From boots on the Lemmon to flip-flops in the OR

Amelia is here! At this writing she is 30 hours out of the womb. I have sort of slept for about five of those hours, which seems like a gift now that I think about it. The single most common piece of unsolicited advice given by friends and strangers was to get some sleep before the baby comes. Good idea. I am still in that "what do I know" stage.

I know this; Amelia is amazing. Even when she poops (a thing I am told that every body does). I guess that particular aspect of her charm will wear off at some point, but for now anyway I am enjoying keeping her clean and comfy as we bide our time here at Tucson Medical Center, on a sort of house arrest. We hope to check out on Monday, though I know Melissa and I bet she will be ready to go home tomorrow. We shouldn't even be here, but the series of events that brought us to this point were totally unpredictable, if not entirely unlikely. For all of our preparation and intention to have Amelia in the natural way at the Women's Health and Birth Center, things just didn't work out that way. We knew that was a possibility from the start. Any disappointment that things didn't go as planned is far behind us now, however, because Amelia is safe, healthy, and absolutely beautiful.


Thursday started out like most other late-term days for us; we woke up and said "Let's have a baby today!" By mid day we were ready for a hike on Mt. Lemmon - a bit later than normal hike departure time, but we didn't have any other plans. Other than having that baby.

We drove to the Sunset trail head and started walking with Lucas around 2pm. We have enjoyed this trail of late because it is nice and mellow and passes through some fantastic woods to a mild descent with excellent views into Marshall Gulch, and trimmed for all its length with fine wild flowers tended by happy bees and playful birds. Recent mountain rains raised the creek levels quite a bit, and water could be heard falling not far away for the entire hike. The Sunset trail includes one small section we call the "Full-term traverse," which involves several careful steps across a steep and fairly precipitous rock face. This is of course Melissa's favorite part of the trail, as she has not been able to wear her climbing harness since last October. Some people think Melissa and I are crazy. Just a week ago we were hiking in yet another high altitude downpour - Lucas wasn't particularly impressed with this choice!


We took a short rest at the end of the trail and let Lucas frolic in the creek while we snacked on apples and chocolate. Melissa mentioned that Amelia was rather active, but this didn't seem unusual to me. The cheeky little monkey has been kicking and punching for months.


On the drive down the mountain Amelia really started to dance. We toyed with the idea of stopping for a gelato on the way home, but decided to skip it. Good move. As we walked in the front door of the house Melissa practically ran to the restroom. Nothing unusual there, I thought, but a moment later she was calling my name and saying, "I think we are having a baby tonight!" The water was broken and it was GO time.

We arrived at the Birth Center at 9pm. It was fantastic there. Nice and quiet and peaceful with no other expecting mommies on site. It was like having an entire bed and breakfast all to ourselves. My sister Sabrina (who has four boys of her own) was there, plus our doula Loree and a midwife named Jill. That's it. I was totally at ease in the company of these masters of baby delivery. I put some good music from "Amelia's list" on the iPod as Melissa settled onto the big blue thera-ball for some low key bouncing with her contractions.

She was doing great, and looking gorgeous. After an hour Melissa was dilated to about three centimeters, and Jill said she felt the baby's head, plus lots of hair. Unfortunately she also encountered a lot of meconium, and due to potential related dangers, Jill made the official decision to admit us to the hospital. We were pretty bummed, but understood that it was the right thing to do. Meconium, the baby's first poop, is discharged in the womb by around %20 of babies delivered in the US, and of that number around %30 suffer meconium aspiration syndrome. My figures are based on the most minimal of internet research - the point is, lots of nastiness can ensue. Hence, it is a good idea to be around the best medical technology if this issue comes up, technology that the Birth Center does not offer. So after a short ride in the truck we were admitted into a small room in the triage unit at TMC. Medical gizmos surrounded us, and the atmosphere was in complete opposition to the ideals of our birth plan. We were confronted with a much busier scene and several new faces who were not all entirely friendly. Our little group stuck together though, and soon all the external factors were obscured by the "fog of pregnancy." Melissa was now deep into intense labor, and did not know at any given point who was holding her hands, who was rubbing her feet, or who was draping her with cold washcloths. She was the picture of focus as her discomfort began to grow. Contractions became very intense around midnight, with only a minute or two between each wave. She said more than once, "Where are my breaks?" We thought the contractions would be spaced farther apart!

Another hour passed with little progress. Jill, Loree, and Sabrina agreed that Melissa was well into the transitional phase of labor. Her bearing indicated that she was feeling the unstoppable instinct to push. The baby should be coming any time, but something wasn't quite right. By 3:30 am Jill decided to check once more. She announced that Melissa was dilated to 9cm, and then, the completely unexpected observation, "This baby is breech." We all looked at her. "This is a C-section."

The statement hit us like a rude crush of cold water. How could all of our desires for a simple natural birth have come to this? Why couldn't we do this the way humans have been doing it for countless millennia? We had studied our facts and done everything right. Now our little monkey had flipped herself about and lodged her butt in the one place that it was not supposed to be. Of course people have been delivering breech babies for just about as long as head first, but nowadays, in the United States, very few doctors will do it. I blame the lawyers.

In a matter of seconds we were surrounded by a bustle of activity. I was handed a plastic bag of sterile scrubs and told to get dressed. Melissa was actually keeping her composure quite well given the circumstances. She was given a small injection to stall her contractions, and then we were rolling through hallways and past strangers involved in another ordinary day at work. I was irritated that they saw us in this state that we never imagined would come to pass. It was none of their business, and it made me mad that we had to walk so damn far, my wife in a bed with tubes coming out of her and me looking like the Michelin man after a serious dose of liposuction. Why did I need this stupid shower cap, anyway? I don't have any hair! To make matters worse, my flip flops were abnormally loud as I hurried after the nurses pushing Melissa's bed. Maybe it was just me, but I swear my flop-steps echoed through the halls like the bells of Notre Dame.

Then, just as quick as it began, the activity ceased. A masked nurse I never saw again said "Daddy, sit right here." I jumped to Melissa's side and gave her a kiss, and then they were all gone. I was alone in a corner, left with a chair and some random bins of medical supplies, left to study the pattern of tiles on the floor and wonder if the love of my life would have some adverse reaction to the spinal tap. Time left me with my thoughts for far too long. I was momentarily distracted by the windows in the OR doors. They were at the bottom of the door. I would have to get on my hands and knees to check on my wife. What was the point of that?

Then those doors opened and Jill told me to come on in. I knew it was Jill only by her voice, and donning my own germophobic disguise I stepped into the OR. I caught a brief glimpse of Melissa's big beautiful belly, in the center spotlight and surrounded entirely by blue paper. eight or nine other people dressed in blue and wearing masks and shower caps busied themselves like the crew of the Starship Enterprise. I was invited to take a seat next to Melissa's head. As I sat I saw that she had her arms stretched to each side, supported by little extensions on the bed. Brief thoughts of some strange crucifixion entered my head, but then I was being addressed by the anesthesiologist. He reminded me of the late great Wolfgang Gullich, the first climber to successfully send the extremely difficult 5.14 grade. He was cool and just cocky enough to inspire great confidence. The dude knew his game and I knew Melissa was going to be fine. He told me I was welcome to look over the blue curtain that separated me and Melissa's head and arms from the insane business that was about to take place downtown. I just held her hand, looked into her eyes, and stayed in my seat. There are some things that a man should never have to see his wife go through. I've heard stories of fellows taking pictures of their spouses in mid procedure, filleted open in such an unbelievable manner. This strikes me as horrifyingly inappropriate.

And then, suddenly, a cry rang out and a blue shrouded body was holding our daughter right next to us. It was incredible. There she was, all red and angry and confused. There we were, all tired and weepy and inexplicably happy. This was no place for a child to take her first breaths, but at least we were there to see her through to better times. Oh yes, and so were all those brilliant professionals behind their masks. It felt as if we had interrupted some monochromatic masquerade party and asked, "Is anyone here a doctor? My wife is about to give birth!" Lucky for us, they were all doctors.


This was not what we wanted to go through, but with Amelia in our arms, nothing else mattered. Nothing prior to this moment had any bearing at all. Not a thing. Our distress and anger was utterly diffused. Now we had only to wait three or four days, stuck in a moderately nice room in a busy wing of a big medical campus, bothered frequently by almost entirely wonderful people who wanted to do strange things to our baby. It is unfortunate that her first days will have gone down like this, but at least we are all together.



In closing, I would like to repeat what I have said in prior postings. I don't remotely understand how anyone can choose to go through anything like what we just went through. I have heard some women say that nothing that big should pass through a space that small, but this is nature's design. I have heard some women go from the C-section straight to the cosmetic surgeon for a nip and a tuck and maybe something artificial implanted somewhere or other, and it blows me away that some elements of our society are so profoundly selfish and shallow. It also strikes me as sad that the rates of breech delivery have dropped so dramatically. Time was, doctors knew how and would readily do so, but rampant litigation has devolved these skills to something perceived as dangerous and even arcane. Sure, there are risks. Just like in every other part of life. But risks can be mitigated with proper education and preparation. This is one lesson Amelia will learn early, in practice and theory, as our new family keeps climbing and hiking together. Please feel free to join us any time.