With everything planned and packed, we took our first born to my sister-in-law's the night before and enjoyed a restful night at home. At 7:00a.m. the next morning we drove to the hospital, showered, dressed, and prepared. I walked through the hospital doors wheeling my luggage behind me. I sat at the admitting desk filing out paperwork and answering questions. I walked to the pre/post op room where the nurse gave me a gown. I changed in the restroom then climbed onto the hospital bed and sat and waited. It was all very quiet and routine.
When my number was up, I was wheeled to the operating room. I heard elevator music coming from the speakers in the ceiling. I sat on the edge of the bed with my feet dangling, my arms and body hunched over a pillow, while the anesthesiologist administered the epidural and her assistant described everything I would feel just before I felt it. The cold alcohol, the poking needles, the pushing, the popping, the burning, the freezing...but nothing could prepare me for the blushing as the anesthesiologist and the assistant prodded and joked between themselves whether or not my husband really had only one wife.
I lay balancing on the operating table waiting for my body to go numb. Meanwhile, I was painted, draped, taped, and tied. The doctor gave my stomach a pinch and a wiggle, "I felt that" was my eager reply.
When I could no longer feel anything, the operation began. Everyone looked at my abdomen, I looked at the ceiling wondering if there had been music the last time I was here. I tried to be informative with the anesthesiologist, she half-heartedly gave me more or less of whatever was making me complain. I tried to be knowledgeable with the doctor, "nothing like the smell of burning flesh again" but they had more interesting things to talk about. I did get the heads up when they were going to push the baby out of my stomach and the nurses draped a warm blanket on my chest for the chills. I heard his cry and the doctor raised the little wrinkled beet-like head over the shield for me to see.
When I could no longer feel anything, the operation began. Everyone looked at my abdomen, I looked at the ceiling wondering if there had been music the last time I was here. I tried to be informative with the anesthesiologist, she half-heartedly gave me more or less of whatever was making me complain. I tried to be knowledgeable with the doctor, "nothing like the smell of burning flesh again" but they had more interesting things to talk about. I did get the heads up when they were going to push the baby out of my stomach and the nurses draped a warm blanket on my chest for the chills. I heard his cry and the doctor raised the little wrinkled beet-like head over the shield for me to see.
Over the sides of the incubator table I watched his hands and feet. While I was being put back together (apparently it's easier out than in), my husband got to hold him. But with the last staple stapled, the staff swooped my numb body off the operating table into an awaiting bed, where this time I was able to sit up. And finally, like a special delivery from the stork, they placed the clean and bundled baby boy in my arms. We sailed back to post-op and sat and waited. He was perfect and his head was round. Still fresh and alert, he ate easily at my breast. With routine and control I was calm and collected. And together we slipped into a sweet sense of euphoria.
