George James Geig
Born 12/31/2013 (Friday the 13th!) at 5:31am
8lbs. 13oz., 20.75inches long
On Thursday December 12th, I went to bed around 11:30pm and woke up at around 1:30am December 13th having intermittent contractions. They were painful, so I downloaded an app on my phone (There’s an app for that!) to start recording how often they were coming. At first I laid in bed and they were coming about 9 minutes apart. Then 11. Then 13. Then 6. Then 10.
The magic number I was looking/waiting for is 5. My doctor’s office says, “Come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart.” I kept waiting for that to happen but it never did. Instead, I went from like 6 minutes to 3 minutes apart before I woke Gabe up and said, “We better go…” and at 3:30am we called the BEST FRIEND IN THE WORLD Lisa, to come sleep here while Simon slept. We headed off in the frigid cold and got to the hospital at 4am, when I realized that I couldn’t remember anything about where we were supposed to go for Labor and Delivery except “yellow”. Contractions were coming hard enough I couldn’t really talk through them, Gabe was only half awake and driving my car, and neither of us knew where the hell we were going. It was all very sweet conversations, I assure you. Finally we find the right (or A right) entrance and someone got me a wheelchair and told us where to go. The elevator doors open to the floor where a nice stranger in scrubs told us to go, and all around us there are unmarked doors. No signs, nothing. And we’re both so frustrated because neither of us remembers what the hell we did last time because it was SO LONG AGO and OUCH THE PAIN WAS BAD.
The pain seemed worse than last time, I do remember thinking that, and wondering why.
When they finally “checked me” the slow/non-moving/unhelpful nurses suddenly switched into high gear when they said, “Why, you’re 7cm with a bulging bag”
Um, gross. Bulging bag. They asked if I wanted an epidural. I said YES. They said, “Okay we will try to get you one.”
Wait what, “try?”
Yes, things were moving that quickly they were going to TRY. They moved me into a delivery room and put the IV’s and straps all over me to monitor whatever-it-is they monitor and to fill me so full of fluids I blew up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloon.
The nurse anesthetist came in and she was a lovely African woman with a thick accent and polka dotted head cover and I immediately became her best friend. The contractions were coming faster and more furious. My water broke/exploded all over the table and I was feeling so much pressure I was looking around at people wondering if this baby was really going to wait for me to get this epidural or what. Meanwhile “Essie” the nurse anesthetist calmly clucked at the back of my head as I grumbled curse words and writhed in pain: “I am going as fast as I can… just a few more minutes…”
Both Gabe and I discussed this post delivery and decided that Essie’s “as fast as I can” is about as fast as people move in the south on a hot July day without AC. They. Don’t
They finally put the needle in my back and I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care if the needle is the size of a bendy straw because I just have never in my life felt that kind of pain or pressure. By the time they got it hooked up and turned me over, checked me again they said, “OK you’re complete – would you like to start pushing?” I was so relieved when the next contraction came and I didn’t feel a damned thing. THANK YOU LAWD.
And that’s when the doctor came in, who was super cool and zen like and not my doctor. I was fine with that, however- because I knew him through a friend’s facebook page. And if you can imagine me in all my half naked glory asking the man between my legs, “So how do you know so-and-so?”
I remember glancing at the clock every now and then, and I think I looked at around 5am when I started to push and thought, “Dear God please don’t let me push for 3 hours this time.”
I pushed and didn’t really feel like I was making any progress at all, but I was assured that I was. At one point the doctor asked for a “Kiwi” which I quickly realized was a cute name for the Suction Cup/Vacuum they use to pull a baby out of you. This is the same thing that caused a BIG problem for Simon when he was born. But I wasn’t in a position to argue with anyone, since I had this baby literally CRASHING THROUGH ME so they put it on his head, I pushed and voila- at 5:31am they placed this super sweet baby on my chest. As they pulled him out about three people said, “Oh that’s a big baby. That’s a big baby. Whoa, he’s big.” And I’m like, “I TOLD YOU THIS HURT.”
He was only 8 pounds 13 oz, but still.
We counted toes and fingers and everything looked normal and after they took him away and then gave him back to me they said, “Now his head is a little cone shaped” and Gabe and I just laughed because compared to Simon, this baby’s head was as round as a basketball.
We only have grainy cell phone pictures because from the time I woke Gabe up to go to the hospital, to the time I had a baby in my arms, it was 3 hours and 31 minutes. We did not even grab our camera until the next day.
It was morning by the time we got to our recovery room and between the moving bed, nurses checking vitals every hour, and the squeaking adorable new infant by my side, there was no way I could sleep. So we started off sleepless from the get-go. Simon and other Family visitors came Saturday, and it was lovely. I will have to mention more about that in a Part Deux post, because I’m already getting tired.
But he’s here. And he’s pretty awesome.