I searched high and low, contacting old friends, and going through old computer files until my wife finally found this little article I posted on the day our second little girl was born.

In honor of today, her sixth birthday, I’m posting it anew on the “new” site of FathersTales, as it was on the original but was lost in a web-move.

So, here it is, warts and all:

Today, July 24, 2008 at 4:23 p.m. Central Daylight Time, the world
welcomed I. S. into it with the sound of her mewling cries and the
joyful tears of her mother and father. The day began for N. at 4 a.m.
(it never ended for K. who couldn’t fall asleep the night before). She
took a shower, got dressed, arranged her face and together with K.
exited la hacienda to begin their early morning journey to the hospital
to prepare for “INDUCTION”.

Now, some may be wondering… “Induction? Doesn’t that have something to
do with electricity?” I’m here to say, that while I suppose it does have
_something_ to do with electricity, this induction had to do with
encouraging baby #5 to go ahead and come out and play with the rest of
us post-natal persons.

Anyway… we arrived at l’hôpital at about 4:45 a.m. (a few minutes
earlier than expected) and went to the standard OB GYN check-in station
— or what we THOUGHT was the check-in station.

At 5:15 a.m., K. convinced N. that since no one was opening the locked
door to the supposed “check-in station” then perhaps they should proceed
on to Labor and Delivery. Off they went, one of them waddling like a
duck — the other dragging five tons of critical hospital survival gear
behind him.

Once we arrived at the desired respite, we were ushered into a room and
told that the hospital no longer uses the “check-in station” at early
mornings. Apparently our doctor who had been out of town for a few weeks
was unaware of the new “go straight to Labor and Delivery” policy. K.
was chagrined. N. was still pregnant.

At approximately 6 a.m., the medical staff began attempting to attach a
cylindrical bendable tubing to the Pregnant One’s arm. We say attempted
because the first attempt missed which wouldn’t have been all that
noticeable if N. hadn’t started bleeding all over the place from the
tiny puncture into her vein. After a little fretting and lots of
cleaning, the nurse again punctured Prego’s arm but managed not to lose
the spot and retained connectivity to the aforementioned’s arm. After
the second attempt and during further cleanup, the nurse embarrassedly
said, “Wow. It looks like a murder scene.”

A little while later (about 7:30 a.m.), the midwife came in and checked
on N.’s dilation. She measured a “2?. For those of you keeping score at
home, that means somehow, someway, somewhere since the last time she’d
been checked, N. LOST a unit of dilation. Now I do not pretend to
understand how the dilation thing works, but I can tell you that was
VERY annoying.

At some point (either a little before the midwife came in or soon after)
N. received a gift of the oft-reviled, oft-beloved miracle scourge
“Pitocin”. We shall refrain from making a judgment on its
efficaciousness or evil and simply state that this little bugger is the
one that (for lack of a better term) “gets things movin’!” Contractions
began pretty quickly once the “Pit” (that’s what the nurses call it)
kicked in. Now when I say “contractions”, I’m not referring to those
little annoyances that make preggers sit up in the middle of the night
and go “Oooo! I’m having a contraction!” I’m talking about full-blown,
scream-for-yo’-mama, muscle-mincing CONTRACTIONS. Yea. Nancy finally
understands what the midwife meant when she said “toe-curling.”

So, about 8:30 a.m. one of the nurses came in and checked N.’s dilation
— “Four”. Along with this little adventure, of checking the cervix, we
discovered that baby was not playing nice and kept having little “decel”
moments — when her heart rate would drop low (below 100, usually around
60) for a prolonged period of time (only a few minutes, but too long for
the staff’s comfort). So, the nurse smiled and placed the always fun
“oxygen mask” — or as N. likes to call it “The Plastic Sheath of Terror”
— over N.’s face.

Oh, I forgot, not only did we have this wonderful frustration with the
oxygen mask, but soon after the four was announced, N. asked for and was
promised an epidural. The epidural people came in and proceeded to take
over the room, kicking K. out into the street with little warning, only
his wallet, his cell-phone and, most importantly… no keys. They told him
to “come back in about 30 minutes.” Well, I (K) thought that was a great
idea so I went downstairs to get some breakfast. Uh uh… not so fast. The
cafeteria closed at 9 a.m.

“WHAT!!?!?” Yes, can you BELIEVE it!?!? How was I going to get a decent
breakfast? Oh, wait… I drove. I decided to head out to the car. Once I
made it to the parking lot I realized I was missing one thing — yep, you
remember don’t you — my keys. They were back in the room with the
Epidurmites.

Off I went, back to the room to bless my wife with my presence and get
my keys in order to head over to Whataburger and purchase one of their
majestic and fabled wonders… a PTAC (Potato TAquito with Cheese — it’s
got egg too, basically a breakfast burrito for all you newbs). Anyway,
once I got to the den of prickery (that’s cause they use needles to
prick you!), I was greeted warmly by the Epidurmutts with a simple, “GET
OUT YOU MISOGYNISTIC PIG OF A MAN-DOG AND DO NOT COME BACK UNTIL YOU ARE
BIDDEN TO ENTER OUR DOMAIN!” or something like that. In other words, I
would not be allowed to get my keys and have enough time to go get my
eagerly desired breakfast food. WAH! So, I went potty instead.

After a few minutes, the Epicurios completed their puncturing of my
beloved’s back and allowed me to return to her side, hungry and still
quite tired. — BY THE WAY, I had been gifted with a pillow and blanket
soon after we arrived and had used them quite handily in the room up
until around 8 a.m. when four fingered nursey started poking around, but
I still retained a great deal of exhaustion from my lack of sleep
overnight. — ANYWAY, N. told me that while I was off dawdling and
enjoying myself doing whatever inane things I surely had been doing
since I hadn’t been able to grab a bite of real food to eat that she had
endured quite the trauma. Apparently, the Epidodos were afflicted with
the same macular degeneration or similar condition as our first medical
assistant — they poorly placed the Epidermal and had only succeeded in
numbing the left half of her body.

Oh, that reminds me of another interesting story from the very beginning
of our hospital stay — while Stabby the Nurse was needling N.’s poor
wrist, two other nurses were talking about something to do with where N.
should have items placed upon her person to monitor her body, etc.,
etc., blah, blah, blah… At one point, Nurse A said, “Over there on your
left.” Nurse B responded by lifting up her right arm and saying, “Okay,
my left.” To which N. and I both stared stupefied at one another and
Nurse A remanded, “No, your other left.” It was a sign of the way the
day would go.

Back to the story… after a while, N called the nurses who came in turned
her over and enabled gravity to do its thing by pulling the special
alchemical formula for turning CONTRACTIONS into “pressures” into
operation on both sides of N.’s body. All were happy, and the
CONTRACTIONS continued but not as severe and simply as semi-annoyances,
until it stopped working again about 1 p.m.

A nurse came in, turned Nancy over again, and all was well again. Until
the Epidermal machine started beeping and I became a little concerned
because it had the word “OCCLUSION” written across it in bold letters
with a little electronic siren that seemed to be screaming “FIX THIS NOW
OR THE WOMAN IS GOING TO DIE!” It may not have actually said those
words, but I began to fret that it MEANT to say them. So, I quickly
called for a nurse who ran in, looked at the machine and promptly said,

*********** BE AWARE THE FOLLOWING WORD MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME —
HIGHLIGHT TO SEE IT!!!!!!!!! *********************

“SHIT!”

(I apologize for using vulgar language, but the statement and subsequent
actions were so entertaining and alarming at the same time that I felt
it must be left in for accuracy and clarity.)

She ran out to get another nurse who quickly guided her into finding
that N. had apparently and unknowingly rolled over onto and blocked off
the medicines/drugs coming from the E-Machine (which reminds me — do not
buy an eMachine, please, they are not worth the trouble).

Okay… so we continued to wait calling some family and friends to let
them know we thought things would happen soon.

When the nurse came in and measured N. at EIGHT (dilation
thingiemajiggers), we thought, surely we’ll deliver this baby soon. That
was at 1:30 or 2 p.m.

We waited and waited until finally at 4 p.m. the midwife showed up and
said, “Anyone want to have a baby?”

By this time, instead of being sarcastic or annoyed, both N. and I were
exhausted and simply cried out, “YES PLEASE!”

After a valiant and heroic job of pushing and breathing, N. delivered
her baby about 20 minutes later. She is a wonderful person, fantastic
mother and terrific wife. She braved a very hard day today and a very
laborious (no pun intended) pregnancy. Please remember her in your
prayers as she recovers and offer your prayers of thanksgiving to God
who saw her through this wonderful phase.

Thank God Almighty for our new little girl, and thank God for His
protection for N. through her pregnancy and delivery.

God bless you. We love you.

-K.+