Addendum to earlier post because I just checked my e-mail and Sarah Bukaty Sheiber was born yesterday, one day before Mo!
Of the 14 pregnant people I knew 1 month ago, she's baby #2 and the second girl. Zarah Michelle Brown came on Valentine's Day. Next up is baby Reinneck, a new cousin and I expect that she, too, will be a girl because none of the 14 seem to be having boys.
So I go from birth to a small death, though I hesitate to use such a grave word on such a relatively mundane activity. I have to go to sleep because I have to go wig shopping with Andrea in about 4 hours. Its the cancer thing again, and no I don't associate it with death but rather the demise of Andrea's hair as we know it. She's never had short hair since I've known her. Any day now, it will be gone and she'll look like I've never seen her. Eh, its just hair- but what a cruel irony that you can't even keep what you look like when trying to just beat something so mean and difficult. Birth and wigs, I should call it. What's the death of a few follicles among friends anyway?
Happy Birthday, Sarah. I love that you have your mom's last name!! Woo-hoo!!!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Life and Death
Just under one hour ago, at 3:23 AM to be exact, I witnessed my first birth. It was a boy, a very big, 8lb, 15oz boy that his Somali mother delivered naturally with zero pain meds. Amazing. It was her 5th birth, she spoke no English so there was not much chatting going on. She hardly even groaned when she pushed him out, and groaned only a little louder when his shoulders were briefly stuck. She was circumcised and had scars from that ritual, but besides that she did not look injured and did not tear. Her baby was huge and wide-eyed, cried for a minute then just laid calmly on the warming table while the 2 nurses and Darryl, the OB cleaned up his mother. We asked what she was going to name him, she and her baby daddy (husband? Who knows?) didn't seem to understand the question, so I'll just call him Mo after a nickname for their names. Mo is the first little guy I saw born.
Five minutes after Mo was cleaned up and left with his mom to start breastfeeding, I saw the first person die that I've seen since I watched my Grandpa Tony breath his last. Truly, this was the first because technically I was about 10 feet away when my grandpa stopped breathing and I didn't really notice he had until my Aunt Renae said that was it. I realized I'd been watching but hadn't really seen him go.
The first person I truly watched die was not going to live long anyway. He was a tiny, tiny boy who was only 22 weeks, 4 days from his conception. There is no technology to save such a tiny body. Darryl says at 24 weeks the hospital can fight like hell to save a preemie, at 25 weeks there's a pretty good shot. After 30 weeks, its almost guranteed as long as the baby has gained enough weight. That's not to say the preterm kids are going to be healthy or unimpaired. Nope, they will simply live, the quality of that life is completely unknown.
This was the second preterm birth of the night I spent following Darryl around checking on his patients. Neither was his patient, and the first preterm- a 21 weeker- was born and died before I got there. The nurses were making up a little care package with a Certificate of Being for the first one while I waited for Mo's mom to progress. They had his tiny footprints preserved in plaster, several certificates that stated his vitals (1lb, 4.2 oz, 12 inches long, parent's names, date and time of birth and death which were identical), and a little outfit that he'd worn. They'd taken some pictures of him and already had then printed out and were pasting them in a memory book for the parents. There was, at the time they worked on their gutwrenching project, on the board three preterm labor patients- another 21 week, a 23 week, and a 24 week. When I walked out of Mo's room, I watched the 23 week (which turned out to be 22, 4 days) being wheeled into the nurse's station. The nurse had a finger on his chest, he was wrapped in a blanket on his cart, and she was gently telling another nurse that they had to have a doctor come and declare the heartbeat stopped- except it was still beating. It stopped while she stood there. The baby was still bloody and wet, they had covered him up but his tiny chest was exposed to her hands. The nurses were all so gentle and spoke softly. When he died, the one who'd had her finger on his last heartbeat just shook her head and commented on how hard that was. Another nurse followed her into their handwashing room also shaking her head. This is a delivery center for high-risk pregnancies, so I'm sure each nurse had seen this before and would again. They'd see it again at least one more time tonight, I'm sure. The little guy was half exposed to the light and Darryl motioned for me to come look at him. He just looked like a tiny, toy version of human. He had the tiniest penis, smaller than my pinky fingernail and little spindly legs that almost looked human but not quite. I'm not sure why the parents didn't keep him in the room until he died like the first family had, but then I guess everyone has different comfort levels and ideas about what they want.
I'm sure now the nurses are making up another keepsake book for a baby without a birth certificate.
But on the bright side, I'll bet Mo is nursing and looking at his mom right now. I'll bet she is looking down at him and thinking, How the Fuck did I push that massive melon-headed child out of me?!.
I got to see how the nurses work, how all the moniters track progress, what all the jargon on the board means (Gravita- # of pregnancies, Prema- # of births), some fun pneumonic devices- Florida Gas and Light, Something Gravita, abortion, and Living. Hmmm. I'm bad at this medical crap. I watched an epidural go into a teenager whose 4 young female friends twittered around her like they probably do while gossiping at the restaurant where they all appear to work, given that 3 of the them (not the mother) were wearing shirts with the restaurant's name. No baby daddy or even baby momma momma in sight. Sad. I wandered through the NICU seeing tinier babies barely alive, but still breathing. One little guy, he was over 2 lbs by now, was born at 27 weeks and was squalling and the nurse said he was hungry. Her hand covered his entire torso when she went to feed him. He had a full head of hair, just like he was a newborn on his way home.
I did all this from 10PM when I walked out of Block Party at Darryl's page ( I got a refund, thanks Esquire!) to 3:45 am when Mo was safely delivered, epidural mom was asleep, and Darryl said it was time to head home. I was absolutely fine during the delivery, no wincing or passing out. It did smell a bit, but how could I complain when it was little Mo's face right up in the mess that probably smelled worse. I'm sure that's immature to comment on, feces are no joke during delivery, just a fact of life- but Darryl and the nurses joked about the kid getting a faceful too. There was one scary moment when it looked like his shoulders might get stuck, but crisis averted when he slid down and the nurses pushed on the delivering mom's abdomen to push him out. I can't say it was Beautiful, the Most Inspiring Moment or anything hokey, but it was really cool. He was really perfect looking, too, just 4 minutes after being squeezed out. That's when I touched his tiny head, and he just wriggled his legs. Happy Birthday, Mo.
Five minutes after Mo was cleaned up and left with his mom to start breastfeeding, I saw the first person die that I've seen since I watched my Grandpa Tony breath his last. Truly, this was the first because technically I was about 10 feet away when my grandpa stopped breathing and I didn't really notice he had until my Aunt Renae said that was it. I realized I'd been watching but hadn't really seen him go.
The first person I truly watched die was not going to live long anyway. He was a tiny, tiny boy who was only 22 weeks, 4 days from his conception. There is no technology to save such a tiny body. Darryl says at 24 weeks the hospital can fight like hell to save a preemie, at 25 weeks there's a pretty good shot. After 30 weeks, its almost guranteed as long as the baby has gained enough weight. That's not to say the preterm kids are going to be healthy or unimpaired. Nope, they will simply live, the quality of that life is completely unknown.
This was the second preterm birth of the night I spent following Darryl around checking on his patients. Neither was his patient, and the first preterm- a 21 weeker- was born and died before I got there. The nurses were making up a little care package with a Certificate of Being for the first one while I waited for Mo's mom to progress. They had his tiny footprints preserved in plaster, several certificates that stated his vitals (1lb, 4.2 oz, 12 inches long, parent's names, date and time of birth and death which were identical), and a little outfit that he'd worn. They'd taken some pictures of him and already had then printed out and were pasting them in a memory book for the parents. There was, at the time they worked on their gutwrenching project, on the board three preterm labor patients- another 21 week, a 23 week, and a 24 week. When I walked out of Mo's room, I watched the 23 week (which turned out to be 22, 4 days) being wheeled into the nurse's station. The nurse had a finger on his chest, he was wrapped in a blanket on his cart, and she was gently telling another nurse that they had to have a doctor come and declare the heartbeat stopped- except it was still beating. It stopped while she stood there. The baby was still bloody and wet, they had covered him up but his tiny chest was exposed to her hands. The nurses were all so gentle and spoke softly. When he died, the one who'd had her finger on his last heartbeat just shook her head and commented on how hard that was. Another nurse followed her into their handwashing room also shaking her head. This is a delivery center for high-risk pregnancies, so I'm sure each nurse had seen this before and would again. They'd see it again at least one more time tonight, I'm sure. The little guy was half exposed to the light and Darryl motioned for me to come look at him. He just looked like a tiny, toy version of human. He had the tiniest penis, smaller than my pinky fingernail and little spindly legs that almost looked human but not quite. I'm not sure why the parents didn't keep him in the room until he died like the first family had, but then I guess everyone has different comfort levels and ideas about what they want.
I'm sure now the nurses are making up another keepsake book for a baby without a birth certificate.
But on the bright side, I'll bet Mo is nursing and looking at his mom right now. I'll bet she is looking down at him and thinking, How the Fuck did I push that massive melon-headed child out of me?!.
I got to see how the nurses work, how all the moniters track progress, what all the jargon on the board means (Gravita- # of pregnancies, Prema- # of births), some fun pneumonic devices- Florida Gas and Light, Something Gravita, abortion, and Living. Hmmm. I'm bad at this medical crap. I watched an epidural go into a teenager whose 4 young female friends twittered around her like they probably do while gossiping at the restaurant where they all appear to work, given that 3 of the them (not the mother) were wearing shirts with the restaurant's name. No baby daddy or even baby momma momma in sight. Sad. I wandered through the NICU seeing tinier babies barely alive, but still breathing. One little guy, he was over 2 lbs by now, was born at 27 weeks and was squalling and the nurse said he was hungry. Her hand covered his entire torso when she went to feed him. He had a full head of hair, just like he was a newborn on his way home.
I did all this from 10PM when I walked out of Block Party at Darryl's page ( I got a refund, thanks Esquire!) to 3:45 am when Mo was safely delivered, epidural mom was asleep, and Darryl said it was time to head home. I was absolutely fine during the delivery, no wincing or passing out. It did smell a bit, but how could I complain when it was little Mo's face right up in the mess that probably smelled worse. I'm sure that's immature to comment on, feces are no joke during delivery, just a fact of life- but Darryl and the nurses joked about the kid getting a faceful too. There was one scary moment when it looked like his shoulders might get stuck, but crisis averted when he slid down and the nurses pushed on the delivering mom's abdomen to push him out. I can't say it was Beautiful, the Most Inspiring Moment or anything hokey, but it was really cool. He was really perfect looking, too, just 4 minutes after being squeezed out. That's when I touched his tiny head, and he just wriggled his legs. Happy Birthday, Mo.
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