"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" is a pretty good way to sum up October 13, 2009 (it would also make a really good opening to a novel about the French Revolution), because the day Henry was born was both. A day full of panic, stress, fear and exhaustion that ended with our being given one of the greatest gifts that can be offered in life. All through the days Teresa had spent on the High Risk wing at Northside, we had been assured that despite her pre-eclampsyia, we could expect an absolutely normal delivery. Reeeeeeal funny guys, the joke is on us I guess.
The day started normally enough I guess. We awoke in the delivery room where we had spent the night ready to start the hours of labor that we had been promised lay before us. After Teresa was hooked up to an i.v. drug that was guaranteed to produce a baby in 24 hours or so, she jumped right into her exciting day by taking a 2 hour nap. I watched the hosts of the Today show interview some elderly woman who was complaining about being tasered after resisting arrest. She got what she deserved if you ask me but now I guess I am getting off topic.
Things really started to move along when the midwife dropped by to "break" Teresa's water for her. After watching that maneuver, I think if I had known that is all it took to start delivery I could have gotten us out of there a week or so early. The next hour was spent watching stuff come out of places it shouldn't so I won't go into too much more detail. Suffice it to say that when Teresa's mom showed up, they didn't have to ask me twice if I wanted to walk over to the famous Northside Hospital McDonald's to grab lunch.
So here I am, already exhausted from lack of sleep, just trying to eat my burger and fries thinking to myself "Wow, we have hours left, I wish we could speed this up" when in walks the Anesthesiologist to administer the epidural to Teresa. Unfortunately, I wasn't finished eating yet so they made me put down my half eaten french fries as I was expected to actively participate by holding Teresa in a upright position. So, in goes the epidural and Teresa goes back on the fetal monitor...except I immediately notice that the nurse does not like what she sees. Picking up on her body language, I know something isn't right, but I don't want to ask out loud what is wrong as I know Teresa hasn't figured it out yet and I don't want to worry her.
Next thing I know, our nurse is shouting over the p.a. system and I know my fries are history. Kidding aside, this is when I felt the most helpless. Doctor's began pouring into the room from out of nowhere but I couldn't ask what was going on. I didn't want to distract them from more important things. I only knew something was seriously wrong. I couldn't even stand by Teresa where I felt I should be as I knew I would only be in the way. After a very few tense minutes, I heard our doctor say "I'm scrubbing in, lets go, NOW!"
And off we went. Two nurses, an orderly (??? he didn't bother to introduce himself) and a very freaked out expectant father pushing a massive hospital room bed at break neck speed down the halls of Northside to the operating room. I thought our luck couldn't get much worse when we ran the bed into the door that refused to open. I knew I was horribly wrong when the aforementioned bed fell apart. Still not really knowing what to make of all this, I realize all the shouting is the nurses telling me to pick up the medical charts that had hit the floor when the bed came apart. I am not sure why the charts were so important, I thought we already new she was pregnant but I guess there was more info in there.
Fortunately, we got the bed moving again and realized from our previous error that hitting a door is not a good way to stop a hospital bed. Instead, the nurses slammed the bed into a housekeeping cart outside the OR. That stopped it.
Suffice it to say at this point I am absolutely panicked. My unborn son is in a struggle for his life. My wife, already weakened from pre-eclampsyia and hours of labor is about to undergo major surgery. Everything that I care about, everything that is important in my so far perfect life is literally hanging by a thread. This...isn't....good.
Now I am being passed from nurse to nurse as they try to get me dressed in scrubs and things start really blurring at this point. I remember little snippets of reality from this point on. The nurse tying on my face mask. Another instructing me not to touch anything "blue", prompting me to place my hands under my armpits (I'm color blind so I decide I won't touch anything.) The Anesthesiologist telling me they can't do much for Teresa's pain, but hopefully she will only feel a great deal of pressure an not too much pain. I am talking to Teresa from a distance, can't get close because of the doctors. The OB is holding something outstretched in her arms above Teresa. A little bundle in the doctor's arms....not sure what it is...focusing on Teresa's face as she stops moaning. A tap on the shoulder from behind. Turning to face a nurse "Do you want to meet your son?"
The blurring stops at this point, I can focus. My son? I look toward Teresa, isn't he still in there? I finally realize what that strange bundle was as they lead me over to the warming table where I meet my son. A 6lbs 1 oz little miracle. The nurse looks at me and asks if he has a name and the tears start rolling down my face as I say for the first time "Henry. His name is Henry."
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I can honestly say I have never known fear quite like I did when I saw Teresa on the operating table. I have never known a sense of love and relief as strong as when they told me Teresa would be fine. I am certain that I will never know more joy than I did when I saw Henry's face.
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