Baby F (Part II)

It’s Day 12 in the Baby F household (Day 9 since we left the hospital) and all is well. We’ve worked out a pretty good routine of feeds and sleeps and nappy changes and baths. Baby F is gaining weight and her parents look only slightly dishevelled and worn out! We’ve also discovered the strategic value of an evening bath It’s all about sleep.

I was telling you about the birth, wasn’t I? There we were at 7pm on a Weds and the operation was about to begin. I was a bit thrown by the boom incident and also thinking I’d lost my ring but I soon got past that. I think we were both feeling a mixture of anxiety and calm. L had a spinal and so was pretty calm and a bit drugged-out. Looking at the two gynaes that were doing the operation, I felt very reassured. They are colleagues of L’s and are both excellent doctors. We were in good hands. (So relax and enjoy the show.)

But there’s something about an operating theatre that puts me on edge. This one had an odd (to my mind) mix of clinical precision and almost DIY. You need a plank for your arm to rest on? The anaesthetist whisks one out from behind a trolley and it almost looked like he’d made it earlier. At the same time it’s a very sterile and high-tech environment. Instruments beeping and sucking, surgical masks everywhere, packs for this and that. Drips, trays, gurneys. A very far cry from the birthing pool that we saw on the DVDs in antenatal class! No russian gymnasts here having orgasmic births and catching their own babies under water.

I wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening ‘down there’ but the medical staff were all focus and concentration. After 25 minutes there was a sort of ‘schloop’ noise and some lifting and moving of bits around and the baby was out. Looking a little vexed and covered in vernix. And giving a healthy cry!

The paediatrician took her off to the trolley to do the APGAR score and then she was wrapped up tightly and given to us. L said she looked exactly as she imagined her from the scans. But since my imagination had seen her as both a turtle and an alien baby, she looked surprisingly normal. A little frustrated bundle of waving arms that was none too happy to be out of a warm uterus and into a busy operating theatre.

But what a relief to have such a cute healthy baby and a healthy L! We took a few cellphone pictures and then it was off to the nursery while L got stitched up. I was worried that Baby F might have been traumatised by the operation and so was trying to ensure that we got her back to L as quickly as possible. The nurses, however, seemed to take their own time and were blissfully unaware of any urgency to get her back for some skin-to-skin contact. So off we went to the nursery, Baby F and the nurses and I. On the way we passed the glass to the waiting room and I gave a relieved thumbs-up to the grandparents and L’s brother.

And then the nurses were weighing and measuring her and making their notes. And I put my hand into the incubator and tried to soothe her by checking her rooting reflex. Which promptly got her to start sucking quite determinedly on her wrist. And she waved her little arms and legs around as if quite relieved herself to finally have some wriggle room.

After what seemed like an age but was more like five minutes, we could wheel her off to L in her recovery room. It was heartening to see how easily (after a few attempts) Baby F was able to latch and start sucking. The next few days are a bit of a blur: feeds, visits from family, balloons, gifts, nappy changes, endless hours of baby-gazing, fussing, help from the nurses, meals, catering evaluations and, most valuable of all, SLEEP. And just as we were comfortable in one room the nursing staff would whisk us off to another one. L started off in a 4-bed room and gradually made her way to a private room where she stayed for about a day and then it was back home.

Where, incidentally, I finally managed to finish a book (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society). That’s a discussion for another day. Thanks for all the good wishes

Baby F springs a suprise (part 1)

Just popping in to let you know that Baby F was born on Weds night and that mom and baby are both doing well!! I’ve left them sleeping in the bedroom while I’ve snuck in here to check emails and post a quick update.

You’ll have to forgive me if I sound a little tired under the circumstances. Here’s a shortish version of what happened.

On Tuesday night we attended our last antenatal class and just in time as it turns out because L went in to labour on Wednesday. Not that she knew it was labour to start off with. She’d had tea with her sister-in-law and (very cute) niece in the morning and then gone off with her mom for some shopping in the afternoon. Except that they’d barely reached the mall and bought one item when she felt decidedly not well and they had to come back. When I saw her at home she looked pretty grim and she was worrying about the pain that she was having and thought that something might be wrong with the baby.

Now you might think that as a gynaecologist L would recognise labour pains when she was having them! But apparently they felt like nothing she had experienced before (other than very sharp period pains). She lay down for a while to count fetal movements and when she couldn’t feel any, it was off to the hospital for a CTG to measure the baby’s heartbeat.

We didn’t pack a bag of course since we didn’t think this was labour. But on the way to the hospital I was half-joking to L that she should practise her J-breathing and do some toning to ease the pain. After all, L’s due-date was about three weeks’ away. This wasn’t labour. This was some worrying other pain that might be threatening to the baby’s life. We made our way up to the second floor, explained our situation and they ushered us to a room and connected L up to a CTG-machine. I’d brought along a book and some grapes and straight away Baby F’s heartbeat came through loud and strong. She was peaking at around 170 beats a minute but when I started making some “Om” sounds to L’s belly (softly in case the gynae walked in and found us getting all New-Agey) Baby F seemed to fall asleep.

L’s gynae arrived in pretty good time and then things seemed to speed up. It was now after 5.30pm and yes, L was in labour and they would need to do a Caesar since Baby F was lying breech. Not only would they be doing a Caesar but they would be doing one in an hour-and-a-half’s time! I needed to quickly confirm L’s admission and then fetch her bags from home. Just thinking about it now, I’m amazed at the irony of these things. That last month seems to drag on for an eternity of uncomfortable sleeps and worries and then it’s all-systems-go in 90 minutes. My poor brain couldn’t quite cope with the adjustment.

Walking through the parking lot I called my mom and managed to say, between swallowing back tears, “We’re at the hospital. No, the baby is fine. But L … is … going … to … have … a Caesar … at … 7pm.”

Then I rushed home, trying no to rush at the same time that I was rushing, fetched L’s bag and sundry items and rushed back. And promptly managed to get the boom in the parking lot to land on the windshield of the car. It was crazy. These things have a sensor to prevent exactly this thing from happening. But perhaps it sensed my panic and I hesitated for too long. Fortunately it bounced off and there was no damage to the car (or the boom). But as I parked the car and carried the bags through the door, the security guard put a restraining hand on my arm and wanted me to leave my details with Security.

“My wife is about to have an emergency Caesar,” I said quite reasonably, politely postponing his request for a chat with security. All the while imagining that of course this was my fault and that I would have to pay a fortune for what had just happened at the one moment that was the least convenient for it to happen. And then also thinking how strange to be saying the words “my wife” as well “emergency Caesar” in the same sentence. And anyway, ‘emergency Caesar’ is probably a bit of an exaggeration, I thought. It’s not exactly an emergency, is it? We’re not talking life and death are we?

But there was no time for rationalisations since I was already back in the ward and putting on sterilised clothes and trying to reassure L that everything was fine and not panic myself. And of course failing miserably at the not-panicking bit since as soon as I saw the anaesthetist and noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring, I looked down at my own left hand and noticed that there was no wedding ring. Where was my ring? In the dustbin were I’d just thrown the paper towels that I’d dried my hands with?

But I managed to calm down, smile reassuringly to L and tell her (correctly as it happened) that my ring must be at home and then take up my position next to L on the right side of the blood-brain barrier.

(To be continued)

Love, marriage, speeches

What L read on our honeymoon

If you were to ask me what getting married is like, I would say that it’s a combination of nerves, joy, happiness and excitement. Probably the happiest day of our lives made more so by the circle of love created by family and friends.

Just how many nerves there were surprised me. And, as people tell you, weddings are over so quickly that you really have to savour the moments. Here are a few.

I was nursing a sore throat heading into the big day and dreadfully hoping that I wouldn’t fall ill and have to croak out my vows and look all pale in the wedding photos. But having finally finished my speech and rested up as much as I could, it was over to my parents’ house where I only had to send the best man back once to fetch my silver tie. Back at the house, the girls put on their dresses (blue, red, silver) and the boys put on their corsages and ties and waistcoats and then we were driving down the road to the church and hugging and greeting the guests and waiting for the bride to arrive.

And there she was! Peering round the church door in her blue satin dress with silver chiffon and white lace. And looking radiant and just a little terrified as she stole a quick look to reassure herself that, yes, the groom really was there ready and waiting. I gave here a cheery (and slightly teary) wave and thought how beautiful she looked. The organist played the first few bars of Pachelbel’s Canon in D and we were off.

There’s so much to say. Do I tell you about the part where the page-boy lost one of the rings? One minute they were there, tied lovingly on to a blue satin cushion with gold ribbon and just waiting for the “I do’s” and “I will’s” and then one of them was gone and we were looking round on the floor and L and I were having visions of having to ask the assembled guests, “Does anyone have a ring we could borrow?”

And what a fun service. The priest is an old hand at these events and he delivered one of the best wedding sermons I’ve ever heard. He waxed poetically about our respective journeys, which for L included the Tongarera trail in New Zealand and for me included teaching in Limpopo and peacekeeping in Darfur, and how our separate journeys led us to find each other. At the end he read out a wonderful wedding blessing poem.

And then it was time for the photos and drinks and the reception back at L’s parents’ garden. The marquee looked amazing with the silver and pink lighting and the string-quartet off to one side. And then the speeches of course. L’s dad was in sparkling form and included a lovely poem he’d written for the occasion. After which it was the turn of the best man, my brother, who gave not so much a toast as a roast to the poor groom!

His speech was smooth and delivered without reference to his notes (which were substantial). The most embarrassing part? That would be when he (with the aid of my sister) hauled out a recording of me singing the national anthem on the radio and forgetting the words! (I was trying to win two tickets to a rugby game, never thinking for a moment that this mini-trauma would come back to haunt me at my own wedding.) It was pretty funny but, as I say, dreadfully embarrassing. And then there was the time when I came stone last in the Argus Cycle Tour (I was only 16 and an unofficial entrant). My blogging was mentioned and with the right flourishes it sounds only slightly less embarrassing than forgetting the words of the national anthem on live radio.

My own speech was almost a relief after that. I managed to keep it short and sweet and thanked everyone before toasting the parents for their incredible generosity and all the warmth and kindness they have shown both of us. And then I toasted my beautiful bride who looked radiant (even at seven and a half months’ pregnant) and then quoted from the Roy Croft love poem and another by John Fuller called Valentine. (Not the part where he wants to chase her around the shower for half an hour but the part where he wants to be her only audience, the last name in her appointment book and her future tense.)

And then, all too quickly, it was over and the parents with young kids were heading home and we drove our little car with the tin cans tied behind them down the road. V, my brother-in-law, had done a really good job to make the cans of the extra-rattling variety and my niece had helped to decorate the car with white polish in the shape of hearts and words saying “Love” and “Just Married”.

On the Sunday we left for a week-long honeymoon along the coast (taking in Hermanus and Betty’s Bay). And this past Sunday we opened all the wedding gifts. It was like Christmas except with the two of us as the only ones getting presents. And what beautiful gifts too.

I should also tell you that my book-blogging friends got a brief mention (which I’m happy about). And Di’s monologue on Love (shortened a bit for the occasion) was perfect and had at least one of my friends in tears.

I’ll be back next time with some pictures from our honeymoon (we don’t yet have any from the wedding itself). Here’s one of our holiday reading material (complete with rings).

His and hers books and rings