The Stitch

Here we are, rounding out the first full year of Elizabeth's life, and I realized I have never shared the story of her birth with you. Hold on, it's a dandy ride.

At this time last year, as many of you know, I was put on bed rest with preeclampsia. My body had swollen up to about twice the normal size with water retention, my blood pressure was through the roof and my doctor had placed me on a cardboard diet.

On the day of Elizabeth's birth, my doctor had warned me that he would be delivering the baby as soon as I reached the point where he no longer felt comfortable with my blood pressure, and I was making weekly trips to his office for checkups.

On the 25th of January I met with my doctor. He took one look at me and said, "Let's deliver this baby."

My face and ankles were swollen beyond human belief - to the point that I was calling my ankles "Cankles," because there was no differentiation between my calves and my ankles - just straight swelling.

I called Brian to tell him the news, explained that the doctor would be inducing labor, and it would be many, many hours before the baby was here. He should feel free to finish out the workday and come to the hospital when he was ready.

One of our phenomenally wonderful neighbors hadn't not only offered to drive me to the appointment - he had outright insisted on it. I waddled out to the waiting room to tell him that I would be delivering that baby TODAY! As luck would have it, the hospital was located directly next door to my doctor's office, so it was a quick drive over to check me in.

Brian drove over to the hospital after work, and the two of us held hands and giggled to ourselves. The nurses wanted to vomit from the sweetness, I'm certain.

Things were going really well until my contractions started to pick up in intensity. Not much - just enough that I could feel them. Brian, the fabulous husband that he is, with his pad of paper and pen, recorded every twitch with obsessive accuracy. The nurses asked if they could keep him.

After a few - (actually, it was exactly two) very mild contractions, the doctors and nurses gathered in a huddle off to the side of my bed. They whispered too quietly for me to hear - you know, that VERY ANNOYINGLY QUIET whisper.

Five minutes earlier the hospital staff, Brian and I had all been joking about the Amazing Race and now all the sudden they were all serious and whispery and hiding very important information from me. I hate that. If you need to tell secrets about me, just leave the room. How hard is that? Apparently they didn't have MY MOTHER to teach them that you don't tell secrets about people DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THEM!

Remember the movie Labyrinth? Where the four upside-down-right-side-up bearded lie/truth door muppets whisper back and forth behind their shields? Yeah, that was exactly what my doctors and nurses were doing to me. All except one nurse who kept watching the Amazing Race throughout the whole secret-meeting-that-wasn't-so-secret. I liked her.

Just as I was about to get my granny knickers in a twist, they turned to explain to me that every time I had a contraction, Elizabeth's heart rate was dropping dramatically. The doctor said, "We're going to do a C-Section, ok?"

"Bring it on, Doc. I trust you completely." I said. I was a little relieved that they weren't going to make me endure 36 hours of labor and THEN decide to do a C-section.

Oh yes, I've heard those stories.

My doctor had already warned that the possibility of a C-section would be high because of the complications I had throughout the pregnancy, so I wasn't surprised.

They wheeled me down to the painfully bright and obnoxiously sterile operating room and shot stingy stuff into the tender part of my spinal cord with a steel turkey baster. My legs fell numb and they flopped me up on the slab. I was freakishly shaking all over and absolutely could not control it. I couldn't see anything, and Brian sat right by my head, watching (and videotaping) the whole procedure. About ten minutes into the party, I asked Brian to tell me when they started cutting and he said, "Ohhhh, we've long passed that point!"

Finally I felt a HUGE pressure on my chest and I couldn't breathe - and then Brian said, "THERE SHE IS!"

Of course I couldn't see a damn thing.

About two minutes later I heard her cry - and even though I told myself I wasn't going to be a hormonal wreck and burst into tears myself - I did anyway.

Because everything happened so suddenly with the decision to have a C-section, I didn't have time to wash my face before the procedure, so I still had on my makeup - and with my tears, all that mascara started streaming down my face . . . and blinding me . . . and STINGING . . . and my damn hands were strapped down. Brian was laughing at my Courtney Love on a bad day makeover and I was sob-begging for a bleeping tissue because the mascara was on the verge of chemically poaching my eyeballs.

The anesthesiologist, between boy giggles (which are always fun), asked if I needed a tissue, and I gave him an emphatic YES. So he scrambled around in his pile of anesthesiologist junk and grabbed what any man would probably interpret as a "tissue."

As Anesthesia Giggles crumpled it to dab away my mascara-injected tears, I instantly recognized the sound of institution paper - you know that crunchy brown craft paper you find in school paper towel rolls hanging from the walls? Yeah. Tissue. Right.

SCRATCHSCRATCHSCRATCH under my eyes, he dabbed, and I winced "OUCHOUCHOUCH, you call that a tissue?"

Brian burst into fits of laughter and said, "Now it's REALLY smeared around good!"

Anesthesia Giggles replied, "Well, what were you thinking, asking a GUY to do this job??? Come on! We don't know anything about this stuff!" and he unstrapped my hands to hand the crunchy crumpled mess over to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled. I wiped and asked Brian if I was still raccoon-eyed, but he was gone. He was at Elizabeth's side oooooing and ahhhhhing over our perfect little critter.

I was still shaking and unable to stop - plus, half of my innards had been pulled out and they were fishing around my guts. Watching the videotape is pretty impressive, especially since I didn't get to see any of it while it was actually happening. But what ticked me off is that they had a great deal of FAT pulled out of my body, and the b*stards PUT IT BACK.

Anyway - I wept. The doctors stitched. Brian filmed and eventually they wheeled me and E-Beth down to recovery, where I shook some more and the heavy duty Novocain wore off. When I stopped shaking, they let me hold her and it was the

most

amazing

thing

ever.

And one year later it still is. Except instead of smelling like a newborn baby, she smells like peaches. Or cottage cheese. It all depends on what she has mashed into her golden locks that day.

And just the past two weeks, she has learned her first words (apart from DADADADADADADADA)

Cat, dog, clock, baby, and finally, MAMA.

It doesn't get any better than this.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Pretty Pretty. I love you more than anyone would ever believe possible.

Peace, till next