Birth

Today is Father’s Day and it’s about time I wrote about Ada’s birth.

Ada was born on December 16th at 12:00PM exactly. She was delivered via scheduled c-section, which was the safest option for us because the baby was in a breech position.

We went to the hospital early that morning. Kimberly was whisked off to change into her hospital gown and I was taken to the pre-op room to wait for her. While waiting, a nurse explained to me that I should eat so that I don’t pass out later. “Are you nervous?” she asked. “No,” I said, telling the truth. “Well don’t be, everything’s going to be fine. Now go get something to eat.”

I went to the cafeteria and returned with some eggs. There was Kimberly waiting for me in the hospital bed jacked into an IV, fluids flowing. There was a whooshing sound coming from behind her, it was the babies heartbeat. I felt the first pang of nervousness.

We were soon joined by family. We all sat around talking and taking pictures while I nibbled at my eggs. My mom kept our family tradition and brought a “zero” birthday cake:

When it was time for the epidural, our family was asked to leave the room. Again I was told I might pass out so I’d better off observing from an angle where I couldn’t see anything. I took a seat directly in front of my wife and held her hands while the anesthesiologist performed the procedure. For whatever reason, I once again felt calm and without the slightest bit of nervousness once the procedure was over.

Then we waited. The operation had to be delayed half an hour due to an emergency with another patient, so we waited some more.

Finally it was time. I was given a set of scrubs and my wife was taken away so that the final preparations could be made before I was allowed to join her again. When I watched the nurses wheel her out of the room I was surprised by the surge of emotion that welled up within me. I had an acute urge to give chase. Instead I waited, pacing the room with little awareness of my surroundings; utterly focused on Kimberly.

Eventually a nurse came in and led me back to the operating room. As I entered the room the nurse made it a point to stand between me and any glimpse I might get of the surgery. I was led over to the “pretty end” and, to my pleasant surprise, found Kimberly to be as high as a kite; a big goofy grin on her face. I looked past her and saw two containers filled with blood and decided not to mention them to her.

As the surgery went on I thought about how I’d feel with the knowledge that someone was digging around inside my body. Kimberly kept commenting with that goofy smile on her face that it felt like they were tugging at her organs and that “they must be in up to their elbows.” The anesthetist kept chuckling at her and I kept holding back jokes about losing a watch in there, nicking an artery, aneurysms, clots, bleeding out, and so forth. My sense of humor is never appropriate when it comes to life and death.

“Here she comes!” the doctor called out, “get the camera ready!” There were some suctioning noises and then a brief cry from Ada. I looked down at Kimberly and there was a tear in her eye as she commented that it was the “cutest cry ever.” They held Ada up over the curtain so that I could see her, I stood up and saw my daughter for the first time and said “holy shit.” Then I looked past the baby to Kimber’s exposed insides and said “holy shit!”

“Now we have to clean her” the doctor said and whisked the baby away to the other side of the room. I sat back down, looked at Kimberly and said “holy shit.” In fact, I’m pretty sure “holy shit” was the only phrase I was able to utter for a good five minutes.

Once they had cleaned her up and swaddled her, they brought little Ada over to meet her mom for the first time:

From there, I was to stay with Ada while the doctor sewed up Kimber. On the way out of the O. R. I managed to get a good view of the surgery; the blood, the folded back skin, some tube-like (the umbilical cord?) organ. As I stood there and stared I noticed a concerned nurse looking at me, wondering if I was going to pass out. “I’m fine” I told her. I was intrigued to the point that I considered leaving Ada’s side just to get a better view. I felt a strange new level of intimacy with my wife and decided at that moment that next time I’d like watch the surgery happen.

I watched as Ada was weighed (8 lbs. 2.6 oz.), measured (19″), and bathed. She cried the whole time and I could think of nothing but getting her to her mom for comfort.

Then, finally, we were all together.

Being a father has filled me with so much joy that the idea of Father’s Day seems almost preposterous. I’ve been given enough already.