This is my first entry for QTPies birth story contest. Whether you like stories like this or not, I can’t just tell one! Look for the other one a little later.
Birth of a family…
Tom and I had been married since July of 93 when we found out I was pregnant in September of 94. Young and stupid, er… in love. About a year before, we had gotten the “trainer-child” puppy that all young couples truly believe will be enough to put off the surging desire for a child. We had even gone through an ice-storm/no electricity, 3 day event with said trainer-child, but apparently it made no impact as to how much more difficult real life challenges become when there is another being depending on you. At the routine 4 month check-up and antsy parent, “can’t wait to pass out pictures to everybody regardless of interest” ultrasound, my Heart saw a hand fly by where there shouldn’t have been a hand. And so, the idea of the instant family- just add water- became a reality.
The babies were due in early July of 95. My son decided to get a leg up on the competition, so to speak, and stuck his foot out , breaking my water at the end of May. Have I mentioned that my husband was a grad student at the time? Yeah, with all the attending, “compound interest” of this pregnancy, we get to do it on a grad student’s budget. * Read, no budget.* Now one of these children is deciding to come early? Yes, another reality to deal with. Picture me waking up at about 2 AM in a puddle of water not created from a puncture in the water bed, very pregnant for the first time. Now, the reason this picture is somewhat alarming is that my grad student husband is usually a night owl haunting the university library stacks, sometimes until 3 or 4 in the morning. So, in a measured tone I call out for him. No answer. I call out a little louder and continue walking and dripping through the carpeted apartment hallway. Whew, he was asleep on the couch. Not asleep anymore! I must come off a bit panicked, I don’t remember being so, though, but my heart is the picture of composure. He reminds me to get a towel to keep from flooding the car and assures me that God has this under control and we will be OK. His first and chief worry is getting me down the steeps of our apartment building. Yeah, first things first.
The hospital is a quick 5-minute drive away. However, his next worry is that it’s raining. Not the primary concern for most people, but hey! One thing at a time. When we get into the hospital the attending male nurse in the emergency room tells us that it’s not so surprising that we’re there because there is a full moon out. Gees, give him something else to worry about, right? I’m in a room, the nurse does the check… yep, there’s a foot (I told her, but I guess she wasn’t paying attention to the one actually feeling it protrude). It is decided a c-section is in order so they’re giving me the epidural and, no kidding, I could hear and feel that needle scratch bone. It didn’t hurt, though, which was the weirdest sensation. Then some infinitely unaware person tells me I will have to take out my contacts. Um, I can’t see a thing without them… sorry, they have to come out… my white knight defends my need to view the first children I give birth to and they relent and allow me to wear my glasses. 
I’m shaking my head and rolling my eyes here, because in my mind, we have bigger things to worry about than my vision. Granted, I WILL NOT be denied my clear view of my children when they are born, but the argument was a waste of what little time we seemed to have left. They took Tom away to prep him and after a time they rolled me into the operating room. Tom later said he thought they would never come to take him to the operating room, so he came looking for me. He’s such a great Daddy already… he’s refusing to let anyone allow him or me to miss this.
So we’re in the operating room, I am shielded from what I can only assume is a gruesome site and Tom wishes he had been. What once was a pretty cast-iron stomach is no more. He didn’t get sick or anything, which was good for him. As they pull Sam out through the incision, I feel the vacuum his foot had created suck the other way. That was weird, too. He screams and pees on me. What a boy! Perrin is born and I hear nothing. Instant, tiny wave of panic, and the first time I use my daughter’s name out loud is to ask “is Perrin OK, she’s not crying”. She was, I guess, cause I heard nothing to the contrary and Tom really would have said if there was something wrong. While they are sewing the incision up, Tom says he watched the doctor count all of the cloths they used to clean up the blood. Funny man that he is, he made some joke about making sure they were all out, but I don’t think the doctor really appreciated it. He counted again.
That was almost 12 years ago. After a 2-week stay in the NICU they were brought home healthy and happy. The NICU stay was only because they were underweight and Sam was jaundiced. We were extremely blessed and our trainer-child now had two “siblings”. Instant family, instant reality! And the first of many more realities to work through with not an only child, but twins. Life is good, even when it seems challenging!
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(no name) |
Lauren S.Wow! A foot! That is amazing! I am right there with you on the contacts! Blind! I am glad your husband fought for you on that one! Thanks for visiting my story as well. This was a fun contest. February 19 8:48 AM |
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qtpies7 |
qtpies7Thats a great story! I pray every time I go in for an ultrasound that they find that extra little hand attached to an extra little body! I have a Sam, too! He’s the happiest little guy around, except when I don’t get him out of bed fast enough lately. I think he’s learning a little too much from his sister about screaming to get attention fast. Thanks for your entry in the baby story contest! Can’t wait to read the next one! February 17 3:18 PM |
