Yes.

Getting the boy out was harder than we expected in so many ways.


Rachel came out to say good morning while I was watering the garden on Saturday. I asked if today was the day. She said yes, and a couple hours later we were on our way to the hospital. False alarm, back home. The rest of the day was a bit ruined by the disappointment.

Rachel's water most definitely broke the next morning around 3am or so. One of the cats had jumped directly on to her belly and woke her up. We're pretty sure he didn't cause the rupture, but it was a fun story for a couple hours. I got another few minutes of sleep in, then woke up to make coffee and toast, water the garden, and load up the car. We arrived at the hospital around 5am. One of the nurses checked Rachel, and ran a test to confirm the rupture. Rachel was admitted to labor and delivery by a little after 5:30. At this point, her contractions were varying from 3 to 6 minutes apart (although had been regular at 4 minutes up until we checked in), with no pain. After a few hours, the doctor decided Rachel might have been right the day before, and ordered an antibiotic drip. Apparently 24 hours is the normal maximum time allowed between rupture and induction here. Throughout the day, Rachel's cervix refused to dilate. Walking, showers,... nothing helped. The nurse gave the first dose of prostaglandin at 1:45pm. By late evening, Rachel had dilated to 1 cm (progress!).

Rachel started feeling pain with the contractions in the wee hours while I napped, and labor had come to a complete stop for about 45 minutes at one point. After five doses of prostaglandin, she was still only at 1 cm. The doctor ordered a pitocin drip starting at noon. With pitocin came increased strength and regularity of contractions, and more pain. At 2pm, Rachel asked for a dose of pain medicine, and a second was given at 4pm. One of the problems with induced labor is that pain medication (fentanyl, in this case) works against pitocin, and so more of both is needed with time. Rachel made the decision to get an epidural part way through the second fentanyl dose. She had initially wanted to try delivering without pain killers, but was at her limit so far. I reassured her that she was right to do whatever she needed, and supported her (shoulders and spirit) while the anesthesiologist put in the epidural line. We both caught a peek at the iodine and blood soaked towels, but were happy when Rachel's toes started to tingle.

The epidural reduced the pain of contractions enough for Rachel to get a long nap, even with increased pitocin drip, and she was dilated to 2.5 cm by early evening. With more pain and stronger contractions, and plenty of use of the epidural bolus button, Rachel and I were greatly relieved to hear she was fully dilated. It had been 48 hours since her water broke. Rachel started pushing with guidance from the nurse at just after 3am on Tuesday morning. I did my best to provide encouragement, bolus requests, water, and physical support without sounding like a complete jackass who had no real idea what he was doing.

I will admit that I became a little frustrated around shift change at 7am. A few extra hospital staff had come in to do who knows what and provided more "you're still here!?" than "how can I help?". We had seen the doctor a few hours before, and she had mostly shrugged and said to call when we were closer.

We signed consent for a Cesarean shortly after 7am. At this point Rachel was showing more pain than she had at any point prior, and was fatigued and frustrated. I stepped out for a few minutes to recharge, cool off, and give a quick update in the waiting room. When I got back to the room, Rachel was visibly calmer and in less pain. The baby had shifted, and she reported that the epidural felt like it was actually doing something again. She was also working very well with the nurse; the previous nurse had also been helpful, but also seemed to be getting fatigued by the end of her shift.

It was around 8:30 or so when I caught the first view of my son's head. The nurse positioned a mirror for Rachel. I highly recommend this - seeing the head showed Rachel that we weren't joking, she really was doing a great job, and she had more motivation to keep going. I stepped out again to have a quick snack and came back to keep helping. At 9:15, the nurse left the room to get the doctor and a few more hands to help finish the delivery. The baby's head was pushing further out with each contraction, with or without Rachel's efforts. Before she had started the final push, the doctor asked for quiet in case she needed to give Rachel directions. Rachel asked what kind of directions, and the doctor told her she might have to stop pushing if needed.

Moments later, the doctor gave the order to stop - nuchal cord. This is the part where the doctor saved our son's life. She quickly clamped the cord and pulled the baby out. It was only wrapped once around the neck, and his pulse had not slowed, but he was purple head to toe and hadn't made a sound. It was 9:27am on August 5th. Babies are slimy aliens when they first come out. They don't even look real. It doesn't help when the baby is face up on his way out, with his head at a funny angle. This contributed not only to the 6+ hours of active pushing, but to the big off-center cone head swelling. Even so, there is absolutely no feeling on Earth like seeing your baby for the first time. I felt a rush of joy at seeing him, and dread that he still might not make it. There is absolutely no fear like that for your baby's life.

A very tense 15 minutes passed while we waited to hear good news. This is the part where the nurses and neonatal ICU staff probably saved his life, or if not, saved him a lot of trouble. They gave him oxygen, monitored his temperature, pulse, and breathing. He was grunting, peeing, pooping, breathing, and was alive, but slow to transition. The doctor delivered the placenta - thankfully intact, and paused while giving Rachel stitches (only four - not bad for such a long day and big head on the baby) to watch the others work. The doctor reassured us that everything we could see and hear was a good sign. I reminded Rachel, and myself, to keep breathing. We were able to get a picture or two and a kiss each before the baby was taken to NICU for monitoring. The doctor gave us some more hope and then we were alone in the room.

We took turns crying, smiling, and comforting each other for about an hour before I was composed enough to give the news. My mother came to the room to comfort us and wait for more news. My father wanted all the medical details over the phone - his way of coping. Rachel couldn't bear telling her parents until we had an update. We were both in shock, and eager for any good news. By 11am, her epidural was out, and I wheeled her across the hall to NICU to see our son. He was waiting for us, pink and beautiful. We weren't able to hold him just yet due to all the monitors, but could touch and take more pictures. We went back to the room to give the good news. I called my father back, who was very relieved, and I called Rachel's parents, who were excited to finally hear good news after waiting patiently for two days. Another doctor came back to assure us that he was fine, but had to stay in NICU for a few days on monitors just in case. The nurse told us Owen was 8 lbs, 9 oz, and 21" long. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

After 54 hours in labor and delivery, 9 units of antibiotics, 5 doses of prostaglandin, 2 doses of fentanyl, 2 bottles of epidural drugs, a lot of pitocin, 6 and a half hours of pushing, and one amazing effort, Rachel was very tired.

In the two and a half days after his birth before we were able to go home, we spent as much time holding, feeding, changing, and adoring him as we could in between reminders to feed ourselves and sleep. His grandmother was all smiles holding him, and he had some adoring visitors. The pediatrician is so far very happy with his condition. Everyone on staff was shocked at how long we were there, and impressed with Rachel's strength. I have never been more proud of Rachel, and have found looking away from our baby a challenging task. Rachel thanked me for helping her through her ordeal, and is happier than happy to finally be home with our big, hungry boy. So far, we're both adapting well to our new full-time job, and are completely in love with our bigger better family. The cats are coming around to Owen, too.

We were skeptical of the doctor at first - she was subbing for Rachel's OB while he's away on vacation. We were wrong. She is amazing, and was there when she needed to be, and gave us exactly what we needed. The nurses (through five shift changes) were wonderful, and deserve our thanks and an apology for putting up with us during some of the more trying moments.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

[Written in March, neglected until August] We listened to the heartbeat about a month ago, and that was pretty great, but the ultrasound today was just amazing. Counting the right number of everything, watching tiny fingers wiggle and grab at the face. We saw brain, heart, kidneys, diaphragm, spine, arms, legs, fingers and toes, eyes and lips, and all of that. Seeing our unborn child's skull evoked a very strange sensation; in addition to the happiness and intrigue, there was a slight aversion. I suppose that makes sense when you are juxtaposing a symbol of death with medical observation and the joy of life - happy and curious at the sight, but hoping that there's never another glimpse.

December 2nd, 2013

There's not really a word for joyful panic that I'm aware of, but that's what it was for me. I felt an immediate shock over being thrust towards a thousand changes in our life, but with a profound happiness and sense of excitement. I want this blog to be useful for someone in the same situation, but I think I also want the outlet for all the crazy things that have started passing through my brain while our lives transform purpose.

On Monday, December 2nd, I finished giving a late afternoon lecture, turned my phone off of mute while walking back to my office and saw that my wife had tried to reach me several times. I called her back, and she told me she was late. That kind of late. The kind where she bought and used three EPT kits to make sure.

For the past two months, we've kept quiet, apart from setting up appointments with doctors and so on. My wife's sister knew, a close friend figured it out that same week, and we managed to surprise our parents and grandparents with the news when we visited them last week. My sister-in-law had only let one or two of the relatives in on the secret. We wanted to wait a little while before telling the rest of the world, but some of our friends are too clever, so the word is out now. During all of that time, I caught myself smiling a lot. A lot a lot. Really, way more often than I'm used to. And at the same time found myself pondering new, nearly paralyzing, fears and doubts about whether we're going to be ready to take care of a tiny human.

Am I a dad yet?

Should I change to a career path with better pay and possibly more stability?
Should we buy a house? Should we buy a house here? Now? Should we move closer to our relatives?
What if there's a problem with the baby before it's born?
What if there's a problem after? I don't know anything about taking care of babies...
What if there's a problem with my wife during labor? ... I mean... it's not likely, but she could die... I don't know if I can handle that and a child.
What if something happens to me? it's not likely, but I could die... what then?
What if it's a boy? What if it's a girl? What if it's not clear?
What if we pick a dumb name, or one that accidentally rhymes with a slang term that doesn't exist yet?
What if it's twins? Oh, crap, what if it's more?!
What if the small increase in the amount and types of radiation I was exposed to in Tokyo after Fukushima mutated my sperm and results in some awful genetic problems in our baby?
What if the known mutagenic chemicals I encounter at work contaminated my clothes, and touched my wife or our developing fetus somehow?
What if we have a drought? Or a flood? Or... I don't know... the cats get mad and attack Rachel in her sleep and we lose the baby and have to put the cats down all in the same week?!
What if Rachel resents me for not being able to be there for her first prenatal doctor visit? ...or for anything stupid thing I say or do while she's pregnant?
What if I resent her for something?
Will I be a good dad?

Of course we're not ready. We're definitely going to make mistakes, and our relationship will never be what it used to be, because now it's different forever. I'm terrified and overjoyed all at once. Joyful panic. Expecting. I'm pretty sure these are interchangeable terms.

Today, I saw the first sonogram. I laughed and cried, told my wife I love her, and forgot everything else in the world...