So, despite my doctors assurances (she actually used the words "zero percent chance") that I would never make it to my scheduled c-section date of August 23rd, I did. It felt like forever and all of a sudden, bam!, there we were. We dropped Paisley off in Okotoks on the Friday and Brian and I went for a nice dinner and went to bed knowing that in the morning we would be having a baby. Very strange feeling. Probably like a man on death row might feel the night before his execution, except much happier. (Just the knowing part, not the dying part).
We headed to the hospital in good spirits. This was so different than when Paisley was born. I wasn't in labour, there was no need for morphine, Brian wasn't forced to sleep in a dirty corner on his coat. We laughed and I tied various medical belts around my head and pretended to be a ninja. It was jolly good fun. At about 10:30 they came in to wheel me into the operating room. Brian had to wait in a tiny cubicle while they stuck the needle in my back for the spinal. Apparently one too many Dads has hit the decks upon witnessing this sight, and so now they are no longer welcome to watch. It was as weird as it was the first time. You can't feel your body and although you know it's there, it isn't. You can't help but feel very vulnerable as they shift you around and lie you down because if someone yelled "Fire!" and everyone chose to abandon protocol, and you, you'd be screwed. The only good thing I suppose would be the lack of sensation as the flames licked at your toes.
Brian was allowed back into the room and very shortly after they started to slice me open. I had requested that they lower the drape separating me from my lower extremities (which only exacerbated the weird out of body sensation of the spinal) as soon as they started to take the baby out and they did. So, there I am, looking at my own abdomen, cut open with a new person being pulled out of it. There truly are no words to describe just how weird and wonderful and otherworldly that was. Anyhow, there he was! Our baby boy. They whisked him away to clean him up and measure him and I lay there, waiting. I also managed to look at the placenta which by that time resided in a large Ziploc bag. Again, weird. They handed the baby to Brian who brought him over, and once again, like I had only three years ago, I fell madly and deeply in love.
Declan Patrick weighed 6lbs 12oz and was so cute it hurt. He had peach fuzz hair and tiny little ears and dark eyes. I couldn't believe that after so much time and so much anticipation, he was finally here.
They whisked us off to the recovery area and he started to eat right away. I felt wonderful and was on enough drugs to be pain-free, but not enough to feel woozy or out of it. He started having troubles with his sugars right away. We knew that with my diabetes (even though it was really well controlled) this might be an issue so we weren't overly concerned. After he had fed and they still didn't come up, the neonatologist told us he would have to admit Declan to the NICU. I was upset but the doctor assured me this was pretty normal and that he would likely be out in 24 hours.
Part Two: Read how doctors are life-savers but also notoriously bad at accurate predictions.