Strict instruction had been provided, to both of us, to prepare for the upcoming arrival. "Do not eat or drink anything after 4am," we had been instructed several times by several doctors at our final preparatory appointment the previous afternoon. On any normal day this instruction would have caused no issue, but on this October afternoon, at 34 weeks pregnant, I was starving!!! Ironically, wouldn't't you know it on this most special of special days, and me being a lifelong Type 1 Juvenile Diabetic, that a sudden case of hypoglycemia, or low blood sugar, rears its ugly, albeit potentially life ending, head. Luckily, that was the moment, my mom, our ride to the special event, pulled into the driveway, stocked to the gills with lifesaving glucose tablets.
The relief was tangible as we all, blood sugars at normal levels, loaded into her car and departed on our brief journey to our intended destination, Summerlin Hospital and Medical Center Las Vegas, Nevada.
Destination achieved, we were met at the entrance by awaiting medical staff who began immediately preparing me for this, my third and final cesarean section. This experience, for me, was somewhat old hat as I had been through the preparations twice before with the births of my daughters. The excitement for my husband, however, was palpable as this, the birth of our precious son, was his first and only child.
My nurse entered the delivery room steering the transport gurney carefully. "It's time!" She announced, barely hiding her excitement.
Having gained an exorbitant amount of experience in hospitals throughout my lifelong battle with diabetes, I was overly familiar with the transport procedure, so I clumsily crawled onto the waiting gurney. Now it was getting real, and my restlessness was building to a fever pitch as we entered the glacially chilled operating room. This is when the pace and tempo of all in the room began to pick up. The crowded hospital had overbooked the operating room, and there was another nervously excited woman anxiously awaiting the arrival of her own tiny adventurer into the world.
The anesthesiologist introduced himself then quickly began placing the equipment necessary for placing the spinal anesthesia I would need for the upcoming surgery. There were a couple brief uncomfortable moment when the good doctor instructed me, again at 34 weeks pregnant, to draw my knees to my chest, to which I automatically responded with a look so sharp it could have carved diamonds. Then... Everything went blissfully numb.
They separated the work area from the patient area with a flimsy, blue curtain, thus attempting to prevent my husband and I from seeing what they were doing to the lower half of my pregnant body. Unfortunately for my husband, who stands at 6'3" tall, the divider didn't hide the red hot laser, only using the description provided by my husband, hastily burning through my flesh. Bad luck for him, again, when the surgical mask provided by the hospital, slid off of his overly sensitive nose allowing the perturbing scent of burning human flesh to become forever embedded in his memory. From that horrific experience to then watching the doctor pulling my flesh off and rolling it back onto my upper abdomen and carefully removing all organs that blocked the path to our son, haphazardly placing them on my abdomen as well. Thankfully, this part of the procedure wasn't nearly so graphic or disturbing for me as all I was experiencing was short bursts of massive amounts of pressure on my midsection.
Now, remember when I casually mentioned that the temperature in the operating room was set to Arctic Freeze, a sterilization technique used by hospitals to make sure to operating room is as clean as possible. This setting did not agree with my new baby boy as the intense temperature change was immediately apparent to him when his adorable bottom popped out of the surgical incision. Yes ,that's correct, my newborn's first introduction to the out of the womb world was a full moon, an instruction, I have to imagine, was taken right from his daddy's playbook. The appearance was not an extended one though, when no sooner did the Siberian frosty air touch his rosy, warm Southern cheeks that he tried to squirm back up into the warmth and known comfort of his mommy. Thus beginning my newborn son's very first Tug-O-War. Which, not for the lack of trying, he did wind up on the losing team, of course.
By this point my husband had made it over to the scale to see his son through proud daddy eyes filling steadily with tears of joy. His first view of his wildly adorable, obviously stubborn son produced a gleeful, almost immature smile on his relieved face. His son, daddy's little man, brought the first of very many near hysterical laughs, closing his first day of life by promptly and completely soaking the poor pediatric nurse, whom had been chosen to hold our baby up for us to see, with the first official emptying of his bladder.
Happy Birthday Brendon Alexander 10/14/2008
Merci pour la lecture!
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