Meredith Claire: The Birth of a Pudding Pop
Part I: White Castle Fries Only Come in One
Size
Monday, April 28 4:30pm
So, I was sitting around watching some type of teen porn
story on Oprah, and suddenly I got totally light-headed and nauseous, and I
started seeing lightning bugs flying in front of my face. Because I was
watching Oprah and not Pink Floyd’s The Wall, I became a bit concerned.
Two commercial breaks later, the symptoms remained and the
lightning bug swarm had doubled in size. Time to call the doctor.
After explaining my symptoms to my doctor’s partner:
Doctor: I think you should go to the hospital right away.
Your symptoms are in line with pre-eclampsia, so we’ll want to check you out.
Me: I’ve already had four false alarms. What if I drive all
the way out there and my blood pressure is fine?
Doctor: We’re scheduled to induce labor on Wednesday, so
let’s go ahead and induce you tonight regardless of your blood pressure.
Me (doing my best to remain composed): Ggaaushghehtogitns…
Doctor: I’ll see you in a few hours!
I called Jeff and told him that it was time to have a baby.
Within minutes, he was home and we took off for the hospital.
Me: God! I’m totally hungry, and I KNOW they’re not going to
let me eat once they get everything started.
Jeff: What are you hungry for?
Me: White Castle! And there’s one up ahead!
An hour later (my stomach full), the nurse had me hooked up
to a monitor.
Nurse: Blah, blah, blah, do you have any diseases?
Me: Blah, blah, blah, no.
Nurse: Do you need financial counseling, a living will, or
spiritual guidance?
Me: No, no, and no.
Nurse: You haven’t eaten anything in the past six hours,
right?
Me (thinking “Shit. Can I lie about this one?”): Well,
actually, I just ate a fish sandwich and an order of fries from White Castle...
Nurse (to herself): No wonder your baby is oversized…
A few minutes later, the house doctor came in to start the
induction drugs. As he was poking and prodding on my insides, my doctor called
to see how things were going. The house doctor got on the phone with her, and
this is what I heard…
“I’ve got my finger in her cervix right now, and it feels
like she’s effaced to 80% and dilated to a 2. The monitor shows regular
contractions at a rate of eight minutes. Do you really want to induce? No? Okay
then, my job is done here.”
And with that, he removed his hand from my insides and
handed the phone to me.
Doctor: Angela, it sounds to me like you’re starting labor
naturally.
Me: Okay.
Doctor: I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. I think
you’ll be able to push enough to get the baby’s head out, but I’m really
worried about the size of her abdomen and the size of your pelvis. We have a
choice to make. Obviously, people can deliver a ten pound baby or bigger, but
there are certain risks. But, then again, there are risks to having a c-section
as well. Are you leaning in any certain direction?
Me: If you think the baby is going to get stuck at the
halfway point, I believe I would rather opt for a c-section.
Doctor: I know that the surgery team has an opening at 9:00
in the morning. How does that sound?
Me: Sounds great! I’ll see you then!
As the next few hours passed, the nurse noticed that my
contractions were getting stronger and closer together.
Nurse: Holy! This is a big one!
Me: Shit! Totally!
Nurse: They’re coming in at three minutes. I better call
your doctor…
The nurse left the room. I looked at the clock. 11:30pm.
These contractions were really kicking me. And how!
Nurse (returning to the room): Well, it looks like you’re
going to have your baby tonight!
Me: What?!
Nurse: Because of your contractions, your doctor rescheduled
your procedure for 1:30 in the morning.
Me: That’s only two hours away!
Nurse: Yeah. We could have done it now, but we needed to
wait at least six hours past your last meal.
Jeff: You HAD to have White Castles, didn’t you?
The next two hours were a total blur. An IV was started. A
“this will make you feel like you’re a bit drunk” drug was administered.
Parents were called. Abdomens were shaved. Husbands were scrubbed up and
prepared. You could feel the excitement in the air!
And finally, at 1:30, I was rolled into the operating
room—feeling like a tipsy sorority girl at Harpo’s Dollar Longneck night. Sober
enough to make change, yet drunk enough to kiss everyone in the room.
This is me! Contracting!!!
Part II: Holy God! That’s a Big Baby!
When we last left our hero, she was feeling a bit drunk as
the surgery team rolled her into the operating room to be prepped for her
c-section…
Me: It’s a spinal thing, right? Not an epidural? Because I
had an epidural with my appendectomy and it didn’t work and blah, blah, blah…
Anesthesiologist (to himself): It’s 1:30 in the freakin’
morning, and my sleep was interrupted so I could stick a needle in the back of
this nut job. Oy.
After the spinal block was administered, they strapped me
down and put the sheet up so I couldn’t see my insides being ripped out.
Me: I NEED A COLD WASHCLOTH ON MY FOREHEAD! A COLD
WASHCLOTH!
Anesthesiologist (to himself): Stupid drunk girl…
Minutes later, my doctor informed me that she was almost
done.
Me: Wait. Have you made the incision yet?
Doctor: Yep. We’re in the final stage of surgery. You’re
going to feel a bit of a tug as I remove the baby.
Me: A bit of a HOLY! What the—–?!
Suddenly, the room was filled with the shrill yet beautiful
sound of a baby’s cry.
Doctor: Angela, this is a Buddha baby!
Anesthesiologist: Holy God! That’s a big baby!
Me: Jeff? Can you see her? What does she look like?
Jeff: She’s perfect. Beautiful.
After removing my bladder, the doctor pulls our wee Pudding Pop from her uterine dwellings...
Clip clip here, snip snip there in the merry old land of Oz!
"I want gooey butter cake, and I want it NOW!!!"
Ten pounds and one ounce. Holy God, that's a big baby!
Part III: Let the Healing Begin!
Shortly after the arrival of our wee one, the nurses cleaned
her up, allowed Jeff to hold her, allowed me to nurse her, allowed the
grandparents to welcome her into the family, and then allowed all of us (minus
the grandparents) to sleep in our birthing room as a family. What an exciting
yet frightening adventure to have a baby who is a mere two hours out of the
womb sleeping in a tiny bed next to you. No monitors. No constant assurance
that everything is fine. Just a new mommy, a new daddy, and a new baby snoozing
away in room 2119.
On Tuesday morning (six hours or so after the birth), my
doctor’s partner stopped by to poke me a bit. He told me to stick to a clear
liquid diet for a day or so, and then progress “as tolerated” to a regular
diet. Minutes later, the nurse came in to take my lunch order.
Nurse: What would you like for lunch?
Me: I guess gelatin and apple juice or something like that…
Nurse: That’s silly. If you feel like you can eat, you
should definitely eat.
Me (stupid, stupid me): Ok. I’ll have the chicken casserole
with green beans and lemon pie.
~~~Hours Later~~~
Nurse: What would you like for supper?
Me: I can have anything?
Nurse: Anything on the menu. I recommend the cod filet.
Me (stupid, stupid me): Sounds great! With peach cobbler!
~~~Hours Later~~~
Me: I’m not feeling so great.
Nurse: Have you passed gas?
Me: Um, er, um…
Nurse: You’re probably uncomfortable because of gas. Your
belly looks awfully distended. Let’s take the catheter out and let you walk
around a bit.
So, she jerked my pee tube out and talked me into walking to
the bathroom.
Nurse: Just sit in there for a bit and call me if you need
anything.
Ok. Let’s pause the story for a second while I divulge a bit
of personal information about me. When I vomit, I tend to cry and apologize to
anyone within earshot. I’m assuming this goes back to my college days and my
first experience with Southern Comfort, but I can’t be sure. Anyway, even
during the morning sickness phase of pregnancy when I found myself hugging the
toilet in the middle of the night, I had tears streaming down my face as I
whispered “I’m sorry” into the bowl. Strange.
Back to the story.
I’m sitting on the toilet, and suddenly a huge wave of
nausea hits me. I know I’m not going to be able to stand up and spin around
without assistance, so the only option is to pray the nurse can deliver an
emesis basin in time to catch my cod filet. I pull the Emergency wire.
Nurse: Can I help you?
Me: Oh! I’m about to…(I begin to vomit onto the bathroom
floor)...I’m sorry!…(I begin to cry)...Oh! I’m sorry!
The nurse runs back to the room and shoves an emesis basin
in front of my mouth. Too late. The bathroom floor is filled with every shred
of green bean, lemon pie, casserole, et cetera that I enjoyed earlier in the
day.
The nurse calls for backup help as I cry and apologetically
fill my third basin.
The backup nurse arrives with a mop and a bucket of water.
As she enters my room, she trips over something and spills the bucket of water
all over the floor.
Backup nurse: Shit! Shit!
Nurse: Quick! Pick up her stuff before everything gets wet!
Me (still in the bathroom sobbing and vomiting): I’m so
sorry!
Nurse: There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just hold onto the
basin while we clean up the floor out here…
Me: Sorry.
Thirty minutes later I was back in my bed (crusty, but
feeling 100% better), my floor was sparkly clean, and our wee one was sacked
out in the tiny bed next to me.
Pudding Pop: If I knew how to walk, I would have made my way
into the bathroom and held your hair out of your eyes while you puked.
Me: I know, Sweetie. And Mommy will do the same for you
someday…
Part IV: Babies are scary!
We’ve now had three weeks at home with our new little
roommate. She constantly begs for food. She refuses to pay rent. She poops all
over and makes no attempt to clean it up. It’s how I imagine living with Chris
Farley would have been…
By the way, babies are much more than smiles and coos. Our
baby, for example, has become an exercise in health related problem solving.
Reasons I have called our pediatrician in
the past three weeks:
1. Little MC won’t wake up for her feedings.
2. Little MC seems to be having respiratory problems.
3. Little MC is a vomit monster.
4. Little MC has been crying eight hours each day and cannot be
consoled.
Last week, our wee one was diagnosed with an ear infection.
The solution? A dose of antibiotics twice each day for ten days. Three days
later, the eight hour crying marathons had not improved, so the doctor
suggested we treat her for reflux. The solution? Along with the antibiotics,
she now takes Zantac three times each day (for the next thirty days), and
Maalox with every other feeding.
We give her eleven doses of medicine each day, and it looks
like she’ll have to go back to the doctor this week for further testing. It is for this reason that I’m going to take a week or two maternity leave
from Fluid Pudding dot com. Until the crying stops and the medication is
weaned, I’m afraid all entries would look something like this:
Tuesday, June something--
Little MC cried all night last night, and I’m sleepy. Also,
she hates Zantac.
Wednesday, June something--
Little MC cried all night last night, and I’m sleepy. Also,
she hates Zantac.
And yes. I am breastfeeding. And no. My milk is not bad. Jeff has it with his Honey Nut Cheerios each morning, and he assures me
that he feels better than ever. (The funny thing is, you have
no idea if I’m kidding or not, do you?)
By the way, Little MC cried all night last night, and I’m
sleepy. Also, she hates Zantac.
