They must really, really like us here.
Our initial check-in happened on Tuesday afternoon, the birth occurred Thursday evening, and our checkout is all set for...
...
Yup. Not quite sure. And it's really OK given the factors. My boy was kicked out pretty early, so he was certainly bound to be on the smaller side. Dr. Z was induced, and those medication cocktails can add weight to the baby that's quickly shed after the birth. We knew he'd lose a fair amount over the course of the next day or so. It's expected, on the one hand, but in our case it was certainly a garauntee given the level of IV fluid provided to Mom during the induction process.
But nurses did acknowledge some difficulty with latching and feeding duration--all of which have resolved themselves over time--so the evidence suggests he needs some more monitoring before they can justify his healthy release.
Oh, and there's one final procedure they're consented to perform that will tucker him out and delay the subsequent feeding. So they're justifiably against putting the boy in a race that affords him no time for adequate recovery.
Thus, we sit and feed and change and eat and watch and talk. We do all those early formation activities that help christen and solidify a developing family unit. Mom does quite a bit during these sessions, obviously, and I take the role of occasional provider to help stabilize those things. We know the value of these activities, but still wish we were doing them at home.
And as I said, deep down I know it's really OK given all these factors. But deep down I've studied my ilk, and I know I often struggle with the moments that lack what I consider a familiar unfurling. In the manic scheduling associated with simple day-to-day living, it feels excruciatingly difficult to endure what's become, for lack of a better term, the "nothingness" comprising the space between tasks. It's almost as if the essential simplicity of life has become too dull for us. It can be hard to relinquish the compulsiveness I've developed through merely riding the contemporary merrygoround.
We are blessed, cared for, looked after, and on the mend. The sterility of this post-labor experience will dissolve, thanks to a car ride, and the nesting will begin.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
A Late Showing for an Early Show
After what one nurse called a "marathon ordeal" this week, Dr. Z and I welcomed our son to the world on Thursday evening at 5:04. The boy endured a long induction process, going through sporadic and often painful contractions with Mom in order to prepare her body for the labor. After nearly 30 hours of Pitocin-laden intervals, nurse #8 told us we'd proceed with "the process" after checking the dilation.
Another doctor arrived and prepared Mom for the manual breaking of the water. As he approached the bed, the water broke naturally (!), Mom had her most intense contraction, and then immediately vomited in an emergency puke bag.
And then things got moving in a hurry.
The painful preceeding hours had only pushed the dilation to 3.5 cm, and given the strength of the contraction, the immediate reaction to the fluid spill, and the absence of strength sapped by the previous days' work, Mom went off script and asked for the epidural. By 2:50 p.m., the shot was administered and the doctor OK'd Dr. Z's prognosis. By 3:45, less than an hour after completing the epidural and confirming a 3.5 cm dialation, Mom was at 8, and felt at times like she was actively holding back a child rather than letting one advance.
The doctor said the unborn boy had a bit more distance to travel, and speculated things would go even quicker around 4:30. By 4:42 we were set up and ready to push. Contractions became a bit harder to pin down at this point, but upon arrival, gave Mom three solid opportunities to work with the push. After just twenty-three minutes, our son set out on his great run, just as mom crossed another finish line.
Another doctor arrived and prepared Mom for the manual breaking of the water. As he approached the bed, the water broke naturally (!), Mom had her most intense contraction, and then immediately vomited in an emergency puke bag.
And then things got moving in a hurry.
The painful preceeding hours had only pushed the dilation to 3.5 cm, and given the strength of the contraction, the immediate reaction to the fluid spill, and the absence of strength sapped by the previous days' work, Mom went off script and asked for the epidural. By 2:50 p.m., the shot was administered and the doctor OK'd Dr. Z's prognosis. By 3:45, less than an hour after completing the epidural and confirming a 3.5 cm dialation, Mom was at 8, and felt at times like she was actively holding back a child rather than letting one advance.
The doctor said the unborn boy had a bit more distance to travel, and speculated things would go even quicker around 4:30. By 4:42 we were set up and ready to push. Contractions became a bit harder to pin down at this point, but upon arrival, gave Mom three solid opportunities to work with the push. After just twenty-three minutes, our son set out on his great run, just as mom crossed another finish line.
Seflies.
In the course of this process, I'm processing.
The concept of arriving at the precipice of this grand moment in one state, then departing it in another is difficult to trudge through because it's so drastic. One second you're a party of two, and the next you've acquired a third wheel.
The past 7 years have been focused on being a partner and provider. And along the way I've been eating and functioning and running in ways that serve my specific interests. But a wife in labor is not a wife requesting marinara with her dinner--it's not a period of provision I'm used to operating in. As a result, I can't help but struggle along the slippery slope above what should only be considered the childless version of myself.
If I was impatient in the past, I should try to avoid it now. If I would resort to any task because of some perceived compusion--walking, stretching, running, cooking, eating--I should try to avoid it now. That should probably include screen time, yet here I am hacking away at my thoughts, watching my wife watch me inquisitively between contractions.
I don't expect any sudden changes in who I am and the ways I operate. That's a bit of foolish hope atop rock-hard, established truths. I'm certain that those negotiations will carry on forever, really, once the baby decides to make his way(s) through the world.
Until then, I'm trying to avoid selfishness. I'm pushing thoughts of running and eating and sleeping and driving and working into the back corners of my brain so that I can engage with the moment. I'm distracting myself with screen-time breaks, needless tinkering in MyFitnessPal and searches on Yelp! I won't ever see play out.
And with that, I should get back to the moment.
The concept of arriving at the precipice of this grand moment in one state, then departing it in another is difficult to trudge through because it's so drastic. One second you're a party of two, and the next you've acquired a third wheel.
The past 7 years have been focused on being a partner and provider. And along the way I've been eating and functioning and running in ways that serve my specific interests. But a wife in labor is not a wife requesting marinara with her dinner--it's not a period of provision I'm used to operating in. As a result, I can't help but struggle along the slippery slope above what should only be considered the childless version of myself.
If I was impatient in the past, I should try to avoid it now. If I would resort to any task because of some perceived compusion--walking, stretching, running, cooking, eating--I should try to avoid it now. That should probably include screen time, yet here I am hacking away at my thoughts, watching my wife watch me inquisitively between contractions.
I don't expect any sudden changes in who I am and the ways I operate. That's a bit of foolish hope atop rock-hard, established truths. I'm certain that those negotiations will carry on forever, really, once the baby decides to make his way(s) through the world.
Until then, I'm trying to avoid selfishness. I'm pushing thoughts of running and eating and sleeping and driving and working into the back corners of my brain so that I can engage with the moment. I'm distracting myself with screen-time breaks, needless tinkering in MyFitnessPal and searches on Yelp! I won't ever see play out.
And with that, I should get back to the moment.
Not a Pacer in Sight.
Let the fatherhood blogging commence.
Well technically I'm not a father.
Yet. But Pitocin has been administered, although it's application doesn't suggest the beginning to anything except the possibility of labor.
And that's why I'm writing this. I'm not sure what else to do that doesn't involve reassurances, occasional massaging, or incessant pacing around the floors of the Labor and Delivery floor of the hospital. Given that I've eaten two breakfasts, downed 30-odd ounces of coffee, and wouldn't dare suggest selfishly lacing up the trainers for a run to fill the space between the developing contractions, I figured documenting the early stages might be worth doing now--even if just to provide filler--and to revisit later.
It's early. The day is ripe, but we're at 37 weeks into what is often considered a longer process. A blood pressure check at a Tuesday afternoon appointment had us bound for the hospital in Roseville, where, after monitoring in a triage room, we faced the overnight order in the Labor and Delivery wing. A quick trip home for me, and I was back with a belly full of food and a bag full of supplies. By midnight Wednesday we were facing the possibility of inducing, and the procedure for it started early Wednesday morning. After choppy sleep and a 4 AM drive back to Sacramento for more necessities, and the day was off and rolling.
We continued monitoring the blood pressure and the very healthy boy, and moved to increase the "readiness" of Mom's body using various methods along the induction process. We advanced to sporatic and painful contractions through parts of late Wednesday and early Thursday, which platueaud enough for Dad to crash out for a few key hours. Mom maintained contact and felt much, much better thanks to vigilant nurses and an IV.
And here we are. Mom's mom arrived, unprompted, and took over entertaining and easing duties. In fact, I've tried to spell her for a few of the contractions and realized that developing a fatherly mentality does not include any motherly intuition.
More to come, I suspect. News, perhaps, but surely a baby as well.
Well technically I'm not a father.
Yet. But Pitocin has been administered, although it's application doesn't suggest the beginning to anything except the possibility of labor.
And that's why I'm writing this. I'm not sure what else to do that doesn't involve reassurances, occasional massaging, or incessant pacing around the floors of the Labor and Delivery floor of the hospital. Given that I've eaten two breakfasts, downed 30-odd ounces of coffee, and wouldn't dare suggest selfishly lacing up the trainers for a run to fill the space between the developing contractions, I figured documenting the early stages might be worth doing now--even if just to provide filler--and to revisit later.
It's early. The day is ripe, but we're at 37 weeks into what is often considered a longer process. A blood pressure check at a Tuesday afternoon appointment had us bound for the hospital in Roseville, where, after monitoring in a triage room, we faced the overnight order in the Labor and Delivery wing. A quick trip home for me, and I was back with a belly full of food and a bag full of supplies. By midnight Wednesday we were facing the possibility of inducing, and the procedure for it started early Wednesday morning. After choppy sleep and a 4 AM drive back to Sacramento for more necessities, and the day was off and rolling.
We continued monitoring the blood pressure and the very healthy boy, and moved to increase the "readiness" of Mom's body using various methods along the induction process. We advanced to sporatic and painful contractions through parts of late Wednesday and early Thursday, which platueaud enough for Dad to crash out for a few key hours. Mom maintained contact and felt much, much better thanks to vigilant nurses and an IV.
And here we are. Mom's mom arrived, unprompted, and took over entertaining and easing duties. In fact, I've tried to spell her for a few of the contractions and realized that developing a fatherly mentality does not include any motherly intuition.
More to come, I suspect. News, perhaps, but surely a baby as well.
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