Family Tales

A few days before Rory’s birth, I mused about how things might go down. Now, finally, nearly 8 weeks later, I’ve written the final chapter of the pregnancy.

The scene: mid-morning outside of Grand Central Station in Midtown Manhattan. Michael and I are on our cell phones at the bus stop, frantically texting and making phone calls to let people know… today’s the day. No, I wasn’t in labor. We’d just been at the doctor’s office, a couple of days past my due date, and the routine blood pressure check had turned up an alarmingly high reading. Dr. Henry inflated the blood pressure cuff again to be sure. My blood pressure was lower, but still high — a sign of life-threatening pre-eclampsia. Well, he said, it’s time to get this baby out. Michael and I looked at each other, nervous smiles on our lips. It wasn’t my dream scenario, but I was ready. Induction also held the advantage of familiarity. We knew the routine, having gone through it nearly three years earlier with Callum.

We had to go straight to the hospital, but there wasn’t any hurry, so we took the M42 bus — talking on the phone with friends and family the whole time — over to Times Square. Then, we took the 1 train up to Columbus Circle. Underground and cut off from cell signals, we held hands on the train platform and smiled at each other, giddily. Here we were, going to the hospital to have the baby… on the subway. Surrounded by hundreds of strangers, we thrilled in our little secret.

The momentum slowed once we got to St. Lukes-Roosevelt Hospital. We sat in triage for hours, waiting to be assigned a room, while women in various stages of labor (and those like me) shuffled in and out. Once we got a room, Michael headed home to get the “go” bag and I relaxed while they performed tests. Because there were no more high blood pressure readings, and no other signs of pre-eclampsia, at least one doctor and the nurse planted seeds of doubt in my mind. Maybe they wouldn’t induce, after all, and we’d just be going home. I tried to mentally make peace with that idea, though I was disappointed. I imagined Michael turning up with our bag of stuff, only to be told we needed to turn around and go home. But, for the moment, we stayed. I read “Forever” by Pete Hamill. Michael returned.

By around 5 p.m., the doctor on duty told us the evidence for pre-eclampsia was strong enough to warrant an induction. The blood pressure signs — intermittent though they were — were worrying enough. So, at 6 p.m., in went the Pitocin drip, and the contractions began. It was an hour or two before I asked for an epidural. The pain was just starting to get intense (they kept turning up the Pitocin) when I asked, and by the time the anesthesiologist arrived, I was moaning loudly and crushing Michael’s hand with every contraction. Holding still for the needle — even though I knew he was sticking something in between my vertebrae — was a challenge. Then, the drugs kicked in and a smile spread across my face.

A while later, I was 5 cm dilated, and the nurse suggested we take the opportunity to take a nap. Great idea, I thought. I’m getting tired and this could take a while, given how long it’s taken to get to this point. If it took as long to dilate the second 5 centimeters as it took for the first 5, we’d be into the next day. I proceeded to take off my contact lenses and both Michael and I began to prep for sleep. Then, suddenly, the baby’s heartbeat started to slow now and then. Uh, oh. We’d had a similar situation with Callum, but it was right as I was pushing, so we were able to just get the delivery over with. At just 5 centimeters, that wasn’t an option.

I was placed on oxygen to ensure the baby got plenty. I shifted to my left side to maximize the amount of blood flowing to the baby. The c-section option was discussed, much to my dismay. Finally, the doctor examined me. Less than an hour after I’d been at 5 centimeters, I’d arrived at 10 — fully dilated and ready to push. Perhaps the shock of so many strong contractions was what was slowing the baby’s heartbeat, Dr. Hedley speculated. Whatever the reason, it was definitely time for him to come out.

Michael stood on one side of me, holding my left leg up as I pushed. The nurse held the right leg. It probably took all of 3 contractions of pushing — and a little help from vacuum extraction — before Rory was with us. Immediately, they placed him, all slime and blood and beauty, on my chest while Michael cut the umbilical cord. When I heard his lusty cry, that’s when I began to tear up with relief and joy. Though we’d thought it impossible, he was just as beautiful as Callum — healthy and whole and born at 10:15 p.m. that Thursday night.

It had just been a little over 4 hours since the start of the Pitocin drip. It was three days after my due date. And it was less than 24 hours after a visit to the doctor’s office started the ball rolling. Rory, we love you dearly. Welcome to the family!

It’s rare that Michael and I get to pick up Callum from day care together. Usually, we play tag-team while one or another of us works late or goes grocery shopping for essentials. But Tuesday night, we met on the train platform at West 4th Street so we could emerge from the subway in Brooklyn as a unit. Why the uncharacteristic togetherness? It was snowing. Yes, we’ve had a few flurries this year, but nothing resembling the picture-postcard snow underfoot that comes to mind when you think snow.

Tuesday was different — it was real substantial snow that crunches with every step — and we were both eager to see Callum’s reaction to the spectacle. After all, we’d dragged him away from sunny California to this big, mostly-frozen city, where he couldn’t go outside without multiple layers. He found it generally unpleasant, but this winter thing, we promised him, had an upside — snow! We talked of snowmen and sledding, but I’m sure he was beginning to doubt our veracity. He’d seen nothing of the sort, and we’ve been here since mid-December.

After we trudged together, smiling with anticipation, we arrived at the day care and began to coax Callum outside. (Promises of snow didn’t mean much to him.) But when we finally got him out into the falling snow, he found plenty to keep him occupied. He felt the crispness of the snow underfoot; he gave snowball-making a shot; he kicked up loose snow. When we got home, Michael took him out on our newly-purchased thrift-store sled. (Due to global warming, this might be our one big chance this winter.) What was most exciting for us parents was the look of wonder in his eye as he experienced this new weather sensation. “Raining?” he kept saying. “No, honey, snowing,” we said.

Note: our camera shutter seems to have not opened completely, so our pictures are kind of screwed up.

I am not sure if Callum has quite figured out what “New York” actually means. When we’re out walking around, he’ll sometimes ask to go to “New York,” or when he gets out of bed, I’ll ask him where he’s going, and he’ll say “New York.” We’re here, baby, I tell him. We’re here….

Our furniture (and tons and tons of boxes) arrived on the Sunday before Christmas, and we’ve been digging our way out, ever since. We set up the tree, and assorted other decorations. We’re managing to cook all right and I even brought my lunch into work today. But we’re still sleeping on the sofabed (and in the pack ‘n’ play) in the living room. Ah, it just takes time…

Christmas morning was a delight. Callum is old enough this year to get an idea of who/what Santa Claus is, and he’s spent the last week or so pointing out, and labelling, images of the old man he’s seen in holiday decorations. When we told him Santa Claus brought presents to good little girls and boys, he adamantly would say “no,” and we couldn’t quite understand what he was objecting to. Ah, such is life with a barely-verbal toddler.

Anyway, he didn’t object too much when, on Christmas morning, he finally registered the extra presents that had magically appeared (after much mid-night bumbling among boxes) under the tree. When he first awoke, he made his usual barely-conscious plea for “Dora,” and had to have his attention drawn to Santa’s leavings. But, once present unwrapping was in full swing, he kept calling for “another one.” His main gift, which also delighted the big boy (er, man) of the household, was a wooden train set. Since that morning, the chorus of “play trains,” rather than “Dora” has been his first thought upon awakening.

So, to our vast readership — which, due to moving-related, and non-moving-related lack-of-organization reasons, has not received Christmas cards from us — we wish a happy holiday season and a wonderful New Year! Drop us a line via e-mail or leave a comment if you’d like our new address and contact info.