…and like a good old garden grub have morphed into a whole new butterfly
I introduce to you…. DadSquared
…and like a good old garden grub have morphed into a whole new butterfly
I introduce to you…. DadSquared
I forgot one bit that all pregnant women need to know about…. the drop guts vom. I have never heard of it, but its pretty brutal. Through all these pains back in part 2, around the time Dr Hoff was taking Mrs I off the epidural, she went very white and really looked like she was in trouble. Pail as a ghost and shaking and losing consciouness (I have seen her do this once before). I rushed out of the room and called for a nurse and they came rushing in, sat her up and she vomited a huge tub of green bile. The epidural causes the green and kids moving into position causes the vomit. “Oh” says the nurse ” you are ready, 99% of women do this, it happens when the kids finally drop into place”. It stank, I can handle some bad things, but I nearly dropped out a sympathy spu. Dad / wingmen be prepared!
Ok – lets wrap this up…
In the end – emergency caesar salad is the way forward. The pushing was going nowhere. The blood transfusion form comes in for signing and there is relief that we are moving towards a solution, but hello? no one has administered drugs and the contractions roar on. After over 90 mins of drug free labor + 30 mins of other post decision contractions (later reported by Dr – I had no idea)… all on top of the effort the night before. Good effort. Mrs I is wheeled out to surgery for prep . I am given scrubs and told to wait. I feel like someone has cut me in half being away from her and I mope a bit, missing her terribly. I get into my scrubs and I feel like I am a Dr Dreamy off some TV show only to have my visions shattered by a Mrs I cries at the other end of the building. The phone in the room right. I know its Canada checking in but I don’t have time to chat as the Dr is coming.
The Dr drops by with his arms up in that cool “I’ve scrubbed up” kinda way. He has added a pair of blue plastic boots that look like a cross between ugg boots and leg warmers, but being plastic, they also have a gum boot look to them. He looks like he’s about to go and work in some rice paddies. I log the thought and wonder how much water / fluid will be in the room!. “Very strange” the rice farmer says, “at that size they should drop out in 10 mins, not take over 90 mins and not get very far”. “Maybe they are bigger or have fat heads” I reply, thinking how fast they have grown recently and also knowing I was a caesar to my mum due to having a fat head (oh.. and being around 10 – 11 lbs in size by the way). Anyway I try to sound professional as if 2 doctors in scrubs are having a meaningful pre surgery prep discussions rather than a rice farmer and some clueless gumby in a blue outfit and shower cap chatting as if we re in a pub. “We’ll, lets go see then shall we?” he says and we head into a whole new areas under a sign stating: WARNING SURGERY, NO GUMBYS ALLOWED WITHOUT SCRUBS”
Wow – a true OR and people everywhere. Big lights, machines that go bing (for the python fans amongst you) and I my eyes are darting around looking for my wife. She is there half under a blue tarpaulin in the most missionary position I have ever seen. Her arms are out 90 degrees to her body like she is truly tied to a cross. No idea where the rest of her body has gone. It looks like she has been run over by a truck and somEone has covered her lower half with the blue tarp. The drugs are working again and she is hazy but smiles. I talk, she talks back but she has that”just about to sleep” look you get just before you go to… oh you get it. The machine that goes bing, is binging, her BP is stable and there are nurses and Dr’s everywhere. I try to take it all in. I want to look over the tarp but have been told to sit on a stool next to my wife head. We chat, “so, how you going”, “oh good” (which is Mrs I’s answer every time I ask that question.)
“Dad, Dad, stand up”. So I do. I see Dr’s chatting away and one of them who declares himself Cuban start telling me something that I have zero recollection of. The lights are shining large and its like a stage. Centre stage is a large incision in my wife guts, out of it comes this little person in a process that looks like a reverse bungy. “It’s a boy!” declares Dr Hoff, which even though everything is moving at a frantic pace I see a nice set of nuts to confirm it for myself. I know these things are swollen upon arrival, but I still feel proud. Nice set there jnr. Mr Ball Bag is handed over to a nurse who takes him over to a toaster machine and starts working him. He is clearly not happy, but yelling is good and he looks a nice shade of pink. All good signs.
Almost immediately another head sticks up and is looking at me, I can’t remember if the doc pulled it out or it popped out by itself. I suspect the former, but briefly day dream it’s the latter. Dr Hoff grabs it and holds it up in the air and pauses. Its a girl! although I couldn’t really see “her thingo” this time as things were flying fast, but I trust him. I guess you develop a trust with a guy who starts the day his hand in your wife’s bits and ends in pulling human beings out of her guts. As if on queue after the announcement of her sex, time slows, and this enormous scream comes out of my daughters mouth. She is red, bright red and has this huge anaconda style mouth as if she has just noticed a small rodent on the other side of the room she would like to feed on. Alas, no rodent eating, but a huge burst of air and this tiny tongue flapping around in the middle of this black expanse. What a cry! They whisk her off and I see them pull out the placenta where they start to retrieve the blood for the blood cord sample we have chosen to take. (I ask the doctor later if he thinks this is worth it. He does but is not sure he will see benefits in his life time and he says that given what we have seen around IVF we are probably better informed than him on the advances they are doing around this.) After they pull out the placenta what I thought I saw was a second placenta but was actually really smooth and looked like a large piece of turkey. The seemed to be taking care of it so I suspected it was still part of Mrs I and therefore useful. I had a hunch what it was, but kept my mouth shut. One Dr had his hand in there scrubbing it out on Mrs I’s tummy. Mrs I was on the table and looking like she would vomit and was rocking side to side. “whats going on?” she says, purely by the look in her eye. I give a look back of “what? I don’t see anything going on, rest sweetie, all is ok”. I didn’t give her the look of “there is a Cuban man scrubbing out your uterus on your tummy” which is good as (a) I found out later my hunch was right on this and he was scrubbing her ute on her tummy, (b) I am really not sure how to give that particular look. and (c) I am not sure it was best to pass that one on.
“Hey daddy, come and see your son” calls out one of the nurses from the other side of the room There are 2 kiddy toasters in the corner working away keeping my kids warm as a pile of nurses work away on them. They look like the fry tray at maccas where they keep your chippies warm. My son, I declare, is instant trouble. He has as oxygen mask loosely on his head and while he flails I can see determined effort in his 3 min old arms to get this thing off his head. Eventually if falls / is knocked off and he stops wailing a bit. He’s sticky with mum juices, but gorgeous, I poke him lightly just to make sure he is real. I go back to my wife, “they are beautiful”, I tell her. The man in charge of drugs is now chatting to her, “ok, now the kids are out I can give you all sorts of goodies to help the pain if you are interested.” “load me up” she responds, without taking a second to consider. I head back to the kids.
My daughter is lying there peacefully, mask on her face, no fussing almost having a sleep after a meal. Maybe she did grab that rodent while I wasn’t looking. Ms lungs is resting peacefully. Mr Nut Bag is flailing like he is free falling out of the plane. Neither seem to be stressed and thankfully, I don’t see any nurses running or also looking stressed. Is that it? Did they really just arrive? We then get in to specifics, “What is baby A’s name?” says a nurse. “I have no idea” I respond, so the stork pad has “baby A” written down. He measures in at a long 51cms (even the docs look up and make a comment about that’s rare before diving into my wife’s guts again. Subsequent research reveals that that is the length of a 40 week delivery – so 4 weeks ahead) and his little sister at a more normal 46cms.
The Dr asks what their apgar score is (test you do on freshly born kids – Appearance (skin color), Pulse, Grimace (reflexes), Activity (muscle tone, flexing etc), Respiration (breathing etc)). “both 9’s” called the nurse. Wow says the doc, that’s amazing for 36 week preemies. ” Do you ever give a 10/10″ I ask. We gave one once on Christmas day, but it was Christmas, beyond that, no.
I went off and followed the kids to the nursery for a bit but then they were fine, I was more worried for Mrs I. I went back and had a chat with Dr Hoff around IVF as he stitched up my wife. She looked alseep but when I spoke to her her eyes opened and she would chat pretty well. Still – no pain. The show was over. There appeared to be blood and guts everywhere, but it didn’t see to distress anyone. At the end of the procedure when the stitching was done he walked around between her legs, pushed every so gently on her belly and a sea of blood come flushing out of her bits. What a finale! With that done. He walked around the table looks at me and says “lets go and see your kids”. Mrs I seemed ok and drowsy, and was being cleaned up, but man, her guts where going to hurt when the drugs ran out.
There are 3-4 nurseries in our local hospital with the most critical next to the OR and the normal fat chubbers down at the far end in the no stress nursery. We walked into the most critical room and the neonatologist was there. “Where are the InBetween Twins?” asks Dr Hoff “Down with the fatties” she says. “I glanced over them. They are fine.” She continues. Result. We then went and looked at them baking slowly in their little maccas fry trays. They had been cleaned up a bit and wriggling a little bit, but were generally looking like they were basking in the sun catching up on their tans.
I checked in to find Mrs I had gone back to a private room and was relaxed and we chatted through things a bit. After a while I wanted to solve one long term issue that has been lurking for me for ~10 months and now that I have a boy / girl, I can solve my problem… which kid is the 12 cell day 3 kid? (see link https://mrinbetween.wordpress.com/2010/03/24/dawn-in-little-korea/). After his birth antics with the mask and the fact that he was the most active in Utero – it had to be my son. I called CCRM and they were kind enough (on their day off) to check into it for me. The answer blew me away – it was my daughter. Oh boy – probably means nothing, but then the conspiracy theories start… so she was the day 3, 12 cell outlier and saw what pain her brother was going through at birth and was having none of that so she log jammed him against mum cervix so when she pushed he was just bashing his head. She, of course, knew there had to be another way out and ah ha – yes – she did pop her head out at birth She knew this, she played us all…. Bwah hah hah
So the kids were tested for things in the nursery and we hung out and chilled out back in the room. Around 3pm the kids arrived. There was no one around except for the 4 of us. I decided we needed to tackle names. We pulled out our short list and read through the popular ones until we found ones we thought suited the kids. Don’t ask me how, we just kind of went on gut feel. It was very peaceful sitting there, sun streaming in, with your son in your hands trying to work out what to call him. What an honour. What a journey.
So with that… that ends the In Between world. It was a big set of changes and from reading back on the 1st post – you do transform. (Pie – hang in there). Will I blog from here?…. Probably… maybe. I thought posting to a generally female IVF community post mr IVF would seem arrogant, but then a few posted and thought it was a really inspiring story, so I bashed on. The males… the males… how many IF males are out there suffering by themselves (very quietly) feeling inadequate and useless. Boys, things can be done. I get the feeling of inadequacy, I hear ya, but do everything you can to minimise it and things can be done. I have shit house sperm. Not the worst, but bad, really bad. I hope for those of you that have lurked, I have helped or inspired.
So to end up, I need to drop out a few thanks and I will keep this as cheese free as possible. To my hard core support crew who saw me as a freak male novelty read and posted away responses and have stuck with me. Ladies – you have been unreal and carried me (and Mrs I) on the bad days. Nothing better than trawling your posts for a comment on a shitty day. I don’t get half the fan male women bloggers do, but that makes your responses even more golden to me. I wish you all bucket loads of luck and am emailing “pregnancy dust” to all of you who have yet to receive the last batch I sent. Thanks to whoever sent it to us. We have had the fairytale ending, I wish it to all of you.
To the lurkers. I have never pushed to ask who you are, (but would love to!) and I have no idea and don’t see your details, I just see a spike in my readership.There are around 100 of you. Wow – I feel special. Thanks to those who delurked recently. I hope my story helps or if you aren’t suffering the scourge of IVF, I hope you at least find it funny and if not that, well I hope my bad spelling doesn’t annoy you too much.
…..and finally to my lovely mango princess, who, while only have been married to for under 4 years have already had a pretty tough journey, but you m’dear, are a pretty amazing woman. Life with you is awesome and I apologise publicly for any characteristic quirks that slipped through schoolies tests from my family and were passed on to the kids.
I leave you with 2 tips on IVF from all we have done. Who knows if they are true, but its how we tackled infertility:
– infertility is a ticking time bomb that will suck something in your life dry eventually. Your wallet, your marriage, your sanity, your relationship with family / friends, your performance at work, you inner strength to feel happy. At some point you will just stop, either through success or the bomb going off and getting off the roller coaster. IVF treatments and tackling infertility is not a permanent state of affairs, it’s a slow and very painful race against a clock that does have limited time…. so
– do everything you can to get off the clock favorably. Take this IVF thing as your #1 priority. Stop the drinking, period. Stop the coffee. period. Get healthy. Because you think “oh just one drink” but then get to the end of your 4th, 7th, 9th cycle and that is when you are most at risk of the clock’s alarm going off. The road to start another cycle gets harder and harder and eventually the clock will win and if it does, come away thinking you did absolutely everything you could. That was my fear – regrets years and years and years from now that I could have taken this more seriously. Anyway… on that happy note…
Thank you and post a response if you want to hear a new incarnation of me from the world of dad.
Mr IVF / InBetween
I decide to count down the mins as a time waster but to show progress. “hey sweetie, 7 mins down”. It only delivers a minor comfort relief and I dread counting to zero knowing that nothing happens on time in the medical system ever… I was right, 40 – 50 mins later, Anna is back. So much for 20 mins
We have been signing forms in advance and its time to take the shot in the spine. Mrs I is sitting up on the bed, hunched over as requested and we are in a kind of rugby scrum pose (if you know rugby) and I am holding her tight as another huge contraction rocks through her. Anna completes her prep and tells her to stay still no matter what as this jab is tricky but crucial. Get this wrong and you have a big issue, which is interesting as I thought we were currently having a big issue anyway. A calm enters the room, but so too does another huge contraction and Mrs I and I huddle together really close like we are in a field and only have each other as protection from a category 5 cyclone hitting us, (she is Helen Hunt and I am the other cute dreamy guy) . The contraction hits, as does the needle, Mrs I does not flinch. Not that I ever had a doubt but it is now confirmed, this women is made of granite, steel and concrete. She is a rock. She somehow refrains from shifting at all as this tidal wave of pain passed through her. The contractor monitor goes skyward, we are huddled cheek to cheek and there is only us around, and there is zero movement, zero comment from Mrs I, and complete awe from me. I have no idea how she did it.
Both needle and the contraction come and go. The sun comes out, the pain is going, the contractions start to feel less painful. You can see Mrs I doesn’t trust that pain can just go that easily. She sees the rise and fall on the contraction monitor, but she is feeling less pain. A smile appears, the storm appears to have passed, (actually, I was thinking we are in the eye of it, but keep those thoughts to myself).
The nurse appears for a cervix check, fist first. It’s around 1.30am now. In 3 hrs her cervix is up to around 6-7 cm’s. Wow. Everyone is impressed at how fast things have progressed. 10cms and you get a prize, sorry THE, prizes. The nurse can’t believe it and has another nurse check, and she agrees, whooska!, fist first. Another nurse walks in and wants a go. Geez – I feel like going down to dunkin donuts in the lobby and asking them if they want a go. This vajayjay is sacred turf here people, take it easy, but it looking like a luck dip stall at the fair or a calf birthing session on the discovery channel. It doesn’t matter. This is big news. One nurse leaves to call the doctor, another nurse hangs around. Having fisted my wife, she is looking or for something else to do to keep her amused I suppose. So I drop out a question, “so how often does the Dr not make it and you have to deliver”… “more than you would think actually, but I want him here for twins”. Well, good to know we are all in violent agreement on that front.
Time slows, the room darkens, the nurses leave us, Anna has come back sheepishly to see that she hasn’t killed my wife through any adverse reaction to the needle (after nearly doing it in co-horts with the nurses through some form of extreme pain challenge). All is forgiven, the drugs are flowing and the world is good. Everyone leaves us. Mrs I is chatty. We replay the events, the horribleness of it like it’s the morning after. I look down, I see no kids, so this tea party ain’t over. I don’t raise it, enjoy the break. We snooze for a few hrs.
The actual sun comes up. Around 6.00 the fisting crew turn up again for another round of fun. 8cms. No sign of the Dr but no pain, so no worries really. The contractions charts still looks like a roller coaster even if there is no pain. (Roller coasters: The official theme we have had to date around this whole fertility challenge, why stop now.) 6.30. Dr Hoff arrives, says hi, asks Mrs I how she is and digs in a fist. What an intro. 8-9cm’s. ok. Nearly. He leaves. He is in his scrubs and looks ready for some hard core action, but there is no kiddie crap setup in the room, (the kid toaster that they use to warm them and all that stuff lies dormant in the corner.) Nothing is happening soon by my count.
7.00 and he’s back. He digs in another hand and he says “ok push”. She gives it a push, and ok it’s her first, so hardly a pushing vet and remember, no pushing class training due to 10 weeks on bed rest, so we have no clue. He isn’t impressed. She can’t feel the pain enough it appears. He turns to the nurse, “turn off the epidural please”. The nurse turns to Mrs I with a look of shock, she looks at me with a certain degree of horror, I look back the same and a dread sets in across the room. Dr Hoff leaves, the drip is turned off, and the storm on the horizon rumbles back to life and fast.
7.30 Dr Hoff wanders in casually, Mrs I is hanging from the roof worse than before. “Wow – that wore off fast!” he drop out there “Push and count to 10 on the next contraction and do that 3 times”. It’s on. and Mrs I is unbelievable. It dawns on me that I have what I think is a really lovely necklace in my bag as push present. Witnessing this it feels completely inadequate. I should have bought her a house, or small Caribbean island as fair compensation for this pain.
Time flies. Every 2 mins or less is another mind bending contraction. I wouldn’t know of course, but there is no faking here. People rooms, no suburbs, away must be dreading what they are hearing. A call comes from someone in Toronto who hears the noise and asks what is going on. This is a hurculean effort. My wife: What. A. Fucking. Legend. I: am useless. I take over the counting. I even take full responsibility of this predicament (isn’t that the punching bad role I am supposed to play?) and tell her so (when all of us know the true culprit is Dr Schoolie). “Don’t look at me – I just spoofed in a cup” is not going to wash here and now my friends. The Dr is measuring at every push, he is saying very little. He can feel a head he announces, but beyond that are we close or are these kids still some where up around Mrs I neck with a loooong way to go?
Finally he speaks after what feels like 3 mins, but must be over an hr. “I feel a little movement”. Oh boy. There is one really bad word in that sentence. It is not missed. “Little??? You are fucking kidding me” comes the feedback and it wasn’t said with love and affection. “Yeah I won’t lie to you, I won’t make you go three hours, but you should still keep going”. I instantly just wonder if that is not one of the hardest 1 liners Mrs I will ever hear in her life. All this effort, for what? The Canadians call back, are equally as shocked, and offer support. A debate rages between pushes. We keep going, but boy it’s getting very very hard for Mrs I and very very hard to witness, (how can those blasts transferred 8 months ago cause this much havoc!!!). “How about now, can I stop now”… “soon – a little more”. We talk weights of the kids between volcanic contractions. Clearly at 6-7 lbs this should be doable in the Dr head. You can see him thinking this over. Everyone wants to be somewhere else, but through all of this Mrs I never cries. No once. Frustration, yes, you could say she has that in spades, but not 1 tear. Unbelievable. The question is – how are these kids going to make their grand exit.
Warning – this gets gooey a bit at times.
ok -so flash back to Deck 29, 2006 – can’t remember it? well I can. It’s the day I got married. Unbelievable day. I remember standing around at the altar and a mate came up to me and asked “Hey, how’s the nerves?” and I recall responding “Nerves? No nerves mate, I’m the one marrying the awesome babe and upgrading his life, lets hope she is here fast before she changes her mind.”
That day was 1,328 days ago and from that day on, we were pretty much trying to have kids. So for 1,323 days of that, we have been trying, or waiting or depressed, or crying, or jabbing my wife’s arse with needles or believing / hoping we might just get pregnant. The last 5 beyond that have just been surreal.
I remember getting a warning from my wife in our 1st month of marriage that we might want to “take it easy” on the try front as we weren’t sure how long the birth control pills toxins lasted in the system (how cute). We have gone from that, through a years of trying, all the tests (ok – I still carry mental scars of the ultrasound gell on my nuts, I recon I am still finding pockets of the gell itself from time to time, but the mango princess had it 10 million times worse on the testing front.) and 5 IVF cycles with all their special features …FISH, miscarriages, chemical pregnancies, D&C’s, ISCI, PICSI and IMSI sperm investigation, microarrayed embroys, gradings of blasts, freezing of blasts, thawing, injecting, hoping, celebrating, worrying and finally delivery. It’s been a very weird and very very painful journey, so a story like this deserves a big ending, and that’s what we got.
Out of the blue last Thursday night this blaze of knights on horseman came riding through Hoboken, up our front stair, into the elevator, kicked in our door, it was amazing. One guy blasted a trumpet and another rolled out a scroll and did the “hear ye, hear ye” thing, the room had gone silent and the announcement beings, “lady of the house, keeper of the children, ye waters have been unleashed on the world, work with calm, yet haste and head to the birthing facility for the delivery of ye great children” and with that they rode off…..
We wish… I was lying on our bed after another brutal day at work and Mrs I was in the en suite and drops out very casually, “I think my water broke” and she looks at me with a bit of a deer in the headlight look as if this event was some sort of surprise out of the blue that we never thought would happen. She stood up, walked towards me, we saw some drops on the floor, and I looked at her and said, “well, I guess its game on then”. Everything is super calm. We get more excited ordering dominos for dinner than the mood at that moment. She calls the doc. Doc asks what does she want – caesar salad or au naturale? She thinks. She asks can she think about it some more. Dr says decision needs to be made at the hospital. Hmmmm wise man, he’s done this before. She also asks him if she can take a shower, hair not clean enough. He says sure. It’s like we’re going out on a date.
We decide to walk the 3 blocks the hospital. It’s bucketing rain. We drive. I was born on the 13th of the month on a horribly wet night. Tomorrow is the 13th and it’s a horribly wet night. The parallel is not lost on me. We arrive at the hospital. The labor ward is rammed, it’s a busy night. We have twins in utero, the nurses are excited. They get twins once or twice a month or maybe two months, tops. Twins, it appears, are labor ward rock stars.
“…So you are just going to leave your other patient… no no I can do both…” there is a cat fight between the nurses in the corner as to who will be my wife’s nurse…. My wife is in pain, someone throws her a gown. It’s pants down from here on in. Someone check that the water has broken, it has, we are not going home. It is game on and by the end of the night, only my wife, the cleaner and my good self will be the only people who have not had half a arm up my wife’s do dah. That’s not the sort of hand shake greeting I am used to. No pain to date, everything seems to be cruising. It’s around 10.30 pm.
The decision has been made – we’ll go natural. Mrs I asked me on the way down in the car what she should do, we chatted, I gave pro’s / con’s of all situations, but tell her it’s her call. The nurses leave the room with a look of “wow – this will be quite a show” as we suspect this isn’t the answer normally given. Dread that she “chose the wrong door” seeps across Mrs I face at the same time that the colour runs out. Decision made, lets move along here people.
The contractions start to rumble. Mrs I starts to breathe heavily like it’s something out of a movie labor scene. In fact she probably picked it up off a move as the bed rest meant we never got to the birthing classes. It worked on TV, so why not try it here. All these random people appear, we have no idea who they are. They come and go like the contractions. The contractions get a little bigger, Mrs I looks like she is trying to punch out one enormous fart. I wait for it and the after laugh we’d have and a pungent smell, but there is none. The storm in her guts recedes and it’s life as normal again.
The monitor pads are on the guts, one for the contractions, one for each heartbeat. Throughout the whole night the heart beat ones never miss a…. hear beat. Good strong beats all night long. What is growing in there that can stay calm through all of this? The contraction one is remarkable and you watch it and Mrs I reactions with amazement (and dread) all night long. Mrs I is 2cm dilated at this stage. We are underway but the world is still somewhat calm. Nurses and randoms start to dissipate, it’s a busy night and there are kids to be delivered everywhere.
The anesthesiologist arrives. As she controls injections to the spine, she is our new #1 friend. If she could ever put her job title on a scrabble board she would win hands down. If she could spell her occupation at a spelling bee, she’d win that as well. She asks the basic questions, no allergies all looking well until we learn of Mrs I lack of spleen that was removed during a thrombosidapedia at age 11 (the spelling is a guess – its when you have your spleen out to solve a rapidly dropping platelet issues). “OK” says the Anna-whats-her-name ” I’ll just check the platelet count in blood results they took when you came in”. Anna leave the room. Mrs I coming off another contraction that are starting to really hurt turns to me as says ” I don’t think anyone took blood when I came in”. We forget about it for a while. The contractions are getting worse. Where’s anna? Anna’s doing another spine shot, she’ll be here soon, we find out. Soon comes and goes, and goes again and keep going. “Soon” – my arse! Contractions are getting worse. “she (Anna) is finishing up” says a nurse who suddenly turns up and also says “wow – you are doing all this pain without any assistance” in a tone that says they normally dish out epidurals in the car park on the way in for other labour ward guests . The pain is bad. Really bad. It’s really starting to hurt. I watch the monitor dreading the next wave, I see Mrs I flinch and grimace, I look at the monitor and the line is turning up. The line shoots over the top of the graph and Mrs I is not holding back on the “boy this hurts” energy, (remarkably – little to no swearing, what a lady). Anna turns up like she has just seen a ghost and three empty viles in her hand. I need that blood. I am sorry.
The nurse draws the blood, which is pretty impressive as Mrs I is crawling on the ceiling now. Anna mutters “I have spoken to the lab and I’ll be done in 20 mins”. Mrs I finally swears – “you are fucking kidding”. Anna and the nurses run out of the room. Running doctor, my mind registers, never seen that, that can’t be great and since when has anything been done on time in a medical facility?
to be continued….
I’ve tried to write this a few times tonight and I can’t quite get out what I want to say and all attempts have ended in tears, (literally). So let’s keep it the basics as I know many of you will take silence as bad news ( I know I would). Ok…. The basics:
• I am a dad.
• I have a 6 pound 1 oz, less beefy than I predicted, son called Toby (which translates somehow from “god is good”
• Toby has a 1 min younger sister called Zoe ,( which means ” life”), who at 5 pounds 10 oz, is also lighter on the “cheese” than expected
• i have the most amazing wife who produced two incredible kiddies who is bloody sore!!
• I cannot believe I could ever tell this story. What a fairytale. The miracle storks delivered ….angels? I don’t know. I am so flummoxed.
Posters, lurkers (there are a pile of you :)!!) dremers, believers, I will come back and tell you the whole story if you like, but tonight I stumbled across a song on my phone that cracked the cool I have held in for the last few days. I went down to the pier at Hoboken, listened to my song, stared out at manhattan, held my arm out wide, shut my eyes, looked up, smiled and cried like I have not done for a very very long time.
The song (and I don’t expect it to hit you the same way) has the following lyrics in it…..it just blew up in my head
When there’s nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I wanna stand up, I wanna to let go
You know you know, no you don’t, you don’t
I want to shine in on in the hearts of
All these things that I’ve done.
– the killers
Let me come back and tell you the story another day. Dream, chase the fairytale, and do ever stupid thing you can to go after it, but most important of all if you can hold on, hold on.
What a day, and who thought crying in Johnny rockets typing this would be a part of it.
Game on folks
Q: How many doctors does it to give you a date of delivery?
A: As many answers as there are doctors
Dr 1: Dr hoff the ob/gyn view: “you can go to 38 weeks”
Dr 2: Dr hoff’s partner: “somewhere between 36 and 37. We’ll induce at 37. (remember – these Dr’s are in the same practice)
Dr 3: Dr Rockstar – the high risk Obgyn. He walks into his office with his standard gold chain, baseball cap, “just came from a rock concert look” and in his waiting room yells out “you are still pregnant? what are you doing here?” gives Mrs In Between a fist pump, has an enormous grin on his head and then disappears into his office, while everyone stares. Well not really on the stares, everyone knows Dr Rockstar’s style.
So who know. Mrs I is now officially 35 weeks and 5 days, which like I said last week, is frikking unbelievable. There is a sense of calm from the dr’s now like we are “done” and the talk about numbers to ring and what would trigger needing us to go down to the Hospital.
For some reason we also had a weigh in this week, (we thought that was only monthly) and beefcake and cheesecake are going super size. One weighed 6 lbs 10 oz and the other 6 lbs 5 oz. So one of these fatties has added nearly a pound in a week. Ok – reading are broads, but the technician was saying – “umm I had a 6lbs kid, but that was full term”.
Lastly for this week, the wand woman in the scans was winding me up about “hope you have some bling” thinking about Mrs I engagement ring being able to be put back on her finger, but then realized the chicks in the room were lining up a push present bash on dad to be. I knew I should have just shut up, I knew it, but of course I open my mouth”Oh, ok” I said, “well what do I get for building the nursery and everything else for the last 10 weeks?” and Mrs I without a min hesitation says “you push these kiddies out your penis and I’ll but you a present”… and well, with that said, we were done on that conversation and you could just smell the “go girl!” ‘tude in the room. Fair enough to I guess.