Hey all! I asked Ben to write an entry detailing the birth morning, since I was a little less than lucid. Enjoy!
We checked in at St. E’s @ 7:30 a.m. and went through the
standard 30 minute “Let’s make sure these schmucks can pay us” admission
process. After clearing our insurance info, we were lead down to our pre-op
room, which is usually reserved for deliveries. A middle-aged nurse stepped in
and got the ball rolling with oral NSAIDs, IV and some stylish OR clothes.
Casey was rocking the dignified backless gown and the nurse gave me some very
large scrubs. Before I could don my scrubs, though, the nurse rather tersely
pointed to me and said, “You go down the hall and get some breakfast.” Not
being much of a breakfast person, I replied that I was doing just fine. Our
nurse quite abruptly stated, “I already have one patient to care for. I don’t
need two. Now go eat. I can’t have you passing out in there.” Sheepishly, I
replied, “Yes ma’am,” ducked behind the curtain and down the hall for some
cereal. Once the IV was administered, fetal monitors attached and basic
admissions hurdles were cleared, family started to arrive. Timmy arrived with
Scarlett in tow from the house, as well as Heather, Casey’s mom and sister and
my mom and brother.
Soon after, a hulking gent in scrubs stepped in and
introduced himself as the anesthesiologist. After reviewing the spinal
procedure, he got up to head to the OR and bonked his head on the overhead
light. I made the observation that the anesthesiologist looked as though he
should be in the business of breaking kneecaps or chasing quarterbacks.
Finally, the time arrived to head to the operating room for
the C-section. The nurses lead Casey, covered in a blanket, and I through the
halls towards the room. As per usual, the OR was fluorescently over-lit,
bustling with medical professionals counting sharp objects and fiddling with
electronic devices and warmed to a comfortable 29 degrees. Casey had a seat on
the operating table with her backless gown, poofy hat and hospital-issued
socks. She had been excited to wear her shamrock Sock-It-To-Me socks for the
big day, but our cranky admissions nurse stated that they might get
blood-stained. Really?!
When Lou Ferrigno, I mean, the anesthesiologist, entered the
OR, we knew it was time for the ever-so-pleasant spinal procedure. At this
point, Ben was busy making sure he wasn’t in the way for the twentieth time. The
pain was evident as Casey braced and then grimaced as the heavy gauge needle
was inserted into her spinal column at the L2 level. The line was secured and
she was eased onto her back by the nurses and anesthesiologist, since her legs
were already buzzing. Dr. Feelgood sat at a stool by Casey’s head to adjust the
flow of drugs as her OB Dr. Fiala and the assistant Dr. Bowers walked into the
OR fully scrubbed-in and clad in surgical pastels.
Dr. Fiala made small talk sprinkled with words of
encouragement while nurses prepped and draped Casey’s belly. The orange of the
iodine was vaguely noticeable as I spewed my usual wisecracks that accompany my
high level of nervousness. One of the nurses had noticed my black shamrock
tattoo through my scrubs and mentioned that she had a son who played football
at Notre Dame. No kidding. She then asked me if I was okay and if I needed to
sit down. Actually, I voiced my interest in watching the procedure, just like
when Scarlett was born via C-Section. Before we knew it, Dr. Fiala said, “Here
we go.” Casey was numb from the belly button down and her vision hindered due
to the all-encompassing curtain drape. Her left arm, which still held the IV
was strapped down to a board. We could smell the burning flesh from the
electro-cautery and could hear the chatter of the doctors and nurses as they
made their cuts through the existing scar. Although Casey was numb to the cuts,
the doctor warned her that she’d be able to feel the pressure in her abdomen. I
kept watch over the drape and offered updates on the procedure, although due to
the IV pain meds, confusion and muted pain, Casey didn’t really want to hear
them. Once the incisions were completed, the doctors braced themselves on
either side of the operating table and pulled with both hands in opposite
directions to spread out the musculature. This Casey felt. I heard her gasp and
saw the tears well up, which caused the anesthesiologist to ask her if
everything was okay. She replied through her tears that she could feel a great
deal of what was being done. When asked what she would rate her pain on a scale
of 0-10 she bravely said 8, when it was clear to me that she was in quite a
deal more. The anesthesiologist administered another push of drugs while I did
my best to translate what was happening.
The amniotic sac was lanced and immediately a gush of liquid
spilled out. Based on the look on Casey’s face, the pain hadn’t subsided, even
as the second spinal took hold. Dr. Fiala checked in with the anesthesiologist
about pain levels and he indicated that he administered all that he could. Dr. Fiala informed the whole team that the
baby was indeed breech, but that his head was lodged under Casey’s ribs on the
left side, which was beyond the reach of her spinal. The anesthesiologist
stated that he couldn’t administer a spinal at a higher level due to issues of
diaphragm and lung functioning. I asked
if there were any other options and he stated that the only thing that he could
do would be to put Casey completely out. Dr. Fiala informed everyone that they
were going to go for it and told Casey to hang in there. Casey held my hand
tight and prepared for the worst. The incision was pulled up near her sternum
as Dr. Fiala attempted to dislodge the baby’s head. At this point, the
procedure was essentially being conducted without anesthesia. Several pairs of
hands pulled and prodded for something that seemed to be in Casey’s throat via
her incision just below her belly button.
Suddenly, I saw a foot and leg. And then another. Dr. Fiala
gave a few tugs and with a scoop of a gloved hand, the baby’s head emerged from
what seemed like a six-foot wide hole. The baby let out that newborn shriek and
we knew that everything would be okay. Casey got her first look at the baby as
the nurses brought him around the curtain prior to his primary check. The
nurses cleaned him up, but he stopped crying and just lied there, blue and
still. The nurses rubbed his back and head and he gasped and cried but returned
to lying still. A mask the size of an egg was placed on the little fellow with
100% Oxygen and he turned from blue to beet red in literally two seconds. I
also started breathing at this point, turning from green back to my ruddy self.
After my tenth “Is that normal?” the nurses told me to relax and that
everything was fine. I couldn’t bring myself to tell this part of the process
to Casey until we were home and she was well on her way to recovery. I didn’t
think she could handle that thought.
While the baby was getting weighed, measured and freed of
excessive umbilical cord, Casey was starting the long trek that is a post-op
course. I glanced to the floor next to the operating table and noticed the
suction receptacle about ¼ full and the surrounding floor and occasional
pant-leg or sleeve spattered with blood. Since the placenta was also lodged
under Casey’s ribs, the removal procedure was also conducted with little more
than 800 mg of Ibuprofen between pain receptors and the cold surgical tools. In
order to reach the placenta, a good number of her visceral organs had to be
pulled laterally and forced toward the incision, making her look as though she
had taken a cannon ball at short range. She once again bit her lip, grasped the
curtain rods that held the drape and took the pain with as much tolerance as
she could muster.
Just as the doctor was depositing her organs back into place
and preparing to close her incision, I approached with our little man. The
anesthesiologist adjusted several cords and hoses to make room as I placed our
baby next to her on the operating table. She looked at me and said, “What do
you think… Sullivan?” I agreed. “Sullivan Patrick Coleman.” Closure was
completed, dressings applied and compression girdle fitted. I placed Sully in
the bassinet cart and followed the mobile operating table to the post-operative
care/neo-natal intake room. Four nurses spent what felt like an hour conducting
numerous tests, taking readings, administering drugs and discussing paperwork.
At this point Casey continued on the pain train as the nurses palpated her
stomach and incision site to check for uterine hardening.
Originally, Casey was supposed to be moved straight to
Ibuprofen and Percocet for her pain management, but the nursing staff alerted
the doctor that Morphine was a better option for her, considering the amount of
pain she was still in. The analgesic of last resort, the drug of “hold on
Private, you took a musket ball to the shin. We have to amputate.” It took
Morphine, of all things, to bring the pain down to a more comfortable 6 out of
10.
While Casey was being harangued, prodded and moved to the postpartum room,
I was denied permission to wheel Sully out to the waiting room to see the
family for the third time. I informed the nurses that if we didn’t come out
soon, the family would roll in a keg and start a campfire. At last the nurses
finished post-op requirements and let me push Sully out to meet the family.
