We were not ready. As usual.
The due date was July 21st, 2011. As far as I am concerned, you were to arrive much after that date. Late and making everyone wait, as do I, more often than not.
I felt great; hardly exhausted, highly spirited, still exercising, socially fluttering and still busy working. The smooth 38 odd weeks had left me wondering, almost hoping for that tipping point, at which labor would start, proceed and culminate easily, into your birth. Fate and you of course, had it planned otherwise.
July 12th 2011 was a Tuesday. Some uneasiness and a strange pain showed up at work around 4 pm after a late lunch. Lunch was at The Pump Energy Food. In hindsight, I think all that high protein intake may have had something to do with you showing up the next day. I walked back to the PATH station from work, with a colleague, warning her I would be a slow strider today. The pain still lingered; sometimes in the background, sometimes more pronounced. Friends came over for dinner around 9 pm; an easy distraction that took my mind off what was going on within.
At 11:00 pm that night after everyone had left, I realised the pain had'nt. In fact it seemed to have made a more regular appearance; enough for me to think that this might just be happening sooner than I thought. We called the doctor, who clearly instructed us to time the contractions. If they appeared at regular 5 minute intervals, we were to head to the hospital. Hubster set up his timer and much to my annoyance seemed to take this on as another one of his work projects. I bet he could'nt control the urge to set up an excel sheet with the columns 'duration' & 'frequency' on it.
"Started?" he would ask every 5 minutes and "Finished?" soon after, exasperating the jeepers out of me. Turned out, we could've set the clock to each of my contractions, which appeared punctually, at every 5th minute. Throughout the hour, from 11:30 pm to 12:30 am, I was in denial. For starters, I had meetings the next day at work. We still didnt have a car seat yet (It had been ordered, but had'nt arrived). And of course the weekend had already been planned. There just did'nt seem to be a slot to fit in 'giving birth' just as yet.
Well anyhow, Hubster broke my chain of thought with his "So shall we?" I figured there was no point denying the midnight hospital visit. Would be a nice drive at the very least, I said to console myself; like a dry run of sorts - we would go to the hospital and be asked to leave on grounds of a false alarm. And we'd come back home and go to work as usual, the next day.
So Hubster went online and rented a zipcar, while I called the folks, asking them to get ready to leave. (Mom had strictly instructed that we were to call them over, if things got out of hand at night.)
With a semi-packed hospital bag and my pillow in tow, we set out towards the hospital. Once there, after the regular check-in process with the front desk, began the real checking-in process with the nurse. The terrifying dilation check. What I remember of that moment was screaming at the top of my lungs, possibly the loudest I have ever. Yes, even louder than any of my screams for the rest of the night. The conversation that started out with my "Yeah, I am having contractions, but think it may be a false alarm" ended with "Ms. Mudgal, in case you havent realised it yet, you are having the baby before you leave here". It's a good thing she left before I could respond; my big 'Gulp' would not have been music to her ears anyway.
Texted the hubster who was parking the car downstairs, "Come up soon. And extend the zipcar. We are not leaving here anytime soon." Mom & Pops came in and looked surprisingly indifferent when I informed them that you're on your way out soon. Almost as if they already knew. Hubster & I moved to the Labor room, where the long wait began. Based on our quick calculations, since I was already 3/4th in without even realising it, we figured you would be here in another couple of hours. "Maybe you can even go for your meeting soon, Shweyts" Hubster assured me, while secretly hoping he could certainly go for his. Yeah honey, get used to it; your parents are weird like that.
We set ourselves up in the labor room. The anesthesiologist appeared; a pretty young British girl who's accent took away any anxiety that I may have had. While she administered the epidural, I relayed to Hubster, the order in which to line up my favorite music cds, next to the cd player. (Of course the CD player didnt work and the Pandora app on my iphone saved the day, rather night for me.) Yes, I had pre-decided that whether you liked it or not, I was bringing you in to this world, with Sting singing in the background. So I played "Fields of Gold" on repeat, much to Hubster's annoyance, secretly hoping you'd arrive and we'd be done soon. I should have known, you already had a mind of your own and would'nt fancy any of my pre-orchestrated tactics. Not only did you not show any signs of moving down and out, but you gracefully decided it was time to 'look up' after having spent too much time 'looking down'.
The unthinkable was to happen - after spending the entire night, sleeping, then pushing, then resting, then pushing again, at 7 am the doctor suggested I start "thinking of a C-section". That moment, was the only low point of this beautiful 10 month journey so far. You have to believe me when I say, I heard two gentle thuds - that of Hubster's and my hearts, that fell in dismay, in sync at the sound of a 'C-Section'. As much as I had promised myself, I would be open to the idea, I must confess I was'nt. When the ride has been this smooth all along, it just didnt seem fair, that the end got suddenly bumpy. So I vehemently said No.
"I dont want a C-Section Doc. I ll push harder" I pleaded. The doc granted me another couple of hours, through which I pushed with everything I had in me. At 9:45 am, you were still busy saying good-bye to your companions of 38 weeks inside and showed no signs of having moved down even the slightest bit. Now the doc played the "the baby is at risk of an infection if we go any longer.." card; a card I had no counter for.
I looked at Hubster, who looked back at me. As our two pairs of miserable eyes locked, we both nodded on a consensus - "Yes, let's do it."
What happened after, seems like a fast-forward of sorts. Suddenly, in a medical drama-esque sort of way, there appeared an army of multi-colored scrubs-clad men and women, who quickly transported me from the Labor room to the C-section room. As if to make the blow any softer, the C-Section room looked out at the East river versus the Labor room which only overlooked the office buildings on the next block. Thank heavens for the view, I said to myself, not knowing how long this was going to take.
Hubster was given a pair of scrubs too, as he sat wearing them on my side, feeling all important & doctor-like. More paperwork was in store - that informed me that I was going to be knocked out numb, waist down. My view up from the operating table comprised of several new faces and voices, all hovering about me. I was the frog on a dissection table. While I tried to stare outside the window, looking at the river that flowed nonchalantly, I sensed myself drowning into the anesthesia. In a matter of a few minutes, someone appeared on my right side, thrusting a pinkish white blob into my face. "It's a girl. Congratulations." the nurse said. "Uhh ok" I responded. In my drunken, stupefied state I guessed this white-pink blob with a porcupine-like mop of black hair must be you. "Uhh would you like to kiss her?" the nurse suggested, probably not liking my indifferent drugged reaction. "Oh of course....kiss kiss" I planted two on your forehead. The pink blob got smaller and smaller as she walked away with you. "Wow, that's her? Quite a stunner, dont you think?" I asked Hubster in my inebriated stupidity, slowly realising through my fuzzy, hazy state of mind that the job had been done and pretty darn nicely too. By hook or by crook, you were out. And about.
I felt turned inside-out; my body felt a void, my soul seemed hollow. My head was woozy, my lower abdomen was a skilled sartorial job. My eyes welled up, as they had done a few months ago, when I was told you were going to be a girl. Only this time, I didnt laugh out loud and fist punch the air with a triumphant "Yess". Instead a soft tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of the pink spiky blob that I had just kissed. And there, among the multi-colored scrubs-clad blurry specks in the background, as I held Hubster's hand and stared out at the golden East river horizon, Sting sang 'Fields of Gold' in my head.
And thus, on July 13th 2011, around 10:17 am is How I met your Mother.