Nostalgia

The Matron loves birth stories. Loves the kinship that the herculean effort inspires. It's strange how giving birth is both so highly personal and significant, yet universal. Even cats do it. And rats.

Please don't tell her that cockroaches share their birth stories. Far too much detail for this delicate psyche.

When she was pregnant with her first, the Matron - then a Youngish Miss -- decided that she should finish her dissertation and be all singularly up to date and professional before the young man arrived in the world. Instead, she watched cooking shows on PBS and read People magazine all day long.

She accomplished nothing but gestation.

This haphazard attitude extended to the actual birth of said baby (remember this is He Who Cannot Be Named).

John: "Do you want an epidural? Pain medications lower than that? Water birth?"

Youngish Miss: "Whatever. . . as long as this thing comes out."

At around 10 pm on July 15th, 1995, the Matron was subject to a strange sensation--which turned out to be the beginning of labor. This is not a comfortable way to spend the night. Because she had a regularly scheduled O.B. appointment the next day at 5 p.m. and she knows how slowly these things can go, she just settled in and waited.

The next day was an endurance test of sort--still, she managed to go out for a huge breakfast at her favorite joint and see a movie.

Here is the Matron at her O.B. GYN appointment--at 5 pm. Remember, alarm bells went off a good 14 hours earlier.

Midwife: "Mary, your water broke -- probably long ago. You need to check into the hospital right now."

Youngish Miss: "Is this why I'm vomiting and doubled over in between movies and meals?"

Midwife: "Do you know who the president is? What year it is?"

Youngish Miss: "Uh, not sure I know what you mean by "president."

Hospitalization immediately ensued.

It is now July 16th, at 8 pm. Labor is well under way and even the Queen of Repression and Denial understands what's going on. She notes that this has been going on for 22 hours.

And continues.

Finally, after a long sleepless night filled with Nina Simone (thank you, John for thinking of music), the baby is jumping ship. It's time for the big push. . . which last about 10 minutes.

Stryker's head is in the world!

But just his head.

Without getting overly graphic, let's just say that shoulder dysplasia was involved. The baby's shoulder was stuck under the delicate pelvic bone and could not be lodged --- even with 33 hours of labor under her belt (but she's not counting), the Matron had energy -- energy of a mama -- but could not dislodge this child.

Whose little face was turning blue.

She wishes she remembers more, but John tells her that suddenly the hospital lit up. Blue lights, emergency codes, a c-section table immediately wheeled into the room. Big announcements blaring: Code Bad! Code VERY Bad!

Nurse One: "We're doing an emergency c-section. The doctor's on his way but I'm going to start the incision. We have about 90 seconds. Are we all clear on this?"

John: "All clear! Don't let them die!"

Nurse Two: "I have an alternate idea -- stand back."

The c-section team roared in. The doctor ran in and yelled: "there's no time to scrub" and grabbed his tools.

The nurse-- of heft --held up a hand and said "give me three seconds" and jumped on the hospital bed and straddled the Matron, facing her feet and the dying blue baby. She jumped a foot in the air and --using her balled fists-- came down with the full force of desperation and hope for life -- right above the baby, slamming into the top of the uterus with all her force.

Stryker shot right out.

Every single person in the room started crying. Every, single, person. The doctor took off his glasses and collapsed into the sink.

Except the then Youngish Miss who was sort of dazed by the amount of pain one person can experience.

Youngish Miss, later: "John? Did I make a noise when she belly-slammed me? It seemed like I screamed. It hurt an awful lot."

John: "The entire hospital staff called 911. Nobody missed that noise. But it's okay."

From time to time, the Matron thinks about that blue baby and this nurse. Actually, she wants to lay down by her feet and send her children to college. And arrange that heaven thing.

Thank you.