::: dahlbergcentral.com ::: i don't need to pee pee, i just need to rock

Okay, so, yeah, I guess we went and had a baby.

What's that? You want more details than that? Oh.

Most of you probably know that Val's original due date was March 28 -- just two days ago. There had been some talk between she and her doctor that maybe they'd take the baby a little early if things were moving along and Val hadn't started into labor, like around the 17th or even as late as the 24th. I kind of had the feeling that Nora, being the second child and having an older brother who arrived about ten days early, probably wasn't going to wait around for that, but what do I know? I get all my pregnancy information from WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING and reruns of ER and THE COSBY SHOW.

17th comes and goes. Doc says, nope, we're gonna still wait and see what happens.

On Sunday the 19th, Val starts having contractions -- at 10:30 at night, and they're about five to six minutes apart, regular as a drumbeat. So we're up and getting things cleaned up, packed up, house arranged, trying to figure out whether to call my parents or to wake Carl up or to call the hospital or what -- and then they start fading, from six minutes to eight to nonexistent, apart from the little "Ouch!" I hear Val utter every now and then as we're sitting on the couch and watching TV (but really more keeping an eye on the cable box clock, counting silently to ourselves.) No go; we give up and go to bed.

"Boy, it's a good thing we didn't call anyone and wake them up in the middle of the night," we say.

Tuesday night/Wednesday morning (really 3:30 am Wednesday morning), Val sits up in bed and says "AAAAAA!" I am immediately awakened, and miraculously don't have a coronary on the spot. Val says, "My water broke."

This, of course, means it's Game On. Carl's still asleep? Check. So we first call my parents, to have them come down to watch Carl while we head to the hospital (an hour drive for them if they left at that moment, remember.) My mother answers on the first ring, her bright "hello?" sounding like she was answering telephones at 3:30 in the afternoon for a major multinational bank -- I am amazed at her ability to sound chipper, when my own voice sounds like steel wool on broken glass. "Better get in the car," I say.

Call #2 -- Ronda, as interim babysitter. We rationalize this one on the basis that Peej is already awake anyway, having to be at work at 5:00. We are correct; she agrees to come over immediately.

Again, some last-minute cleaning and packing, including Carl's suitcase of toys and things, Val's hospital bag, me making sure I have cameras and paper and stuff (but, as I would of course come to regret later that evening, no clothes for myself). It's cold and a little icy outside, the last remnants of March's final snowstorm-that-wasn't, so we make sure we've both got warm coats and things. Val's contractions have definitely started now -- they were about five minutes apart when she woke me up, and -- ulp -- now have gone to about three minutes. Ronda arrives at about 4:15, we have a quick little conversation, load the car, and off Val and I go to the hospital.

Note, for future reference, that we have to pass two hospitals, including the Methodist behemoth known as Riverside about eight hundred yards away from our house, on the ten-minute drive downtown to Mount Carmel West.

The first obstacle: the traffic light at Milton, which I think is owned and operated exclusively by residents on the other side of Broadway, because no matter where you stop on our side, you can't trip it. It's, of course, red, and there isn't another car anywhere that I can see. Why did I go this way?, I'm thinking, and contemplating actually getting out of the car to push the pedestrian crossing request button in order to change the light, when good sense strikes me and I just run the damn thing. (Attention Columbus Police Department: sorry.) This, as we will see, is a good thing.

On to the slightly icy freeway, and I'm kind of driving slowly, barely getting to the speed limit, because I'm thinking to myself, Now would be a bad time to get pulled over for speeding. This, as we will see, is also a good thing.

We arrive at the hospital at 4:30 am. Val's contractions are getting stronger, about two to three minutes apart. We walk to the door and are prevented from entering the hospital by the cunning addition of locks. Yes, unless you're going to the emergency room, you can't get into the hospital at night. Val, fortunately, seizes on the nearby emergency room entrance, and we just kind of breeze through the anteroom and into the hospital's guts. (In hindsight, I think they must have realized Val was in the process of delivering and let her pass, because we didn't talk to anybody -- when I got locked out in the same way later that night [true!] I had to plead my case and show my little hospital ID bracelet to a kind nurse who unlocked the interior doors for me -- because those are locked, too.)

Up to the sixth floor and we're in the maternity ward, the labor and delivery section. Very quiet. We find the nurse's desk, get checked in, give them our ID and insurance information. Val's very calmly telling them, "yeah, they're about two minutes apart," so they take us down the hall to a delivery room. One of the nurses is hanging around; Val disappears into the bathroom to get undressed, and I dump our stuff in the corner. Val reappears wearing a hospital gown, and the nurse -- Sally -- gets her situated in bed. She leans in to check where things are with the baby --

-- and it is at this point that all hell starts to break loose.

Because what we didn't know was that once those suckers sped up, they would really speed up, in both frequency and intensity, with lightning speed. Didn't happen that way with Carl, doesn't happen that way with most women, but apparently, Nora June was pretty much done being cooped up.

Val starts kind of thrashing around. She's cogent and clear, but you can tell these new contractions are causing her a lot -- a lot -- of pain. She can only sort of keep still for the nurse to see about how far she's dilated. Sally finally gets a guess off -- about seven centimeters -- and another contraction hits, hard. Now there's a lot more thrashing and... not quite screaming, but maybe it's first cousin. Sally trots over to the intercom, says "I could use a few more hands down here right now," and within seconds there's seven people in the room, doing... I dunno, medical-type things.

Contraction. This one's hard enough to actually get that scream, and my wife starts twisting. My hand is holding hers, and this is the moment when she starts with the fingernail-claw thing. One of the nurses is trying to get an IV into her arm, and she can't keep still long enough to let her. Sally's trying to get Val's history, and I'm having to answer most of the questions. One of the other nurses is moving the bed around, getting the stirrups up -- and now there's a shriek from my wife, who is freaking out, moving all over the place, death-gripping my hand, and basically trying to let us all know in no uncertain terms that this baby is coming out right now. "Hold on, Val, the doctor's right here, we're getting him in a gown now." (It's -- thankfully -- one of the other docs from Val's OB's office, down there on someone else's behalf.)

More of the freaking out. The nurse is still struggling to get that IV started -- just the needle part! -- and Val is all arms and legs, almost struggling with us. I'm holding one arm, the nurse with the IV's on the other, there's a nurse to my right trying to keep her legs in the stirrups, we're trying to keep her calm, Val is yelling "I HAVE TO PUSH!" and we're all telling her "NO, NOT YET, IT'S TOO SOON", and I look at my wife and try to tell her I'm there, to breathe, we'll get through this together, it's gonna be all right, and I turn and look at the doctor and he's holding our baby.

...what?

And then it's over. I hear the little cry as the doc checks her, and he says, "Congratulations, it's a girl,", and they're cleaning her off, and Val is quiet and okay and looking a little concerned but not really all the worse for the wear, and the nurse says "you've still got your lipstick on!" and they put Nora in Val's arms and we've got a daughter.

It is now 4:55 am. We have been in the hospital for twenty minutes.

So, let's recap, shall we?

3:30 -- water breaks.

4:15 -- leave for hospital.

4:35 -- check in to maternity ward.

4:55 -- have baby.

They did get that IV in to Val's arm, yes -- but they never actually got it hooked up to anything until, oh, about 5:10 -- and then it was just some saline. No epidural. No drugs (well, two Motrin. That doesn't really count.) No serious complications (three stitches, I think he said.) Two pushes. One baby.

We emailed a phonecam picture to Val's parents in Hawaii -- my mother-in-law said, "well, that can't be them, it's way too soon." I called my parents to tell them the good news, and they were just pulling in to the driveway at the house.

At 6:00, I looked at Val and said, "So, what, do you want to go to Bob Evans after this for some breakfast?" We kind of stared at each other in disbelief at the... surreality of the whole thing, but there it was: we had a new baby.

And now you know... the rest of the story. Good day!

posted by Gus at 2:01 PM | |