Tommy: The First American In Our Family October 24, 2003 He has arrived!

Sid writing: nobody can accuse my wife of being subtle. Not that she would have much choice. A busy night began when they brought her a roommate, who was sick and did not speak English. The poor wretch would wake up and hurl; nurses came to clean up and found that they cannot communicate, as neither one of them knew any Spanish, and so they ran for an interpreter. A bilingual person would listen to the patient, reveal to everybody that the patient felt sick, the exhausted patient meanwhile falling asleep. Twenty minutes later, she would wake up and vomit... and so forth and on till four in the morning, when for a change Carol's water broke, and nurses started flocking around her.

	Thomas J. Paral

At the same time, I slept like a dead man at home, until Carol called to wake me up, herself tired and sleepless. When I finally marched onto the scene, she had been moved to another = delivery room (all by herself) and was having a nap. By one in the afternoon, everything started moving pretty fast:
Contractions quickened to three minutes period, and started to be unbearably painful. Repeated examinations showed that the head of the baby had descended. Carol decided not to take the pain, and of the offered countermeasures, she chose epidural anesthesia (we rejected an alternative of narcotic drugs). Both doctor and nurse started to move fast, spreading their tools over the lower part of the bed, assigning me to Carol's left leg. About six to eight other nurses, specialized in intensive neonatal care, filled the rest of the room, bringing a rolling heated table to life and assuming combat postures. In contrast with funny pattern clothed birth attendant nurse and the doctor in blue, the neonatal team sported rubberized cloaks of sickly yellow, which caught Carol's attention so much that she, between breathing deeply to blow away contractions, demanded to know who let all those Martians in.

Then there was only pushing and deep breathing. Of course neither Carol nor I had thought of such a silly thing as turning our cell phone off, so it began to ring, right before a critical moment. Well, the ring tone is set to cat's mewing, of a cat that wants immediate attention. Many a professional face held an expression of total confusion at that moment: "you've got a cat in here????"

	I have not slept, either!

Thomas Jonathan Paral was born at two sixteen in the afternoon (2:16pm PDT), the first American citizen in the narrow circle of our family. Within a few seconds, he began to cry, thus diffusing our worries that he, being born in the 33rd week, could not be able to breathe without help. After the doctor let me cut the umbilical cord, yellow monsters grabbed our boy and subjected him to a thorough cavity search, eventually producing a rating of 9 (out of 10 available points); I don't know what it means but they said it has to do with survival. Tom looked quite alive, and before I could orient myself, most of the rubberized nurses left to attend other cases (later I learned that more or less at the same time, four more women were giving birth). Our child was wrapped like a burrito, head covered with a funny hat, and since he did not need any extra oxygen, I was permitted to carry him over a quarter of the hospital to a neonatal intensive care unit.

Tommy weighs 2 kg (2079 grams = 73 ¹/₃ oz = 0.32738646 stone) and measures 44 centimeters (= 17 ¹/₃ in = ¹/₄ fathom = 0.0021872266 furlong). Although he was born whole two months premature, he obviously does not need help in breathing and even off the heated table, he is able to regulate his temperature, kicks his feet and overall behaves like any normal baby. After his mother recovered a little and ate some food, Martina Kren arrived - she confessed to being the one mewing at us though our cell phone at the special moment. We toured together to the NICU, where Carol could finally hold our baby. Soon we all felt terribly tired and sleepy (not counting Martina, I guess), and so we went all back to our respective beds.

	Best with mother

Carol writing: I think that Sid's previous report on my hospital stay is relatively exhaustive -- my life suddenly shrunk to ever-important problems of "shall I be able to get up from my bed without falling?", "when will they let me drink again?", "how can I sleep with IV line running to one side and wires from monitor probes running to the other?", "what's for lunch?" and finally "who came up with these incredibly sexy labor underpants?"
Looking back, I now realize that I focused on these issues mostly to push disaster scenarios off my mind. One of the more acceptable and relatively cheerful imaginations I had included Sid, totally financially ruined by my accumulated hospital expenses, carrying a thrift-store dressed half-orphan, walking slowly with a bunch of flowers for my grave. Right the first evening, the hospital administration had sent us a nurse from the neonatal department, who was thrilled to explain how well all premature babies do in their care. Sid got a tour of the neonatal intensive care unit, I was spared the chance to gape at half-kilo skinny little ones, as I was completely immobile at the time.

On Monday and Tuesday, I was rather ill from animal doses of magnesium sulfate. Besides that, I got two shots of steroids to hasten development of Little Hippo's lungs, for the case he would have to get out. As a measure against infection of the baby during birth, I was also getting antibiotics. They tapered them off on Thursday, when lab tests came back. Unfortunately on Thursday I also got back some weak contractions. Doctors increased doses of pills to quiet my uterus and I mentally stumbled between optimism (when I had a few hours without contractions), pessimism (at times with regular spasms), and total frustration -- when I found out that my contractions were weak enough that my monitor did not pick them up. Fortunately they all seemed to believe me despite technology failing my case somehow.

	Tom has been on-line since the first moment

I confess the whole day was some sort of crisis -- mentally I was quite exhausted from this roller-coaster; fortunately nurses and doctors are quite used to these things and they managed to deal with me, even cheered me up -- except perhaps for that one case of a sympathetic nurse who started to reassure me that children born in thirty-second week are absolutely fine and there's nothing to fear. Sid, who spent Monday and Tuesday with me, had to get back to work again, so the steady mind of our family arrived only with the evening.

They also gave me a new roommate in the evening. In this case I was plain unfortunate -- Tuesday night and Wednesday I spent in the company of a lady who had an appointment for a Caesarian section, as well as in the company of her family (husband, daughter, mother). When you have wires going under the rim of your gown, lifting it up to reveal the aforementioned labor panties (I kind of felt like not quite dressed yet not quite naked either), even a curtain between beds does not serve as pretense of human dignity. Especially with a strange man watching TV behind it.

	Those fluorescent lights bother me most

My Thursday's roommate looked originally quite harmless. She was obviously awfully sick, laying unmoving hooked to intravenous tubes. That meant, of course, nurses arriving to check on her every so twenty minutes -- besides regular checkups and monitoring, they had to bring an interpreter along, as my Hispanic neighbor knew only one English word: "OK". She had such fever (from kidney stones, I learned) that she vomited perpetually, rattled her teeth and dripped with perspiration. Then they had to watch her monitors (26th week of pregnancy), so my night was really exciting. And I did not even mentioned yet that they kept coming for me, swallow a pill here, take a blood pressure there, or to wake me up for I rolled in my sleep, dislodging a probe, which promptly alerted some central dispatch that they lost signal on my Little Hippo doing all right.

At four a.m. I noticed that I leaked some amniotic fluid. A doctor assured me that it still may not mean anything more than a fact that they really would not let me go home before birth, because of the risk of infection. I got my antibiotics back and another increase of anti-contraction medication. A nurse came to stab me with another IV, this time I had to surrender my left (dominant) hand, as my right hand was useless after three previous days. I started feeling like a war veteran -- right wrist bandaged and aching, left wrist skewed with needles and hoses. That, however, worried me only for a moment -- at nine o'clock it became apparent that I was quickly draining little Hippo's aquarium, and pre-labor department decided that I stopped being a case for them. Within twenty minutes they moved me to a labor and delivery room, with an outlook to days or perhaps hours, hoping to postpone birth as much as possible. I did not share their optimism in delaying, and so Sid did cancelled work and came again.

	It was all rather easy!

Labor and delivery room was a great relief. No family clans, no vomiting southern neighbors. Even the nurse was a lot less frightened by the course of events and allowed me to finally have breakfast (my stress did not diminish my pregnancy appetite). Before Sid arrived, I managed to take a long shower in the luxury of a huge bathroom attached to my delivery room. At ten o'clock I was to get another dose of relaxing meds, though gaps between contractions lengthened a bit since morning, but the spasms themselves increased in duration and intensity - so the doctor eventually cancelled this dose saying that I looks like birth within next few hours and hence we shall need everything to go rather than hold.

	Don't tickle me lest I shall kick you

I was still enjoying being QUIET for a while, being fed and washed, in a nice place, with Sid on my side. Nothing was happening towards noon, so much that I could send Hippo out to get himself some lunch, to get strong for uncertain times ahead, and I could nap in quiet for a while. At half past noon I sent poor nurse out to try to fetch my lunch tray (probably waiting at my pre-labor room). Hooray, it was there. I just began to consider having Sid locate a microwave oven to warm up my already cold soup, when little Hippo hiccuped in the middle of one contraction, or otherwise moved unexpectedly, and I had a sense of explosion. I think I roared (she just yelped a bit - Sid's note). For next two minutes, I was recovering from this shock and started thinking that soup may not be the best idea, and that perhaps a tempting piece of cantaloupe or pineapple from the fruit plate would do. However, pain which came with my next contraction dispersed any thoughts of food. After a third or fourth spasm like that I finally concluded that the pain was not random and that I would actually give birth now. The nurse and Sid both tried to explain how to breathe, which somehow carried me through next twenty minutes, but just barely. Within those twenty minutes all my resolutions on natural birth without medical interventions came to an end. Mostly because my pain urged me to squirm and push, and because before the advance of this pain I was dilated only to four centimeters, I figured that through much fighting I could damage the little one or myself. At about quarter past one I finally got my epidural, and within next fifteen minutes I could relieve Sid from his function as interpreter (in stress, I'm unable to speak any language, be it Czech or English). So he did interpret my silences, just like reading tea leaves.

	First visit with our son Notice the food and medical records stacked on my lap...

Also I somehow noticed the doctor again, who explained that immediately before the baby gets born, she would have to call a neonatal team to the room, to let them deal with any potential problems our premature baby may have. Then she quickly checked me and to my amazement she say that she was going to call them now and I shall be pushing next. Arrival of about five people wearing yellow raincoats and purple gloves, during the hottest phase of the birth, shall be one the most absurd experiences of my life. Just at that moment my cell phone began mewing (I'm not as conservative as to leave it set to some demented jingle), when Martina Kren tried to locate me after finding my empty bed in the pre-labor department. Yellow-purple aliens silenced the phone, following Sid's instructions (Sid's hands were full, holding me), and then Tommy was born. To my relief he proved right away that his lungs were all developed, then he attempted to kick some Martian's teeth in (cheers, he's got legs!!!), somebody said it's really a boy, which we had expected, and that he was alright, and in a little while I was holding a bundle with a cone head in a funny hat. Tommy winced at me a few times and fell asleep.

Eventually Sid got Tommy to carry him over to neonatal care, to be present at important technical examinations (length & weight etc.). With only one nurse and the doctor, I finished the birth of my placenta, and my first postpartum check (which consisted of declaration that I did not need any sewing up). That was all there was to it.

	Daddy was usually limited to this viewing angle.

Sid came back with news that Tommy weighed 2079 grams, measured 44 centimeters, that he was put in a heated bed, he was breathing on his own and seemed to be all in good shape. The only imperfection was a fact that a sign hanged over his bed saying "I'M A BOY" and below it says "Tom Paralova" (in Czech language that means Tom Paral-girl). So Sid made a scene right there, until we were told that we should fill out a form for his official name, and that shall be put on his birth certificate then.

My birth assistant nurse arranged my move to postpartum department; they put me on a wheelchair and here I went again, with my scrounged lunch piled up on my lap. On our way we stopped at NICU to see Tommy, I could finally count all his fingers and toes, and get in awe at how even such a tiny baby has all things like fingernails and eyelashes. Martina was awaiting us at my postpartum room, for she had somehow figured out how things went. I met my new nurses, managed to gulp down my lunch and we went again (with me still in a wheelchair) to see Tom. This time I even got to hold him properly, he looked like having been through a tough day, too. So he only winced at me a few times, stretched, yawned, and continued to sleep. I soon began to feel the same way, and before I depleted all remaining strength, I returned back to my cot.

Copyright © 2003-2004 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.