Good morning, Starshine. The Earth says, "Hello!"
World, this is my son, Herbert Orange Ortega-Tijerina.
This is the first chance I've had to sit down and write, so I apologize if the details are muddied or if this post ends up being forever long. I returned to work today. At this very moment, I am sitting at my desk, eyes burning, nipples hurting, mind wandering to how my boy is doing. He is not quite a month old yet, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to rewind to Wednesday, August 17th.
"Tomorrow would be a good day to have him..."
Tuesday was my last sonogram of the kid before I switched to weekly appointments. Dr. English had said Bert was "on the bigger side", but everything looked great and that I should probably start thinking about packing a bag for the hospital when the time came. I was off Wednesday, so my mom and brother came over to hang out and help me with George. Mobility had grinded to a near halt. I was using a wheelchair at work. Stairs were murder. Everything was murder. Death to hips! Death to groin! They'd been helping me with George for several months, so Wednesday's visit was nothing out of the ordinary. Except.
Mom and I were talking about our disbelief that it could sort of happen any day. I started thinking about when would be ideal, and then I said the words, "Tomorrow would be a good day to have him. I'll be off. Nick will be off. Yeah, tomorrow would be good." "Okay!", mom said. We laughed about it. I went a step further and said, "Well, I guess I'll go ahead and wash my comfy clothes, since I'm having him tomorrow and all". We laughed some more and I did laundry.
Mom left shortly after that, but Johnny stayed to help me until Nick got home that night. I had to go into work that night, so, around 4p.m., I laid down for bed.
This is probably where I went wrong.
I'd been sleeping in my recliner. My hips and groin were so out of whack that climbing in and out of bed was excruciating. I don't know what possessed me to lay down, much less decide to turn on my side. It hurt. God, it hurt. But I eventually nodded off. ...that lasted about an hour.
"Uh-oh....uh-oh! Uh-oh!"
5p.m. rolls around, and so do I. From the tangled side position, I slowly rolled over to my back. Then. GUSH.
I felt it pop. I Felt It Pop. Warm liquid spewed from my nethers like a water balloon that had been left out and forgotten beneath someone's tire in the dead of summer. Did I mention George was asleep at my side? Oh yeah. We both got the amniotic tidal wave. There was no mistaking what was happening. All I could manage was an, "Uh-oh...uh-oh! Uh-oh!" Johnny came rushing into the room. As I waddled to the bathroom, leaving a snail trail in my wake, I repeated my uh-ohs and told him my water had broken. He made the call to our parents and Nick while I sat on the toilet, wondering how the hell it was possible. It was only a joke. We were only joking. The fluid continued to drain and I almost had to laugh at my baby's courtesy. It wasn't very long before the family and Nick showed up, ready to keep me calm while also trying to keep themselves calm. It should be stated that I remained outstandingly calm! Mostly because I wasn't in any pain. There were no contractions or other tell-signs of labor. Just fluid. Lots and lots of fluid. Other than George and the mattress, I got to the hospital without making too many messes.
"On a scale of 1-10, 10 being unbearable, how would you rate your pain?"
Nick and I got a room at the hospital and watched TV while we waited for instructions from the staff. My water had broken. No doubt about that. They'd taken a look at me and gotten me hooked up to a little machine so that I could hear Err-Bear's heartbeat throughout the wait. They took my blood pressure every 15 minutes and left us alone long enough for us to call the appropriate persons. I called my job. Nick called his family. Together, we watched the scene from Willy Wonka where Violet turns into a blueberry. "How appropriate", we both thought out loud. After a little while, they came back and said they were going to move me to the eventual birthing room and get some fluids and things running through an IV. Let me tell you what hurt:
The nurse's first attempt at the IV - 6
The nurse second attempt - 3
The bruise forming on my left hand from the nurse's first botched attempt - 7
Still no labor, but my hand hurt plenty.
We waited in the birthing room long enough for it to become clear that I needed to be induced. I could feel tiny contractions at that point. Minor discomforts. Very few and far between. They put something in my IV to speed up the process and I could feel it starting to work.
Starting contractions - 4
"I'll go ahead and take the drugs", I'd told the nurse.
Epidural - 8
I didn't look at the needle. I kept a good steady breath while they weaved in and out of my spine with chemicals promising to bring that 4 down to a zip. Nick watched the entire process. He seemed mildly distressed. I, again, remained outstandingly calm. After they finished, they let me sleep while it took effect. I slept pretty well, I think. Every so often, the nurses would walk in and change my sleeping positions, sometimes positioning a giant orange peanut between my legs for, uh, spacing, I guess? I don't know. I couldn't feel ANYTHING from the waist down. It's like I was filled with cement. Heavy. Dead. Perfect. They'd placed a catheter in after it'd taken effect and I didn't even notice. I slept until morning, when I started to notice the pressure of the contractions getting more intense and more frequent. It wasn't a pain. It's odd how the epidural deadens some things while leaving others intact. I could feel pressure building up and then easing off. It didn't hurt, but it was a bit unsettling. I mentioned this to the nurse, who then brought my doctor in to begin the birthing process. Dr. English said I was 10cm and looking ready. She put me in the stirrups and told me to push when I felt the pressure swell. As it turns out, I was a very good pusher. I did not scream. I did not cry. I did not crush Nick's hand. I pushed when she told me to and at 7:26a.m., my boy was out.
"Holy shit..."
The drugs had begun to wear off when I'd started pushing. By the time he was out, I could feel the doc stitching me up and I'd started to ask how it went, but there, on my heaving chest, they placed Bert down and gave us a blanket. I don't remember him crying too much. I don't remember Nick cutting the cord, either. I saw the doctor lift him up and my first words to him probably could have been less vulgar. But holy shit! There he was! A real person! Out of me! He was an odd sort of malty color, still covered in baby fur. As his skin met mine, I hoped I was warm enough for him. He was so tiny. 6lbs. 7oz. But still, so very small. He had a full head of hair and his little face reminded me a bit of myself when I was young. He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. NOT like myself :) They didn't clean him up very much more than sucking his nose and mouth. They swaddled him in a thick blanket and we were sent back to the recovery room. I was very glad I didn't scream or cry. I didn't want mom to worry, so I wanted to be brave. Little did I know, my little Err-Bear would do the exact same thing. They poked and prodded my poor baby all sorts of ways in the days that followed and he took all of it like a friggin' champ.
Blue Light Special
My baby was 4 weeks early. Doc said that this meant his suck, swallow, breathe instinct hadn't quite kicked in yet, so he was a very sluggish suckler that first day. I wanted to breast feed him, but I was also informed that my nipples weren't pokey enough for him to get a good latch, so they gave me an attachment that makes my nipple look like I've got a Bugle on it (the chip, not the instrument). Nearly one month later and I am still using that attachment. Anyways, since he was a sluggish eater, his bili levels (what gives newborns jaundice) had shot up from a 0.2 that first day to an 11.0 the second day. Big jump. Not totally uncommon, but still, it was significant enough to keep us 4 more days. You'll notice the picture in the slideshow at the top of my boy bathed in blue light. They kept him in the blue light tanning bed for 24 hours to bring his bili levels back down. The problem was this - babies need to potty to flush the toxins out of their body. Well they need to eat to potty, and since my boy wasn't eating, he wasn't going potty, which raised his levels, which made him sluggish, which meant he didn't feel like eating, which means he wasn't going potty, which means his levels weren't going down, so on and so on. It was a sad little cycle my boy was stuck in, but thankfully, he got stronger, has become a voracious eater and that jaundice stuff is in the past. We were finally released to come home on Monday morning.
I am leaving out quite a bit. I wish I had written everything as it happened, but like I said, this is the first chance I've had to sit down and really think about things. Bert is at my folks this morning and I've done nothing but miss the little stinker. His facial expressions are so funny to me. His whimper and pout break my heart. I live for his gummy grin. Sometimes, he coughs and farts at the same time and he gets an adorable startled look in his eyes. He's the love of my life, man.
It is very worth mentioning that Nick has been a-fucking-mazing throughout the entire journey, thus far. Any concern I had about him wanting to bail out or drink or whatever have totally flown out the window. He is an outstanding father and I am hashtagblessed for my awesome family. George has treated the baby with the utmost care and I'm just so glad that everyone is happy and healthy.
...the sleep? I was used to being tired anyways. Thanks, shiftwork!
....the postpartum pain?
10, man.
10 a million times over.
I was at a 10 for a solid week after birth.
My vagina felt like a savagely beaten pinata.
I'm still recovering, but I am well enough to sit at this desk and sleepy blink,
that's for sure!
I'm coming up on shift change, so I'll end this for now
and detail the wackiness of breasts tomorrow.
Until then!
-Herbert's mom
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