[2] The first day
As promised, here are the full gory details in glorious technicolor!
Warning - not for the faint-hearted!
The day started out just like any other. Hang on a second, isn't that a line from the musical version of War of the Worlds? Aye, it is, and that's a bit how it was.
The day started out just like any other. Alarm at o six hundred hours (what does the o stand for....?), number one son dropped off at nursery at 7:30, but no train. No train? Nope. Not going to work today.
A breeze of a journey to the hospital, most unusual for that time in a morning. We knew our requested arrival time of 07:30 was out of the question so I rang ahead the previous day. Apparently MOTS was booked in first and they like their first lady in theatre for 08:30. No problem, they said, we'll just switch her round. But clearly emergencies take precedence so it could be later, so bring magazines. Roger that.
Triage, circa 08:20. Checked in. Daddy reaching for the Top Gear magazine. MOTS - "Leave them for when we exhaust conversation, when we get fed up talking to each other". Circa 08:20 and 20 seconds, Daddy reaching for Top Gear magazine. Circa 08:20, 20 seconds a a few nanseconds clip around right ear strikes.
A little over 5 minutes or so passes and MOTS is called by a midwife. Quick chat, short wait, anaesthetist pops in for a chat, short wait, registrar pops in for a chat, short wait couple of med students pop in for a chat and to ask to take some tissue samples for a study, midwife for theatre pops in and oh and they are waiting in theatre, everyone's ready - except us.
And then we got hit by that great big avalanche. The pit of the stomach fell (it does have a long way to go), bounced off the floor and got wedged somewhere in the back of my throat. Which is just as well because it prevented the vocalisation of the thoughts running through my mind in that split second. Started with the pre-amble to six hundred hours from earlier, and ended with something that rhymes with book.
Oh well, time to limber up and think about getting into some fetching green gowns, eh? At this stage MOTS was already in her standard issue stuff.
Upstairs we went. A quick loo trip. The last I saw of MOTS was her heading to the loo. By the time I came out she'd gone, and I wash ushered into the changing room to get into my gown. Hmm, sexy. No pictures, the midwife did threaten, but didn't follow through. I liked her.
Mots wasn't just getting prepared when I got in, a little further on by the time I got sent back for the camera I'd already turned a bag inside out for, Hmm, wrong bag. How many f'ing bags do you need??? Music was a little slow and dreary, the theatre nurse suggested something more upbeat.
When you go, will you send back, a letter from America...
Oh no, we're not having another baby born to the fucking proclaimers are we? Oh yes you are....
Spinal block in, surgeon does a roll call, last check - MOTS' name and date of birth. Check. Everybody's happy, all permissions granted, got the OK from the pain doctor, all systems go.
And I would walk five hundred miles
No, no, please no. "OK, is this standard issue", I enquired. Then out came a frame, a hibbies shirt, some notes, and the rules of "3" for surgery.
- 3 mls
- 3 pillows
- 3 words - "Sunshine on Leith"
I don't think you're meant to be in hysterics when your wife's lying on the table cut wide open. Some might consider it bad form.
It was very very different this time. Chat was jovial, mood was light, among the staff it was just another day in the office. Forgetting why we were there for a second, we were brought back to reality very very quickly when...
Whhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
What on earth is that? Oh, that'll be our son! Reality hit with the force of an atom bomb - we weren't there for the chat, we were there to have a baby. Immediate cry, followed by "congratulations you have a boy". Talking later MOTS has a split second warning because she felt him being lifted out just before he cried, other than that we were given no indication from the surgeon that she was about to lift him out. He wasn't wrinkled like number 1 son, or grey. The extra 13 days clearly helped him get ready.
I got whisked out into the resuscitation room for photos and to be with him while he got cleaned up. And he managed to drench the midwife with his fireman's hose - twice. That was magical, being there for that. And bringing our son back to meet his Mummy properly. Once she was stitched up and moved onto the bed I passed him over, her first cuddle.
The first of many they both got yesterday.
