January 21, 2007

• Memory Post- Conor’s Birth

  More on this series about my Son’s birth, back in 2005!

  Fixin’s

  Note- This is a
  birth story. There is little graphic detail from this point on, but
  only read if you are comfortable with that and pictures that relate to
  said story. This warning means no complaints about the content- since
  you shouldn’t read further without taking on the responsibility
  yourself.
  

  We had specified we wanted his umbilical
  cord to stop pulsing before it was cut, and for him to go directly to Mother.
  However, this was not to be, and when I asked I think they were slightly
  defensive at first- not in a bad way, just feeling that I might be pressuring
  them, when I was just desiring to know the details of why, but they were very
  nice and explained. The baby didn’t cry much when he came out, and when he did
  not a strong “lusty” cry. So they immediately moved him to a heating table and
  put oxygen on him to help him get back to normal after a long time being
  squished in there. A very long time, for a normal birth, at least. Meanwhile,
  Linda began immediately sewing Kat up- a process that took 45-60 minutes. There
  was no external tearing, but internally my Mom said she had at least four
  layers that had to be sewn. Kat passed out a few times- probably from blood
  loss- and didn’t want to hold the baby for the first fifteen minutes… at first,
  she couldn’t if she wanted to. I waited with her at first, but when I realised
  they wouldn’t bring Conor there right away, I couldn’t hold back- I immediately
  went over to him to be near him, to touch him. I put my hand on his warm little
  back and his bright reddish skin- getting blood back into the right places
  after such a long squeezing out. As soon as they felt him ready, they swaddled
  him up and handed him to me. I tried to bring him to Katrina- right away- but
  she just wasn’t feeling well enough yet. So I sat in the chair nearby, looking
  down at my new baby son, Conor.

  As I said earlier, it didn’t feel like he
  was… well, mine yet. It was incredible, but perhaps as incredible as if I were
  allowed the same experience and honours with someone else’s. I knew he
  was mine, but he didn’t feel it yet- not yet. My Mother says that while
  I was looking down at him and saying “Hello there, I’m your Daddy…” Colleen-
  who apparently has the miraculous ability to actually suck tears back inside
  when they come out (not sure how true that actually is, but she’s basically
  good at controlling her crying and dislikes strong emotional displays) and
  doesn’t say “I love you” on the phone because she doesn’t want it to be a
  “light thing”… well, she apparently nudged Mom to have her look (Mom was
  focused on Katrina), and had tears in her eyes (this is according to Mom, of course). I… well, I was focused on
  examining and experiencing holding a little baby for the first time. I’d never
  gotten to do something like that- especially without feeling like someone else,
  like a parent, was watching me. Here I was, with full freedom and
  responsibility for a little bitty baby, and it was quite an incredible thing.

  His saucer eyes would dart around the room,
  then back to me, then around the room again. We requested no eye paste be put
  in for as long as we could hold off- the legal limit in South Carolina is an
  hour, so they waited 59 minutes. This way our baby had a chance to look around
  and see his new world, and his parents… and we could see his eyes. I was
  amazed, because in the light as best I could tell, he literally had my eyes.
  Well, the colouring that is. I’m not sure about the shape. Everyone says “they
  have their mother’s eyes”… but all I know is, my eyes are very unique, as are
  hers. Mine are hazel- blue on the outside, green on the inside. His were the
  same- except perhaps a stronger distinction of blue and green. They could
  change, but it is rather incredible to see such striking similarities. He also
  has his Mother’s O+ blood type, Sean said he had my ears (and thus he has my
  Dad’s ears, since I have my Dad’s flop-out eats too), Katrina’s ‘Anderson’
  nose, and my Ross chin. The Ross chin I say, because I have a set-back jaw that
  Kat does NOT have… it’s purely me… which I got from Mom’s side, and my Mom has
  the same set-back jaw (Colleen might too). The kind of jaw that if you smile
  with your teeth together, it is crooked because your bottom jaw meets your top
  at an angle. Poor fellow… having that can be annoying at times.

  Of course, Katrina thought he would have
  red hair, I thought he would have her blonde hair. She felt red because it fit
  with my Irish side- and she felt it would be impossible that he would have
  blonde hair too. However, apparently I was correct! He ended up with her
  beautiful, true blonde hair- blonde hair everywhere! Even blonde peach fuzz-
  and in that, he takes after his Daddy, because he is fuzzy as a ripe peach.
  Hair, hair, hair everywhere- but cute, downy soft hair and the softest skin
  I’ve ever felt. I’ve thought babies had soft enough skin, but as a newborn his
  skin was so incredibly soft… nothing compares. His head felt like a horses
  nose, but softer.

   

  Aftermath

  Sean and Gina came in, and my Mom and
  Sister left- they were exhausted and needed sleep. I feel badly, but I was
  exhausted and I also felt like I just needed an intimate time with Kat and
  Conor. Part of it was I wanted to warm him up skin-to-skin, and I felt
  embarrassed doing that- such a private thing- with them there, so they ended up
  leaving at my rather blunt request. They did SO much for us, and sacrificed so much of their time and
  sleep, I hope they know how much they meant to us!

   

  Katrina was brought back to her room, but
  since Conor HAD to go to the nursery- we’d wanted to avoid that- I went with
  him, and made clear that unless it was absolutely urgent, an emergency situation,
  we wanted him washed IN our room with us. They tried to convince me otherwise,
  but realising I wouldn’t budge without a medical reason, they let it go and
  proceeded to violate Conor in more ways than I thought possible. The only thing
  they left out was his penis, and that would have happened the next day- if we
  hadn’t requested that he not be circumcised. He was born and they put the
  hand-pump thing up his nostrils, in his mouth, to clear the way. That night
  they put a tube in his stomach to clear out excess fluids from the womb. Then
  they pricked his heels, his palm, tried to stick his wrist and missed the
  veins- tried the other, then his elbows. I sighed when they were done, saying,
  “Wow, I’m glad that is finally done, the poor guy.”

   

  They agreed, “Yes, we don’t like doing that
  really. Now we just have to take his temperature.” WAAAAAH! He whined again,
  and I winced- because of course, the thermometer went straight up his…

   

  Poor little fellow, tortured so in his
  first few hours of life.

   

  No wonder babies cry and have such an
  attitude at first. I would’ve bit their hand personally in his place, if I’d
  had the teeth to do it with. “You keep that needle OUT of my arm and that dang
  stick OUT of my tush!”  CHOMP

   

  As it was, I really did not like the fact
  they kept DOING things with him. Just stop already and let US have him some…
  after all, he IS ours baby isn’t he? I didn’t see you grunting to push him out,
  or… well, doing the things I did… DID I?

   
  Conor being held by the brand new Aunt, Colleen- who held Katrina’s legs along with me while Katrina gave birth.

  Energy Drink?

  Of course, things got quickly better. They
  gave me his basinet “wagon” and I pushed it back to our new room where we would
  stay the rest of the time. Lexington Medical Centre is posh- let me tell you.
  It felt like a private hospital. The labour and delivery room we had was a
  nice, comfortable, big room with a 1/1 nurse/patient ratio- and the room we
  moved to afterwards was even bigger, with a couch, lots of space for visitors,
  and a nice personal bathroom. Like a hotel… but with IV’s filled with blood.
  Eheheh.

   
  While she will NEVER let someone call
  her a “step-grandmother” without correcting them- this is Mom holding
  her first biological grandchild ever! She wiped Katrina’s forehead, put
  ice-gloves on her to cool her down, and gave her ice chips and water to
  drink while she went through the final stage of labour and delivery.
  Kat’s real Mom will always
  hold a place in her heart that nobody else could ever even begin to
  fill. It is also special to me that my Mom and Kat have an incredible
  relationship, and that my Mom said after the birth “I couldn’t feel
  more proud even of Colleen- she could have been my own biological
  daughter there giving birth.” Yet even while holding her second
  grandson, she knew even before his birth that she is ready to let him
  go- God has called us to serve him abroad, in the fields of the world
  where the harvest is ripe for the word of Jesus Christ, and she knows
  that it will not be long before she will let go of him, and us, and let
  us follow God’s call. That is love- being able to hold close, and also
  let go, even when it hurts. Agape- sacrificial love- is me being able
  to put the needs of someone I love above my own needs or feelings.

  
  

  Speaking of, nurses kept commenting on how
  pale she looked. The next day, we had our first visit with a midwife since the
  birth. It was another new one- one we’d seen once or twice though, of course.
  She was great, but she shared that Katrina was on the middle line blood wise.
  If she’d crossed it they would say she had to have blood. But since she hadn’t,
  she had a choice- if she didn’t get blood, she might have to stay in the
  hospital longer than normal. Also, it would take her at least two weeks to
  recovery her blood supply- during which time it would be unsafe for her to walk
  holding our baby, lest she pass out and injure/smother him. Bad news. Not good.
  She would also have a horrible first experience. New babies are hard enough-
  but here she would be drained, exhausted, weak, barely able to care for herself
  much less a baby.

   

  She felt the blood supply was kept very
  secure- my family agreed- and that there was a million to one chance that there
  would be any kind of problem with the blood (like HIV). Good odds. She asked
  me, and I said it sounded good enough, and that I’d leave it to her choice- and
  of course, she agreed. Anything to feel better, and be able to stand up in the
  shower. We agreed, signed papers, and she had a blood transfusion. They planned
  to give her three packets of blood- she started as a 6.4 or something (I’m not
  sure what 6.4 is… maybe 6.4 liters of blood in her body? I don’t know. Don’t
  listen to me. Whatever it was, it was 6 something and the goal was for her to
  be 9). They ended up giving her a third packet. So my family and her Dad and
  step-Mom were around chatting it up while she acted the vampire and had a red
  tube going into her. She hated it- it burned, and came out before the third
  packet- so they put another one in, which the baby pulled at. Bad. The baby
  pulled it out in the night- fortunately it was done by then, no IV in use- and
  so the next day, when they suggested she have a fourth dose of blood, she
  strongly felt if she was okay she’d rather not. That is putting it mildly. At
  that point she was 8.2 out of 9, and the nurse midwife (a nurse practitioner,
  actually- which is why they act as the doctor) said she’d sent mothers home
  many times with that level, without doing any blood transfusion. The most
  important thing was that she felt well, had more energy, could stand, etc.

  To be continued- next time, it is the FINAL part of our birth story! After that, comes “after the birth” tales.

  -Patrick
  
  

  • 9:08 pm
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