Eleven

June 3rd, 1997 I woke up to the sound of the nurses shoes as she went down the hallway.  I’d learned something in the weeks I had put in between my first pregnancy and second.  A hospital is never quiet.  The total library atmosphere at night just contributes to making every other sound seem louder.  I went through the normal poke and prod morning routine and waited for my breakfast to show up.  I had told my mom a few days before, over the phone, that I wasn’t going to last the week.  I decided to make a quick call and told my husband he better hurry up and get there.  No reason really.  Everything was grand and my breakfast had just showed up.  I just felt that he needed to be there.  I slogged through my breakfast of scrambled powdered eggs and soggy toast and decided to nap while I waited for him to show up.  He got there pretty fast and we surfed the channels together for a few minutes before I decided I my bladder just wasn’t going to wait any longer.  It was a major process getting me into the bathroom so I was really hating the feeling I had to get up every five minutes.  There was an I.V. pole to drag, contraction monitors to unhook, nurses station to call to give them warning you were going off all the monitors.  So, it was a fine line between waiting too long and timing it just right.

I took two steps out of the bathroom and heard this splash sound.  I thought to myself, “Son of a bitch.  My water just broke.”  I glanced down and saw what I didn’t expect to see.  A big puddle of blood.  I thought, “Ohh.. That just can’t be good.” and said, “Uhh.. I think we have a problem.”  I just stood there.  I didn’t know what to do.  Everything starts to speed up at that point.  My husbands eyes got big around as saucers.  He screamed into the call button for the nurse and for good measure leaned out into the hall and screamed for help.  A giant sword was shoved into me and twisted, I figure that’s all it could be since it hurt so goddamn bad, I was driven to my knees with the pain.  I felt hands grab my arms and put me into the bed.  I heard someone say to call my doctor and another said to prep an operating room.  They took me out in the bed I had slept in that night and ran me down to recovery.  I was just surrounded by people in gowns and masks and the little caps.  People were hooking me up to monitors and putting electrodes on my chest.  I just kept trying to curl into a little ball because I hurt so bad.  Everyones voices just sounded so far away and like this all wasn’t happening to me.  I heard questions asked and my husband tossing back answers as quick as he could.  “She had breakfast.”  “She had tea after breakfast.” “No, she didn’t complain of any pain to me.”  “She just got up to go to the bathroom.” “No, she didn’t fall.”  I was whisked to the prepared operating room.  I remember my doctor leaning over me.  Her eyes didn’t have the normal happy crinkles.  She tried to make me not worry and said, “You know, you are giving me gray hairs kid.”  The anesthesiologist had finished hooking me up for sound and started putting the mask over my face.  I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe, like I was getting too much air, that feeling that you get when you are on the back of a motorcycle and the wind blows right in your face.  Then it was dark.

I heard my name being called but somewhere my brain knew if I woke up I wasn’t going to be happy.  Only people wouldn’t quit saying my name, dicks.  I slowly opened my eyes and immediately wanted to go back to sleep.  I went to sleep in pain and woke up in pain.  I feel kind of guilty now that I didn’t have that Hallmark moment.  The one where you fight through the pain because the only thing on your mind is your baby.  I was selfish.  I felt like I had been gutted.  In true fashion I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “Fuck… I hurt.”  I heard laughs and giggles.  Not the healthy laughing from a good joke.  That weird nervous, thank fuckin god, laugh.  I focused my eyes while the nurse pushed happy meds into my IV, saying some shit about how they had to wait for me to wake up before giving me something.  I was surrounded by people.  I’d been out a while.  I had a picture sitting on my stomach.  It was of my little boy.  All wired for sound like I remember being just that morning.

In less than eight minutes from recovery room to my back hitting the table my little bit had been born.  I can honestly say that every minute I spent wired for sound was well worth it.  I’ve watched him grow and turn into such an adorable little person.  I can’t call him a kid.  In some things he is wise above his years.  He really does treat other people how he wants them to treat him.  He cares about what other people think.  He builds complicated cities and games to play with complex rules.  He knows how to manipulate things for lesser punishment when he’s caught doing something.  Which sounds like a bad thing but it amazes me to watch him try to figure out just what someones mood is so he knows how to play it.  Which also means he should never try to play poker because I can see the ‘ah ha!’ make his face glow.  He was content to go wander the mall with me when I was bored and managed to work in a few new toys for him and his brother somehow.

Sometimes, when we have the radio going in the car, I look back at him in the review mirror.  He’s laughing and singing along.  I realize it was all worth it.  That one perfect moment makes all the gray hair worth it.