We lived at 11900 Mandarin Lane, Tucson Arizona. 1989
It ‘s very hot and very humid. Not the best time to be pregnant and three weeks late with your first child. Brittany would be delivered at TMC, Tucson Medical Center.
Three weeks overdue then three days of labor.
Labor Day one:
Labor Day Two:
The more Karen screams the more I want to run and hide under the bed like a five year old. It was embarrassing. There were good intentions but the stress of that situation pushed me beyond my limits. Thankfully I wasn’t really needed at the scene. When it came time to have a baby the room would be filled with skilled and dedicated professionals.
Labor Day Three:
Once Karen was admitted the anesthesiologist moved in to do his part, the epidural. The anesthesiologist allowed me to watch up close. He explained everything he was doing as if I was a student and he a teacher. Minutes after the epidural took affect Karen was asleep. She literally fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. As soon as the pain from the contractions was taken away she fell fast asleep. It was her first sleep in forty eight hours.
Now she sleeps with machines and monitors attached to her. The nurse comes in every few minutes and monitors the monitors. Sometimes the doctor come in with the nurse. Sometimes there is a quick physical exam. Sometimes not. Then the nurse and/or doctor leave.
Nothing wakes her.
She sleeps now gaining the critical strength
needed for the actual delivery she is destine for.
At one point they broke Karen's water. I think they did this in order to gain more information about the baby. With the baby's scalp exposed the doctor then scratched it and a few drops of blood retrieved. These drops of blood would be analyzed for a number of things I think, one of which was the PH level. This is done every hour or so. Maybe it was every couple of hours.
Time lost
all meaning after three days of Karen with contractions. Day. Night. Night.
Day. They blended in to each other without notice.
The PH level began to dip. This is a minor issue warranting no action so everyone settled back down for more of the waiting game.
Uneventful hours pass. Karen slept. I slept on a chair next to her.
Then there’s an issue with meconium. This particular situation was considered minor so we all settle back down to wait some more but that’s two minor events.
More time passes. Hour after hour. Karen drifts in and out of sleep. She would wake and smiles but it's a gratuitous smile. The smile is for our benefit. That's how kind she can be. In pain and exhausted she is thinking about the concerns of others.
Nearing seventy two hours of Karen's labor the babies heartbeat changed. It began to drop. It didn't stop, it slowed down. The heart rate was dropping at a slow but steady pace. This issue was strike three and with this information the doctor commanded:
“We are taking this baby right now”
The doctor started barking orders and everyone began to move with great urgency.
All I wanted to do was cry. I was struggling to stand. I felt incapable of being part of the process. I can not handle this.
Karen's eyes are searching for mine. I am in fear she will see the terror in my eyes and that will not help.
I feel completely fucking useless because I am so scared.
"Please God"
"Please"
Nurses grabbed the bed Karen was in and rolled it out of the room we were in out into the hall. Then she was rolled down to the operating room. It was just down the hall. By the time Karen was prepped and ready for the C Section the surgeons walked in. They looked incredibly calm and radiated confidence. This is what I needed to see.
After getting quickly situated I recall the surgeon saying:
“We’ll have the baby out in five minutes from now” and he made an incision into Karen’s abdomen.
Before I knew it the surgeon was offering to hand me the scissors for which to cut the umbilical cord and he said:
“Would you like the honor”?
Up to that point I’d been strictly an observer and delighted in that role. The instant the doctor tried to hand me the scissors everything changed. I went from observer to participant. It was at this point my knees began to buckle and I felt faint.
“No doc. Sorry. Can’t”
My hand went up and I waved him off as I was forced to turn and walk away.
I stepped back and composed myself.
Nurses took the baby and cleaned her up. Scored her then swaddled her.
There it is, I thought, the miracle of birth. It happened right in front of me. Right before my very eyes.
Suddenly I’m astonished at this miracle and begin to tear up. Who can witness this and doubt the existence of God? This miracle happens day in and day out all across our globe yet the masses are clamoring, almost starving for miracles. Here it is. The miracle of birth.
People claim to see Jesus or the virgin marry in the shape of tomato or potato. These stories make on the tv all the time. I ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS view this as stupidity personified. The fact these stories make news is all the proof one needs to claim we still live in a very dark age.
You want to know what separates us from the real dark ages, penicillin. It’s a sad but true commentary about life on planet earth in 2012. Not very evolved.
Is it not easier to see the hand of God in the birth of a child than it is to see Jesus Christ is a potato? What is wrong with people. If you really want to see God’s handy work watch the birth of a child.
The masses seem to need something tangible from their God. They seem to need "evidence" they can hold in your hand while claiming they have proof of God. How much more tangible can you get than a child? ………………………………….It’s a rhetorical question.
I think if people began to view each other as sacred souls on a sacred journey there would be less violence in the world. As long as people are going to see Jesus in the most idiotic of places what hope do we have in reducing the violence and killing going on.
If people would see the hand of God in the birth of a child instead of seeing the virgin mary in some ink splot I believe we would have fewer wars and less killing. As long as people are going to see God's handy work in a potato and not in each other we are destine for more of the same. A violent and cruel world.
After watching the birth of my child I not only want to believe in God, I need to believe in God. I need God now, more than ever before. I need God to watch over my child when I cannot.
They brought her to me. She was swaddled up and wearing a cap.
She quieted down as soon as I started talking. I think she recognizes my voice.
Not really sure what to say so I took this opportunity to introduce myself.
“Hi Sweetie. I’m your dad” and the thought hits me, I'm someone dad now.
It’s more than I can take. More tears. I feel a stronger sense of love than I have ever felt all my life. It felt like an explosion of Love. An eruption. It was Cataclysmic. Profound, to say the least. I wanted to hug everybody in the room and tell them I Love them. I wanted everyone to know how much I Love them. This event bonded us. I felt us bonded in Love. It was extraordinary. It was an extraordinary experience. They were extraordinary people. My wife was extraordinary. Most of all, I now have an extraordinary child.
With my daughter in my arms I closed my eyes and began to pray to a God I now need.
“Please God, please watch out over her. Please keep her safe when I cannot. I would gladly sacrifice any and all Love and Light you have for me if you would only give that Love and Light to my daughter. Turn your back on me. It's OK. I'm prepared to go it alone from now on".
This is the easiest decision I ever made.
I get it. I'm not a complete idiot. It’s no longer about me. From now on it’s about her.
"Please God, keep her safe when I cannot.
Please God.
Please”
While in prayer one of the nurses asked for my daughter.
“Why. What do you have to do”?
I wanted to keep her in my arms. I wanted to keep staring at her. I had this odd concern they would switch her with another baby. I remember thinking, worrying, if she leaves without me right now and switched with another baby I do not know if I would recognize her.
I’m not letting her go.
“No. I’m not letting my daughter out of my sight right now.”
I want this face to burn deep into my mind.
The nurse instructed the need to take her to her next destination. It’s all part of the process.
“Lead the way”. I said.
“I will follow with my daughter in my arms.”
My gaze convinced her I was one hundred percent serious.
The nurse nodded and said with a smile:
“Follow me Dad”
They took us to another room where Brittany was weighed and measured. I can’t recall her birth weight, I think it was eight pounds seven ounces. She was nineteen inches long and had mild jaundice. After weighing and measuring they put my daughter in some sort of incubator because of the jaundice. I think they had a special light in the incubator to help remedy this.
After placing Brittany into the incubator and told she would need to stay in her for a couple of hours I realized I'd completely forgotten about Karen. I wonder where Karen is? I wonder how she’s doing?
The last thing I saw the doctor doing to Karen was emptying big pictures filled with saline solution into her abdomen. They dumped it in then suck the fluid out with some sort of a vacuum. It was amazing.
I was turned around at that point not knowing where to go. I had to secure the aid of a nurse in order to find my wife.
I found Karen in the recovery room. She was recovering.
I don't know how much time passed, maybe a couple of hours. We were in the recovery room together when they brought Brittany in and put her in Karen's arms for the first time.
As Karen held Brittany I could not help from thinking about all the pain I witnessed. All those contractions. All those pain filled contractions hour after hour.
I felt compelled to ask Karen about the pain. Her response:
"It wasn't that bad"
It was as if having Brittany in her arms that made the memories of the pain fade away.
Remarkable.
TMC Tucson Medical Center. They had an amazing staff of truly wonderful people.
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