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Okay, so I created this blog a while ago as sort of an outlet of expression/journal, and have yet to make my first post. That ever-important first post, I have come to find out, is a daunting task, especially when you have years of memories and experiences and--well, just life--to account for. My first words to the world should be bold, memorable, even profound. Right? Unfortunately, if I keep that as my goal, I may never write anything at all. In the end, I suppose it's just like penning those mundane essays in freshman-English: the hardest part is putting the pen to the paper and starting. Hopefully, like so many of those pointless and pathetic pieces, this will begin to flow more naturally (and if I'm lucky, a little less pointlessly and pathetically). So, here we go!
I was sitting in the first lecture of my OB/GYN clinical medicine block today, marveling at how much more interesting this stuff is compared to our last block. That probably is due in part to the fact that our last block was endocrinology, whose endless hormone disorders are just mind-numbingly boring--at least compared to other areas of medicine for me. But I realized that it also has much to do with being a father and having experienced a bit of the obstetrics side of that field.
Now, do not mistake me here. I would not call this a new found passion and have no intention of working in this specialty when I finish school. I do, however, find fascinating the processes of conception, pregnancy, fetal development, labor, and delivery, particularly having been through these twice (yes, I know, only as an observer) with our own children. Logan, in particular, gave us quite a crash course in nearly all things obstetric; and I realized as I sat there in lecture that I may never have adequately recorded my reflections on the "emotional teacup ride" that was Logan's birth (forgive me for my reliving the memory if it turns out a bit graphic or emotional, but I don't want to forget it).
Aside from some pretty severe morning sickness and other unpleasant but 'typical' pregnancy adventures, Leah's first pregnancy progressed without major complication. Her due date came and went with no sign of Logan, so her doc (Alexandra Runnels, a brilliant young professional who couldn't have been more than a couple years out of residency and who soon became one of my heroes) scheduled her for induction a few days later. Leah checked in for some prep the night before, and I enjoyed my luxuriously comfortable 4 1/2-foot-long-daddy-recliner-bed-thingy next to her on our last night as free and footloose newlyweds.
Morning came, and with it the Pitocin to start contractions. Leah was a little anxious about the whole 'needle in the spine' thing, so she experimented with natural labor for a couple hours. But without principled homeopathic determination or pride to motivate her, she soon opted for the epidural over the recurring pain. We spent the rest of the morning relaxing and napping together on the tiny hospital bed, and with the fetal monitors providing the only evidence of contractions, I remember comments from her along to the lines of "hey, this childbirth thing isn't so bad".
After a slow start, things eventually began to progress and before we knew it, baby was crowning and Leah was ready to push. Rested and relaxed, my girl was all fired up and ready for the final sprint and the joyous welcoming of our angel Logan.
But this is where the real adventure began.
An hour and a half later, Leah was still hard at work. She was getting good pushes, but following each one, the stubborn little infant would retract back slightly, resulting in no forward progress. Next came the vacuum extractor (sort of a gentler, but less effective version of forceps), to no avail. By now Leah was running a fever of 104, and emergency c-section would soon be the best option. Finally with a last-resort epesiotomy, an enthusiastically chearleading Daddy, doctor, and nurses, and a big final push from Mommy, out peeked Logan Juliette's little head.
And this is when my world began to spin.
My precious daughter's head only came halfway, then quickly turned a shade best described as plum. All I could think to do was squeeze Leah's hand, keep her eyes locked on mine to prevent either of us from panicking, and wonder what happened to our smooth and joyous delivery. Doctor Runnels, though, reacted swiftly and decisively--simultaneously calling for the NICU team, repositioning with the extractor, directing two nurses to put my wife in some crazy contortionist position (McRoberts Maneuver), and another nurse to help push our little girl out from behind.
And out she came.
For what seemed like an eternity but probably wasn't, there was no cry. Just an oddly purple baby girl, a blur of doctors and nurses, glimpses of an oxygen mask, mutterings about vital signs and a broken clavicle, a bewildered Mommy, and a Daddy on tiptoes trying to rescue our Logan with his will and hope and frantic prayers. I seemed to be drowning in agony that flooded my eyes, my throat, my voice, and my heart.
Then finally, we heard the sweetest sound on Earth, Logan's soft little cry.
Soon, light replenished our little world and the planets resumed their orbits. Mommy only got to have a moment's glance, unfortunately, before they took our little Logan to the NICU. Grandma had been waiting patiently outside and was a lifesaver, taking care of the love of my life, while I went to take care of our brand new daughter. I spent much of the next few hours there, returning periodically to bring pictures and video to Mommy until she could hold her. I felt like I became a daddy in those few hours, even if all I could do was be there for Logan with a familiar voice and a finger to cling to. Leah and I were so excited to become parents, but I never imagined I could feel this way about a tiny child I had never met--a feeling you can never quite understand until you meet your first.
Soon, Logan stabilized and could go and be with Mommy, and though she gave us a scare, has no lasting problems from her grand entrance into the world. I have spent the ensuing weeks and months in awe of this amazing little girl--and in gratitude for an eternal companion I often don't deserve, for strength beyond my own, for faith answered, and for Logan's place in our family that, at least for a moment, seemed so fragile.
