that she is not turning pink, but remains quite purple. I see her quiver her bottom lip and realize that she cannot breathe.
“Not again,” I think. “Lord God Almighty, not again.”
My wife was able to hold her and the team tried all kinds of things to encourage her to breathe. Nothing is working and the nurses go to rush her to the nursery for more care. My wife and both think that it is happening all over again and we sit in shock for awhile. The nurses encourage her to move to the bed to deal with the placenta and cord and all of that. I lose perspective of time and space long enough to just try and focus on my wife.
Some time later, they come in and tell us that they cannot pass anything through her nostrils. Babies, by definition, can only breather through their nose, so she was rushed into the NICU and intubated. We have a few more visits with other doctors, but the long and short of it turns out to be that, like our son, she has a blockage in her nose. Unlike our son, it is her entire nose.
I think I can tell you that I was very angry.
I hospitals and as nice as the staff is, I really really do not like ICU. I spent 11 days in the NICU with our son and I had hoped to avoid seeing the brand new NICU. This was not meant to be, I guess.
There are a lot of very good people here. All of this is really comfortable in a strange way. It was like driving my morther-in-law’s stick shift, it all came back to me after a little bit of time. I have relationships with all these people that I saw exactly 18 months ago for a similar thing. We can all compare stories and contrast them with our son’s experience. A part of me wishes that I had met these people in everyday life and not as a result of their professional expertise.
Two children with blocked airways. Two surguries. Two NICU stays. Two six figure hospital bills. Two missed opportunities to come home with our new child like most Americans do. Somedays, I hug the bassinet with our daughter and cry. Somedays, I just look out the window. I shouldn’t be as comfortable with all of this as I am. I had hoped for something more and it upsets me that it did not happen.
I think about how good the coffee is in the family room of the NICU. I think about the surgery our duaghter will undergo. It’s similar to our son’s, but it is more risky as she cannot breathe at all without being intubated. I think about talking to the surgeon that operated on our son and how he remembers us from only 18 months ago. The staff is the same, no one appears to have aged very much at all. I look like I’ve aged ten years. My long hair is graying quite a bit when it is clean and I look tired. As with everything else in this world, I feel every emotion at once. My feelings sort out on paper like marching toy soldiers. They are not as organized in my mind.
Pray for our daughter. I beleive that she will be totally fine. There is not indication of Goldenhar’s Syndrome or other genetic defect outside of her nose. She is doing well and is exceedingly beautiful. If things go well, she will be operated on in a couple days. I am not worried about her health. Pray for me – this is hard to accept for me. I am grateful for my wife who once again is the calm of the storm.
Her name? Elani Rose Payne was born at 10:55 pm on April 18th. She was 19.5 inches long and weighed 7 lbs 10 ounces. She is strong-willed and spirited. She demands nothing less than to be treated like the princess she is. She is loved by many.