Wednesday, April 20, 2005
A look back at The Night
Eight weeks ago tonight, the Taggart household in Alameda was abuzz with activity, as bags were prepared, contractions were timed, backs were massaged and nerves were crackling with excitement. If you haven't figured it out, it was the night Nicola went into labor...and 16 hours later, there was Miss Lindsay!
I have already begun the process of documenting that eventful evening, but I did not get around to finishing the blow by blow description. Now that I have 2 months' worth of perspective, I think the minute details of the birth are less important than the overall feelings and memories...gee, I suppose as revelations go this is no great shakes, but it's what serves for inspiration tonight.
Nicola and I talked at dinner tonight about the night her labor started and the whole delivery process. Our memories are already starting to soften around the edges a little, and we struggled to agree on a few details: did we listen to music before and after the epidural, or only after? I guess that's not important either.
What I remember is the way we seemed to narrow our focus, to develop tunnel vision almost. It was like the world collapsed down to the labor and delivery room, once we got there (by way of a quick stop at triage). We were in the L&D room by 1 a.m., and the lights were low, and the contractions were rolling, and this tiny little friendly nurse (name?) was in and out of the room, and Nicola was laboring...really trying to work her way through the contractions. And Tom and Phoenix had hopped in the car and were on the way down, and we'd made a few other calls to let people know that a baby was on the way. But everything else outside the couch, the bed and the floor space between them didn't matter...almost didn't exist. We were in our own heads, grappling with the physical (Nicola) and emotional (both) challenges of the moment. We were in each other's heads too, right there together for every second...not expressing overpowering emotions, but not having too either, because the experience was the emotion.
Nicola tonight recalled when she got the epidural, and she was hunched forward, exposing her spine to the miracle man known as the anesthesiologist. Our foreheads were pressed together, our hands clasped. I was so proud of her for how she had weathered the storm so far, and so relieved that something was being done to reduce the pain (the phones on our floor had gone out just as Nicola requested the epidural, resulting in an inability to contact the epidural guy and a delay of about 30 minutes).
After the epidural, we dozed a bit, we waited for progress. It was an intimate delivery, in a way. Not like TV, with squads of nurses shuffling around. It was Nicola, me and the chatty former military nurse from Alameda, and then at the end, Dr. Carper (present for only the last 2-3 pushes).
I'm sure I'm writing just about the worst recap of a delivery in the world. The words feel inadequate, because there is no way to describe the pure joy you feel as your baby emerges. "Miracle" falls short. For me, there were tears and happiness and an elation beyond...just beyond, I guess. And numbness, to some extent. "You did it!" I kept saying to Nicola. "You did it." I wish I had expressed to her everything I felt at that second...old demons held me back, unfortunately. What I felt and should have said: "Nicola, I'm so proud of you for how you came through this -- so strong, so focused, so amazing. I have never loved you more than I do at this very moment. Thank you for choosing me and for sharing this life with me. I adore you!"
Something like that. Hallmark won't come knocking anytime soon, but I hope you get the idea. Maybe you won't understand, if you aren't a parent. There's a power and a gripping, unrelenting quality to parental love...you are forever in this child's sway and you'd anything to make her life better.
All in all, Lindsay's delivery went very smoothly, and Nicola and I have positive emotional memories of this shared experience. But as she said, "Everything after we left the delivery room...I don't like to think about that." Details for another time, but suffice it to say that the accommodations were less than optimal and we couldn't wait to get home.
I think lurking in the shadows of this generally positive delivery experience is Lindsay's ear thing. It was one of the first things I noticed about her when they placed her still-gooey little body on Nicola's chest, left ear up. It was a fleeting thing, but I did notice it and wondered if the ear got a bit mangled during the baby's journey. Turned out to be something a bit more permanent...still manageable and something we and Lindsay will deal with, I'm confident. But in some way it did intrude on our tiny little pocket of peace and love and new baby euphoria.
Well, to end on a positive note -- Lindsay's expressive face and bright eyes push aside any other worries or concerns. In her little face I can still find the euphoria and the peace and the love...just like her mom's eyes. It's where I belong.
I have already begun the process of documenting that eventful evening, but I did not get around to finishing the blow by blow description. Now that I have 2 months' worth of perspective, I think the minute details of the birth are less important than the overall feelings and memories...gee, I suppose as revelations go this is no great shakes, but it's what serves for inspiration tonight.
Nicola and I talked at dinner tonight about the night her labor started and the whole delivery process. Our memories are already starting to soften around the edges a little, and we struggled to agree on a few details: did we listen to music before and after the epidural, or only after? I guess that's not important either.
What I remember is the way we seemed to narrow our focus, to develop tunnel vision almost. It was like the world collapsed down to the labor and delivery room, once we got there (by way of a quick stop at triage). We were in the L&D room by 1 a.m., and the lights were low, and the contractions were rolling, and this tiny little friendly nurse (name?) was in and out of the room, and Nicola was laboring...really trying to work her way through the contractions. And Tom and Phoenix had hopped in the car and were on the way down, and we'd made a few other calls to let people know that a baby was on the way. But everything else outside the couch, the bed and the floor space between them didn't matter...almost didn't exist. We were in our own heads, grappling with the physical (Nicola) and emotional (both) challenges of the moment. We were in each other's heads too, right there together for every second...not expressing overpowering emotions, but not having too either, because the experience was the emotion.
Nicola tonight recalled when she got the epidural, and she was hunched forward, exposing her spine to the miracle man known as the anesthesiologist. Our foreheads were pressed together, our hands clasped. I was so proud of her for how she had weathered the storm so far, and so relieved that something was being done to reduce the pain (the phones on our floor had gone out just as Nicola requested the epidural, resulting in an inability to contact the epidural guy and a delay of about 30 minutes).
After the epidural, we dozed a bit, we waited for progress. It was an intimate delivery, in a way. Not like TV, with squads of nurses shuffling around. It was Nicola, me and the chatty former military nurse from Alameda, and then at the end, Dr. Carper (present for only the last 2-3 pushes).
I'm sure I'm writing just about the worst recap of a delivery in the world. The words feel inadequate, because there is no way to describe the pure joy you feel as your baby emerges. "Miracle" falls short. For me, there were tears and happiness and an elation beyond...just beyond, I guess. And numbness, to some extent. "You did it!" I kept saying to Nicola. "You did it." I wish I had expressed to her everything I felt at that second...old demons held me back, unfortunately. What I felt and should have said: "Nicola, I'm so proud of you for how you came through this -- so strong, so focused, so amazing. I have never loved you more than I do at this very moment. Thank you for choosing me and for sharing this life with me. I adore you!"
Something like that. Hallmark won't come knocking anytime soon, but I hope you get the idea. Maybe you won't understand, if you aren't a parent. There's a power and a gripping, unrelenting quality to parental love...you are forever in this child's sway and you'd anything to make her life better.
All in all, Lindsay's delivery went very smoothly, and Nicola and I have positive emotional memories of this shared experience. But as she said, "Everything after we left the delivery room...I don't like to think about that." Details for another time, but suffice it to say that the accommodations were less than optimal and we couldn't wait to get home.
I think lurking in the shadows of this generally positive delivery experience is Lindsay's ear thing. It was one of the first things I noticed about her when they placed her still-gooey little body on Nicola's chest, left ear up. It was a fleeting thing, but I did notice it and wondered if the ear got a bit mangled during the baby's journey. Turned out to be something a bit more permanent...still manageable and something we and Lindsay will deal with, I'm confident. But in some way it did intrude on our tiny little pocket of peace and love and new baby euphoria.
Well, to end on a positive note -- Lindsay's expressive face and bright eyes push aside any other worries or concerns. In her little face I can still find the euphoria and the peace and the love...just like her mom's eyes. It's where I belong.
// posted by Bill @ 9:35 PM 
