Author’s note: I apologize I advance for the length of this post, but it isn't often that I’m asked, or even permitted to write a blog (the very first, in fact), so I am taking full advantage of the opportunity!
Friday, February 6th started the way most days leading up to it started. Laura and I woke up, got ready, and went to work. I was much more at ease since earlier in the week we visited her OB/GYN, and came up with a strategy: Laura would stop the Heparin shots the upcoming Sunday evening; we could go in for an ultrasound on Monday; and depending on the results of the ultrasound, start induction or go in for a C-section on Tuesday. Tuesday the 10th was going to be the day! The day that our family was to start! While it wasn't what we’d planned for or wanted, at least we had a concrete plan… at least until about 10:30 on Friday.
I got a text message from Laura saying she’d been having some pains in her back that she thought may have been contractions; they became regular, so she started keeping track of them. They were rather close together, but very short in duration. We were both convinced that since they were only in her back that they were Braxton hicks contractions, and weren't really the ‘real deal’. Well that was until they continued on through lunch and into the afternoon. I recommended she go home and relax as much as possible, and thankfully her supervisors agreed and insisted she leave. I wrapped things up at the office shortly after she headed for home, and got there about 30 minutes after she did.
As soon as I saw her face when a contraction hit, I knew it was likely the ‘real deal’ after all. From what we learned previously, I suspected that our little peanut was still in the wrong position and was likely pressing against her back, causing the back contractions. We decided to continue to relax at home, I mean, nobody has their first kid fast right? It takes HOURS of labor…
As Laura already mentioned, we were watching Jimmy Fallon write out his Thank You notes (Thank YOU to Jimmy Fallon for getting the ball rolling!) when the Great Deluge happened. That is when things started to blur for me – there was no question whether the contractions were real or not. Those very real contractions started to get more intense, now that there was no amniotic fluid cushioning her pelvis. Still operating under the assumption that our Baby Fox was breech, we decided it was high time to get on the road and beat as much rush hour traffic as we could.
As the more intense contractions hit Laura, I tried to be as supportive and constructive as possible, reciting mantras that our doula introduced – like ‘do your best to relax’. I believe the exact response I got back was, “If you tell me to relax one more time, I’m going to punch you in the face.” Now, I’m used to this threat after the number of miles we’ve run together, but this time I was scared. So I decided that instead of giving suggestions of relaxation, I’d just comment on the traffic we were in. That was also a poor decision on my part. After a few terse miles, we were in the clear and pulled into Mease Countryside Hospital just after 5pm.
I believe Laura did a more than sufficient job in her blog post earlier of describing the series of events leading up to her transportation into the delivery room. By that time, the initial diagnosis by the admitting nurse was that our munchkin had flipped, so we were riding high, and there wasn't a big hurry to get her IV in, etc. That all changed when Dr. Ancheta arrived and did his own exam. Since they ignored our request for an ultrasound to confirm the position of the baby, it came as a shock that he determined that it was indeed not a head, but a bottom that could be felt through her cervix. She had progressed an additional 3 cm in the 15 minutes between exams. This kid was coming fast! The call was made for an emergency C-section, and at the word “Stat!” the place whipped into frenzy. I was led to the side of the room and a Tyvek suit was thrust into my arms, with instructions to put it on. As I tried to make sense of how to comply with those instructions, they started to wheel Laura out of the room. I went to follow and was told that I must put the clothes on before I could proceed. I was left alone; with but a single nurse e.g. guard to ensure I was fully robed as required before taking me back to the Operating Room. When we arrived at the door to the OR Laura was in, I was told to wait in a solitary chair positioned in a tiny alcove adjacent to the hallway for word on when I could be admitted. A great number of gowned figures passed in and out of the door while I waited. Finally, a nurse exited and came up to me, telling me that the anesthesiologist was uncomfortable with how recently she’d had a Heparin dosage (that morning) and was unwilling to proceed with a spinal epidural for fear of hemorrhage. That meant that our worst case scenario was becoming reality – general anesthesia cesarean. Keep in mind that less than 10 minutes prior we believed it was possible we would have an unassisted ‘natural’ vaginal delivery – the exact opposite end of the spectrum we were now squarely faced with. With her being put under general anesthesia, it meant that I could not be present in the OR when my child was born. The nurse assured me that Laura was in good hands, and I conceded that I knew that to be true. The nurse then retired back into the OR, only to be replaced with another different nurse telling me the same exact thing, nearly verbatim. I reassured that nurse that I understood. That nurse was subsequently followed by no less than four more with the same spiel. I distinctly recall thinking there must be a hidden camera somewhere and I was going to find myself face to face with the Impractical Jokers.
Finally when 80% of the attending team of nurses finished assuring me of their competence, one truly helpful nurse gave me the tip that a dad earlier in the week discovered a small area in the window that the frosting had been scratched off, and a determined observer might be able to gain a few glimpses of the procedure. I eagerly found the clear spot, about the size of your pinkie fingernail and surveyed the room beyond. I could see the clean zone tarp and much of the equipment surrounding Laura, but I could not see her at all. It was obvious by the frantically coordinated movements of the team that the operation had begun. In the adjacent OR, the two cleaning ladies kept talking about how much blood the previous mother had lost and how it was a mess to clean up. I prayed harder in those few minutes than I ever have in my life for God to deliver a healthy baby, and to keep Laura safe. From inside the OR I could hear general words being spoken, but could not make them out. Before too long, I could see Dr. Ancheta hold our baby up, and I could distinctly make out the word ‘girl’ spoken inside. So it was a girl? I was convinced our baby was going to be a boy. I quickly determined that it was part of a question – “Boy or girl? Boy or girl?!” There was what seemed like a very long pause before the response: “Boy! It’s definitely a boy!” And it was then that I simultaneously broke out in a grin and in tears. They put him on the table, cleaned him off, and suctioned out his mouth and nose, then left him to scream bloody murder. He was kicking so violently I pitied the nurse that had to go wrangle him to get his weight and measurements. Shortly after that, a nurse came out and asked if I’d been able to see the gender of the baby and if I wanted her to take some photos inside the OR of my brand new baby boy.
When she returned with my camera, she gave me the run-down of what I could expect moving forward. They would be bringing my son out to me shortly, and he and I would be able to spend some time bonding while they finished up the procedure with Laura – in all, about 45 minutes just him and me. She then asked if my sister-in-law was Kim, an AOD at another Mease hospital in New Port Richey; when I confirmed this, she asked my permission to let her know that both mom and baby were doing well. I agreed, but asked that the gender be kept a secret.
An excruciatingly long couple minutes later, they brought out my son. The nurse was required to carry him to the postpartum room, where she could then hand him over. Once she relinquished him, she asked if I wanted her to turn on the TV, and to what channel. I’m sure my face must have betrayed my disgust at the idea; I told her that I was holding the only entertainment I needed. During those 45 minutes he and I discussed all manner of things, from his plans for the future to what his family is like. When I say ‘discussion’ I really mean ‘monologue’, but having no evidence to the contrary, we both thoroughly enjoyed it.
When Laura was finally brought in, she met our son for the first time face-to-face. She was still a bit out of it when she first arrived, but quickly regained her lucidity once our baby was in her arms. For the next hour and a quarter we could have no guests, so we made the most of that time to bond as a family, leaving our families sitting in wonder out in the waiting room. It was during that time that we decided he definitely did not look like a Landon Henry – one of the two names we had narrowed it down to, should he be a boy. At the end of the recovery period, I was able to go out and greet our families. I had it all planned out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to reveal the gender; but upon seeing them all, my mind went to mush, and I think I asked a blasé question about how they were doing instead. At the near-hysterical demands of the group, I admitted the family name would continue an additional generation and proceeded to bring them back to meet our baby boy, Grayson James Raposa… and to check on Laura. But make no mistake about it; she and I both know who the most popular member of the Raposa household is these days: Mr. Gray-J.
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