The movie playing
in Amy's room the day after:
"The
Mummy Returns." (I REALLY liked it!)
MANDATORY BABY EPISODE
"I just thought you guys were being original."
-- Phoebe on Friends, after being informed that "Baby Boy" was not the baby's permanent name.August 16th, Thursday night,
We watched the season finale of Friends last Thursday. Rachel was dilated to three centimeters. And then had a ten-minute agonizingly painful labor and her baby was delivered butt-first (breech) without a caesarean section.
"Why don't they use an epidural if she's in that much pain?" Amy asked.
"Because all TV pregnancy episodes are required to show the most painful and complicated labor possible with no pain medication given, some last-minute complications, but always a happy outcome," I answered.
That's the second rule of pregnancy on TV. The first rule is that every show must have at least one pregnant-woman-in-labor episode in the first place.
After midnight, Amy woke me up. She was having painful contractions nearly every five minutes. Most were less than a minute so the Ob/Gyn doc on call said to wait until they were a minute each. I timed them for a couple hours and must have drifted off to sleep.
4 a.m.
I awoke when I heard Amy talking to the O.B. nurse over the phone.
"I'm having contractions every few minutes with bloody mucus and I can't really take the pain…." I heard Amy say.
I jumped out of bed, washed up, slid across the hood of our jeep like The Dukes of Hazzard, and off we went. (Well, three out of four of those things, at least.)
CAR CHASE SCENE
Amy's contractions were getting much more painful in the car. Every bump hurt her.
I sped through one red light after making sure no other cars were around.
But I decelerated when I saw the police car (at 4:30 a.m. too). I briefly considered speeding by him so as to get a police escort like you see on TV, but honestly he would have just slowed me down.
INSERT ELEVATOR MUZAK HERE
4:47 a.m.
Ahead of us at the hospital registration desk was another couple who looked like they were there for a 3-hour tour. Amy on the other hand, was pacing and rocking back and forth while swearing due to the pain.
Meanwhile a pregnant lady on a gurney was hurriedly being rushed to the OR behind us, probably for an emergency Caesarean section.
"Goddamn it, agghAGUGHHGhugghhhh…" Amy said as she leaned on the counter in pain, then paced in circles, repeat.
"Name please," the registration clerk cheerfully and obliviously asked the other couple.
"Wokyleschothelongestfuckingnameintheworldaccordingtoripleysbelieveitornotmyxlypltk-supercalifragilesticespiallidociousovic," the husband answered.
"Oops I mistyped it, heh heh. Could you spell that again please?" the clerk giggled.
"Aghghghh … damn… shit… aghhhh…" Amy agonized.
AS SEEN ON TV
5:05 a.m."But I'm not finished with her paperwork, " the clerk said, as a fiery red-haired nurse whisked Amy to triage.
"I'm taking her now."
"Hmm, she's 2 ½ … no, 3 centimeters dilated," the nurse said after doing the Four Finger Lesbian Club maneuver on Amy.
Three centimeters, just like Rachel on the Friends episode the night before.
They said they couldn't get Amy any pain meds until she was placed in the delivery room. The nurse mentioned something about "decels" on the monitor (short for fetal heart decelerations) as well.
During the contractions, Amy was moaning and twisting all over the gurney. In between contractions, she was able to rest for a couple minutes.
"I love you," I whispered in her ear, the last word trailing off.
"I love you so much," I repeated just to make sure the last part didn't trail off again.
"I know," Amy replied.
Just like Han Solo in The Empire Strikes Back.
OMEN TOO
5:31 a.m.
Room 18 … 17 … 16 …
I watched the room numbers as they wheeled Amy past several empty L&D rooms. I bet they don't even have a Room 13, I thought to myself. At least, I hoped they didn't for Amy's superstitious sake.
Room 15 … we turned a corner … 14 …
You've got to be kidding me, I thought to myself, as we were wheeled into
Room 13.
I decided to keep it to myself.
MUST BE SWEEPS WEEK
Around 6 a.m.
The anesthesiologist who was supposed to put the epidural in had been in some kind of emergency operation. Amy still hadn't gotten a single molecule of anything for pain relief at that point. The nurse had desperately paged the resident for an order for Demerol. The resident was tied up at the moment as well. This was not good luck.
"Oh shit! Goddamn it!" Amy would grumble as the pain would crescendo to horrible new heights and facial contortions. I've heard that not every labor is as painful as the ones you see on TV all the time. But Amy's was far beyond what I've seen before. She didn't scream, but her twisting and expressions were some that I would not want to see on her face ever again.
As things progressed, Amy's respite between contractions shortened. At the worst point, she seemed barely aware of her surroundings with tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
I could do nothing. She didn't want anyone touching her. She could hardly think at that point. The cavalry was already sent for and my queen was in danger.
I recognized the O.B. resident that came as someone I had staffed (advised) while she was rotating in the medicine clinic 3 months ago. She didn't need to ask advice on what to do in this situation though.
They placed a 50% oxygen mask ("normal" air is 21% oxygen) on Amy's face in order to get more oxygen to the baby. I order those a lot for patients who are on their way to being put on ... ventilators (a.k.a. "life support").
About nine years ago, I had fallen in love with Amy almost on sight. Now I felt like I was just falling because of it.
SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS
"This will make you feel dizzy," the nurse said as she gave Amy the I.V. Demerol.
Amy calmed down within minutes. She was still swearing, just in slow motion, like one of those Bugs Bunny episodes where someone breaks a bottle of ether.
"… oh … shiiiiiitttt….zzzz…."
I was so happy to see her resting.
Ten minutes after the Demerol was given, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Feelgood, showed up. He was an older white-haired Indian man. He was someone Amy had worked with earlier that week. His hair almost looked whiter after he recognized Amy.
"Amy! Oh my! I'm sorry, I was stuck in another case. We'll get this epidural in right away."
"Hi … Dr. Feelgood, ... were you … in Dr. (Sue) Chur's case?" Amy asked all drowsy and as cute as could be.
"Yes I was, Amy…. (to nurse) She's really sleepy. What did she get and when?" Dr. Feelgood asked.
After the nurse told him, he actually said,
"She shouldn't have gotten that. I was just ten minutes away."
That was kind of an irresponsible thing to say off-the-cuff like that, especially in a lawsuit-laden field like obstetrics. For all the nurse knew, the anesthesiologist wasn't going to show for hours. And I stood by her decision to give it, especially in my Amy's case.
After the epidural was placed in Amy's back and Dr. Feelgood left, I made sure to thank the nurse for her help before her shift ended. Comments like that can really hurt long after your shift ends.
WORST ACTING IN A DRAMA SERIES6:56 a.m.
With the pleasant effects of the Demerol and the epidural in her back, Amy actually giggled when the female O.B. on-call, Dr. Wankenobi, broke her membranes. She was still just 3 ½ centimeters at the time.
"You're a doctor, right?" she asked me.
"Yeah, medicine. I'm a hospitalist here," I answered.
"There was some blood. I don't think it's an abruption, but just let us know if she starts acting differently. Any new pain may be hidden by the meds she's on," the doc said and left.
This could take all afternoon, I heard the nurse say.
Eventually Amy and I were all alone. She looked like a baby herself ... sleeping so peacefully. I kissed her gently on the lips. Often she'll swat me away when I try to kiss her while she's sleeping.
But this time, I felt her gently kiss me back. I whispered more sweet things in her ear, hoping her subconscious would insert them into little places of her dreams like post-its left around the house.
Meanwhile, the fatigue and stress had taken a dark hold of my imagination, fueled by hellish realities I see everyday at work. Thoughts of complications filled my head. What if baby doesn't get enough oxygen? What if Amy needs an emergent Caesarean? What if her breathing stops and she CODEs right now? I'd have to start the CPR myself … doing chest compressions … seeing my Amy intubated ….
I put my head down, and my eyes felt full and … oh man, not again … I was breaking down … crying. At first silently.
I covered my eyes and sobbed. My hands entwined at my mouth, almost in prayer. I had to remind myself I have no one to pray to. Just do what you can do and accept the things you have no control over. By my own philosophy, I could do nothing but wait then, and I had to accept that I was having some sort of irrational emotional breakdown.
Where are the fades to commercial when you need them?
CLIMACTIC CONCLUSION
I was afraid some of my squeaks and sobs had awoken Amy. When she turned her head then, I held my breath like a thief caught in the night. I covered my face and wiped my eyes while putting my glasses back on.
"I think I peed," she said, which made me smile again.
I told her that's normal with an epidural which numbs everything below your waist.
I lifted Amy's covers to check, and I froze. I wasn't expecting to see bright red blood seeping out.
"What's wrong?" Amy asked.
"A little blood from when they broke your water. I'm just calling the nurse to clean it up," I said, hoping that's all it really was.
The nurse took a look and called in the resident who checked Amy's cervix again.
"She's fully dilated. Let's get the attending in here. I think this is going to be quick," the resident said. At that point they transformed Amy's bed into some sort of gynecological mecha-pteradactyl thing with wings for Amy's legs.
"Push, as hard as you can, NOW!"
"1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … 5 …," I coached Amy, as if counting in reverse waiting for The New Year's Eve ball to drop.
"Good job! The head is coming out already!" the obstetrician announced.
I heard the resident mention something about possible "mec" and "abruption" to the attending in the same muted tones that I would use in hospital situations with family around too. I also vaguely remembered both terms from medical school. Both of which were not good.
"I can see the hair!" I told Amy, who was still pain-free thanks to her epidural.
Thirty minutes of pushing, the length of a typical sit-com, and it was over.
I didn't get to cut the umbilical cord because they were hurrying the baby over to the pediatricians. We didn't get to hold him for the first hour because they had to monitor him as well.
Amy turned over and asked, "Why isn't he moving more?"
I reassured her that he was moving. He had even cried when he came out. I wasn't worried anymore. Baby Boy's sweet little face banished my demons then and there. I knew the reality of what was going on. I knew what could happen. But I knew we'd be alright. I could just feel it. Just like you know everyone's going to be fine at the end of your favorite comedy show (barring ridiculous contract disputes).
"He'll be fine. He's beautiful," I kept telling Amy.
I was right. Father knew best.
EPILOGUE
"Hey, did you know what room you delivered the baby in?" I asked Amy while typing this out in our bedroom a couple days later.
"Yeahh… they practically went out of their way to put me in room 13," Amy smiled.
"You knew?"
"Maybe they thought I was going to make a lot of noise so they put me at the end of the hall. I didn't complain because I didn't want to get labeled as crazy," Amy answered.
"I didn't want to tell you," I said.
"Lucky 13," Amy said as she cradled baby to her bosom.
ROLL CREDITS
Both Amy and our beautiful baby boy are fine.
The entire labor was "only" about 4 hours. The delivery (the pushing part) was about 30 minutes.
He was born May 17th, Friday morning, 8:41 a.m.
Weight: 6 pounds, 12 ounces. Height: 22 inches.
He's ¾ Korean, and ¼ English/Scottish.
He has his mommy's beautiful eyes, and his daddy's big nose, lips, and overbite.
His name is
S.U.N . S.U.. L.E.E.. L.I.L.E.S.
(Sun Su is his first name.)
BEHIND THE SCENES
About the name...
I looked up a bunch of descriptive words in my Korean dictionary and scrapped the ones that didn't sound like good first names (for example, tough = "tun tun", or tiger = "hor yang ee"). My brother-in-law thought the name "Sun Su" was a neat sounding one, which was my favorite as well. The original name was pronounced "Soon Su" which means "purity" but we didn't want to spell it as "Soon" and figured people would mispronounce it as "Sun" anyways. So I looked up "Sun Su" which turned out to mean "champion." I liked the sound of it. Amy liked the meaning. We kept it.
Just to clarify, I did not intentionally pick the name "Sun" to coincide with him being my "son." It also has nothing to do with Sun Tzu (author of The Art of War) who's name is nearly pronounced the same way.
But I was quite aware that he would be one of the brightest things in my life, and hence the name "Sun" was appropriate to me in that way.
(The funny thing is that three people screwed up his last name today alone at the pediatrician's office, but everyone got his first name right.)
__________________________________________________
THE WINNERTwo people came remarkably close in guessing the date AND time (as originally requested) of MAY 17th, 8:41 a.m.
Marilee, a.k.a. the snake-charming Ms. Cobra, guessed May 17, 9 a.m. (same date/time her 13-year old was born).
And Ryan Ozawa, a great yet humble soul (and father of adoreable Katie, and husband of beautiful Jen), whom I actually met a couple years ago. He guessed May 17 at 8:15 a.m. (He's just back from his Asia trip with lots of pictures too).
