(NOTE #1: This is going to be a very long and detailed post. For those that have no interest in reading on – my friends, not Julie’s – no offence taken.)
So it all happened last week. We were advised by our midwife and by our Obstetrician that waiting for Julie to go into labour was a risk (although small) not worth taking. We agreed and were scheduled to go in for a C-section on Monday at 1:30 pm. Julie began fasting the night before, and let me assure you, that a fasting Julie is a frustrated Julie. She did, however, manage to survive until we were admitted to the hospital at about 11:30 am. We were sent to our room (private with pull out couch for Daddy!) to rest and await the porter that would whisk Julie away for operation prep. We had our midwife, Tanya, and her associate, Theresa, there to assist in any way possible. Little did we know that they would be running around all afternoon attempting to find out why we hadn’t gone into surgery yet. Apparently, our O.B. was preoccupied with a couple of natural births for which the mothers decided that their deliveries were more important than ours. Once he was ready to go, there were complications in the operating rooms, and after an extended wait, we were informed that we were no longer going to deliver our baby on the Monday.
At this point, I wanted the entire hospital staff – doctors, nurses, administrators, cleaners – fired. I was shocked and awed that they had built up our hopes and dreams and then let them come crashing down, if even for one day. Plus, Julie had gone about 20 hours without food. YIKES!
(NOTE #2: I’m finding it a challenge to complete this entry due to the unpredictable nature of the first few days of Max’s life, however, last night, the 29th, my attention was on Julie as I had to whisk her to Emergency at 10:30 pm – she’s OK, but stay tuned for that story in another entry…)
On Tuesday the 24th of April, it actually DID happen. Events as I recall them in my typical blurry fashion:
7:15 am – Arrive at the hospital after spending the night alone at the house. Brought flowers to Julie and changed into my scrubs…I look good…Noah Wylie E.R. good. (Is he even on the show anymore?)
7:35 am – Greet the midwives in the room as Julie is being hauled off for her prep. At this point, Josee had replaced Theresa. All of the midwives that we have dealt with have been extremely supportive. Two thumbs up for midwifery care (pronounced “mid-wiff-ery” for some odd reason – still has me perplexed, that language of mine).
7:50 am – In the recovery room with Julie. Everyone begins speaking French. Uh-oh…let the conspiracy begin. Something dreadful is happening and they don’t want me to know. I stand my ground, try to look stoic and fully aware of what they’re all talking about.
8:00 am – Julie is wheeled away in her wheelchair to be drugged up and taken into the O.R. The midwives leave to get ready. I am placed in a hidden boardroom outlining the plans for hospital expansion. Waiting forever for someone to come and get me – they said they would! Everyone passing the room now knows that despite my scrubs, I am not a doctor, but just some clueless Joe completely removed form the delivery of my child. I’m pretty sure it’s done on purpose.
8:20 am – Finally, a nurse comes and gets me and leads me to the O.R. I am greeted with a, “Oh…there’s the father…just in time…” WHAT??? I look around to see everyone in place and the doctors playing slinky with Julie’s intestines. I am placed firmly on a stool beside Julie’s head. I am reassured by her smile, and by the fact that she can feel something, but is in no pain.
8:26 am – Our O.B. exclaims that it’s a “beautiful baby girl”, which makes my heart jump for a minute until I realize that this is a surgeon’s attempt at humour. Haha. Immediately after, we hear the first bellowing cries of our child, and he sounded, to put it bluntly, pissed off.
8:28 am – After sharing a moment of elation with Julie and taken a mental snapshot of her wonderful expression, I am told that I should go take a look at the baby. I walk over to discover that my brand new boy has been nicked on the left bum cheek with a scalpel. Being assured that it was nothing, I chalked it up to more surgeon humour. Haha. In the next 10-15 minutes, I am allowed to bring Maxim over to Julie so that she can at least spend a few moments with him as they stitch her up. Despite Julie’s insistence that I am “dead inside”, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. Sadly, they don’t make it all the way, and I am left to concede that based on the evidence, she may be right.
At this point, I lose track of time, yet the most powerful feeling came over me as I carried our son from the O.R. to the other side of the hospital to be inspected by Tanya. Everyone we passed on the way there felt the need to crouch on one knee, bow their heads, and pay their respects. Or they said “Congratulations”. Can’t remember exactly which one. While carrying him around, I witnessed the first time he opened his eyes, and he looked straight at me. Normally, I would feel sorry for Maxim in my usual self depricative way by saying that my mug isn’t the first thing anyone should experience, however, I’m pretty sure he just saw a fleshy blob with a darker top, so…no harm, no foul.
While we waited for the opportunity to go see Julie and attempt our first feeding, I was able to spend some quality time with Max. He didn’t seem to grasp the concept of throw and catch with the baseball I tossed to him, so instead I took off my shirt (easy, ladies) and placed him against my chest for 10 minutes. Luckily, I was able to shower that morning; otherwise the experience could have been remarkably different. We were able to visit with Julie in the Recovery room after about 45 minutes, which is much earlier than usual (thanks, nurses), and the midwives helped Max bond with Julie with an initial breastfeeding attempt. I stood there like an idiot, trying to prevent my testosterone from ruining the moment.
Our two days in the hospital were extremely challenging, with very little sleep and no clue what to do with Max. Thankfully, the nurses were always around to lend a hand. I am an expert at diaper changing already, seeing as Julie has been unable to move around that much, and if you don’t know what meconium is, try not to find out. Whoa!
We did manage to come up with our first nickname for Max – Larva Boy…
When Julie feels up to it, I will let her complete, and, um…correct certain details about the events. Further to the videos here, I have created a slideshow of the events that can be viewed here:
Maxim Slideshow
Thanks again to everyone for their support. Please keep in touch with us, because we won’t have the energy to initiate any interaction with the outside world for a little while. Oh well, life goes on…
1 comment:
Good words.
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