Our c-section was scheduled for 11:00 am, but Dr. Royek had already warned me that the last time an 11:00 c-section started on time occurred when the 9:00 c-section didn't show up. I was not to have any food or drink after midnight. It's bad enough to starve a woman who is passing food through two placentas, but it's downright cruel to tell a gestational diabetic that she can't have any water. I easily consumed a gallon of water by lunchtime throughout my pregnancy, and now I couldn't have any. When we stopped at my parents on the way to the hospital, my mom held me while I sobbed over my severe thirst.
Once we got to the hospital, I was able to forget about my thirst for a little while as we checked in and I was hooked up to monitors and an IV. An odd calm overcame me; the fear, anxiety, and excitement were replaced by confidence and control. I could do this. I could have two babies today.
Larry, on the other hand, seemed to have enough nervous energy for the both of us. While I laid in bed and watched The Price Is Right (as expected, the surgery did not start at 11:00), he paced the room. And paced. And paced. There is probably a wear spot that the janitor is still trying to get out of the floor in Room 203. If I weren't the one stuck in bed, a fly on the wall might have thought Larry was the one having major abdominal surgery.
When the nurses finally came to get me, Larry had to stay in the room and wait until after my spinal was administered. I think those were the longest 30 minutes of Larry's life. Yes, 30 minutes. After my IV stand and I made the long walk to the operating room, an inconsiderate woman in Room 206 decided to have her baby and thus hog the doctors who would be attending my c-section. The gall of some people. So after sitting on a skinny operating table with my backside flashing all of the young interns and nurses for what seemed an eon, the anesthesiologist came in with his team. I was anxious to get this show on the road so I could finally down a big glass of water!
After the spinal was done, another team of people came in and started working around me. I counted 16 people in the operating room at one point, and my view to many parts of the room was obstructed. The blue tent was erected, and without sight, I could no longer tell that anything was happening to me. A small woman came over to the table and introduced herself as the attending surgeon. I imagine she had to stand on her tiptoes to see the top of my belly; luckily, her two residents were much taller. Suddenly, I heard "Incision made at 12:25" and for the first time, I felt panic. Where was Larry? These babies were coming out of me and he was going to miss it! But the next thing announced was "Bring the dad in!" and with that Larry came through the operating room door. His mouth was covered by the mask, but I could still see a big smile on his face.
For the next ten minutes, we sat quietly and listened to the doctors and nurses. "Cut here." "Suction." "Almost there." And then, a different voice said "Time of birth: 12:38." I literally held my own breath as I waited for my son to breathe. When he let out an angry cry, I exhaled and smiled at Larry. One of the residents called out, "The breech baby came out first." I had met with her just before surgery and begged that she deliver him first since he was already named Lawrence Arthur V. I couldn't imagine having Grayden be the oldest baby and explaining why he didn't have the honor (or the curse, depending on how you feel about it) of receiving his father's and grandfather's and great grandfather's and great great grandfather's name.
A nurse whizzed by me with a tiny wailing ball of baby, and I sent Larry with the camera to take pictures. Not 30 seconds later, someone called out "Baby B at 12:39" but it wasn't followed by any cry. "Breathe, breathe, breathe," I whispered and then Spencer Grayden finally squawked like a little Canadian goose flying south for the winter. The goose squawks turned into real baby cries as he was also carried by me to another waiting baby warmer.
The rest of the surgery is fuzzy, so much that I wonder if the nurse anesthesiologist upped the pain meds once I witnessed the birth. I remember someone calling out Ren's weight--4 pounds, 11 ounces--and I just assumed that meant he would be heading to the NICU. Someone--maybe Larry--brought both boys for me to see, but it was a quick 10 second peek. I longed to touch them and hold them but my arms were strapped down so I had to settle for a peck on their cheeks. They did not look as I expected, or even like other newborns I had seen. I think their prematurity and low birth weight disguised their true looks. Moments later they were taken out of the operating room with Larry, and I was left, alone, while the doctors finished my surgery. The tugging I could feel was oddly comforting and I drifted off to sleep.
As soon as I was rolled into recovery, I asked two questions. The first, and most important, was "Can I please have some water?" You know what they said? "No. Not until 12 hours after the surgery." ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Although the effects of the diabetes had already started to wear off, I was thirsty beyond words. I settled for some ice chips, but only because my legs were numb and I couldn't walk across the room to the sink by myself.
I was afraid to ask the second question. "How are my babies?"
The recovery nurse nonchalantly answered, "Fine," as she wrote in my chart.
"You mean they aren't in the NICU?"
"Hmm, I don't think so," she said. "We would have heard from the NICU if they were."
I couldn't believe it. I carried them 36 weeks and 1 day with a singular goal: no NICU time. And it appeared as if I had accomplished it. I had two healthy sons. I don't think I ever allowed myself to believe that this would ever really happen. After losing two pregnancies, after experiencing hemorrhaging, diabetes, a rescue cerglage, preterm labor, and preeclampsia with this one, and after spending the last 16 weeks on bedrest, I didn't dare dream that I would have one healthy baby, let alone two. I cried again, and although I pretended it was from extreme thirst, it was really from extreme relief.
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