American #2 July 29, 2005 The big wait is over and Tommy has got a baby sister.

Sid writing: on Friday July 29, at 6:11 in the evening, Elizabeth Sophie Paral was born, the second American citizen in our family. She weighs 8.79 pounds and measures 21.5 inches; both mother and daughter appear healthy and with good appetite.

	Lizzy asleep

Carol continues:
Our due date was Wednesday 27th. Regular contractions began in the evening, by midnight I scared the whole family out of their beds and proceeded to shower, time, and count. At three a.m. I consulted the situation with my doctor, who recommended a trip to the hospital. By four we were entering the labor and delivery department, I was bending down with a contraction. I did not know then that it was to be the last one for many hours to follow. All the staff were nice, but still I felt like an idiot. By dawn we received another recommendation, namely to try walking around and wait for something to happen. This we rejected and drove back home to fall into our beds at least for a few hours.

	And who are you? Got milk?

Tommy, who had no clue about the drama of the night that just past, was perky right from his early morning -- unlike everybody else. Sid took a day off work and took the junior duty in the morning. Granny was assigned the afternoon. I had planned to take Tom into our mini-ZOO, but I would not dare to even drive by myself, much less cope with a frisky toddler -- thus with a vacationing Hippo, we could do a family trip to see animals, avoiding Sunday crowds. Secretly I was hoping that a marching exercise by the exhibits and kiddie-rides would hasten our lady daughter, but had no such luck.

Hence on Friday I drove out to see my doctor for a regular checkup, convinced that I would hear again that "it shall happen soon and fast", and would be sent back home to wait. Right at the door the doctor announced that she had already arranged in the hospital for my inducement term on Wednesday -- the little one would get a chance till the end of forty-first week, but no longer. It cheered me up, and Wednesday was actually the day we as a family decided would be the best anyway, so why not? Then a nurse dragged in an ultrasound machine, saying that past-term pregnancies must be routinely checked for well-being of the baby. I realized at that moment that through my own tiredness from a sleepless night I did not notice that our girl was kind of sleepy throughout the whole Thursday. The doctor sonographed me at length and then declared that she was going to call the hospital again and order the delivery inducement right away. The baby had too little of amniotic fluid, which may signify problems with placenta functionality, and she would be better of outside. I began to explain that I can make it to the hospital in two hours at the earliest -- I need to get back home with my car, and have my husband pick me up there, so that we would not get into vehicular logistic difficulties later, but she interrupted me abruptly, saying that she would really recommend getting me to the hospital without delay. And so in this rather funny way, one of my joking predictions came true, i.e. I would have to drive to the delivery room myself.

	Now that I ate well...

	What's for dinner?

The hospital is located about ten minutes by car from my doctor's office, and since I was not in labor, driving there lacked on adventure, but it certainly was a strange feeling. Equally strange was seeing the labor and delivery department during daytime -- and arrive there with no escort. Compared to a quiet Wednesday night, there was an overwhelming sense of rush; I only took one glance at the schedule and rooms board -- they had a "full house". A clerk at the reception apologized -- they knew about me, my doctor had called in, but they had no free room; I was to wait until they clean up one that just became available. So for the moment they put me to the ultrasound exam room -- which used to be our usual location during all our previous, fruitless visits. The chamber seems to be some kind of broom closet -- one can find here all kinds of stuff that has no fixed place, and consequently these treasures get picked up by various nurses and orderlies. While havoc was continually being wreaked in the corridors, many of them would perhaps not even notice me sitting there like a little sad heap. Finally Hippo, who had fled some engineering meeting, materialized there as well -- and with him the head nurse, who reassured me that they knew about me and that we were still waiting for a free room and midwife. And proceeded to set up a baby monitor and fill out paperwork -- and promised not to forget to order me lunch (I carry a vivid memory of my being soo hungry during my first delivery, and I regarded lunch as a priority).

By noon we got to our delivery room; a nurse gave me an IV with pitocin (oxytocin), another nurse brought me saline for my contact lenses, Hippo brought me a book -- it simply started to look like a leisurely afternoon. My biggest worries so far were whether I should heed my midwife, who forbade me to eat, or the head nurse, who allowed me "a little soup". Well, in the end I submitted to the authority of a higher rank. Even so, I sadly watched my Hippo devouring the remains of my lunch.

	So it was not a dream after all. I have been born.

	... strange things happening around

The monitor indicated regular contractions, but I felt nothing -- definitely nothing as intense as those that provoked us to drive out to the hospital a few days ago. The doctor on duty came to see me (doctors from my clinic take turns in hospital shifts) and yanked me out of my tranquility. Their monitor was showing irregularities in my baby's pulse, which could mean that she does not feel well. She suggested to puncture my amniotic sac -- quality of the fluid could indicate things, and it could speed up the actual delivery. It also opens a way to attach a monitor sensor directly on the baby's body, and thus provide more accurate information about her heartbeat. I agreed. Given the speed of my first delivery, we have already arranged to go ahead with an epidural anesthesia, should events take unexpected turn or rapid pace.

Anesthesiologists were full of jokes and added an epidural drug line on my back and blood pressure collar on my left arm to already present intravenous line on my right hand and a contraction monitor over my belly. I began to feel strangely crucified. My amniotic fluid was all right -- and a probe attached to the baby added to my perception of being totally wired -- although reassuring beat of her little heart rang loud and clear -- just this one wire bothered me least of all.

	First wash at home.

	Test pilot

A little before four I started having a persistent feeling that the epidural was not quite working. My pain gained on intensity. The midwife dismissed it saying that the last phase of delivery is always painful and continued to fill out a stack of paperwork, preparing to pass me on to the next shift. The next midwife chatted with us for a while, but after a quarter hour she concluded that I really was not looking like one on epidural drugs, and began to check all possible knobs and settings. Some helped me a little, but in a while I slipped back into a state where I just wept huge tears between contractions (during contractions I typically could do absolutely nothing -- not even weep). The midwife then said that this would have to be dealt with by the anesthesiologists and went off to seek them out in the fray outside. Alas, miscommunication took place somewhere -- my rescue squad arrived to the room next door and was dismissed as superfluous, while Sid had to endure my crushing his hands. Eventually someone found the wayward anesthesiologists and they arranged for me to be able to feel the outside world again. I thought I had the worse behind me.

At five o'clock I received clearance to push -- since Tom was out within fifteen minutes, I expected that a larger baby would be a harder job, but it surprised me that it actually took over an hour. Unfortunately towards the end her heart signal weakened with pushing, and the doctor gave me a time limit to finish it. I don't know if I were able to meet the deadline. Suddenly everybody was yelling, the midwife called neonatology, the doctor looked as if she had ten hands and I perceived as clearest the disappearance of the heart signal. Over my giant belly I could not see properly what was going on, but I knew the little one got out -- and I could not hear her. Later reports explained that the doctor had to use a vacuum extraction cap. The baby could not get out on her own, as she had the umbilical cord wrapped twice around her neck. The doctor had to pull her out, clip the umbilical, cut it, unwind and try to make her breathe. Luckily, all that took her only a few seconds -- and then I could hear low sounds -- as if a small mouse were coughing out water in which it was drowning.

Then the baby moved into my field of vision. I noticed a bunch of black hair and unnaturally pale color of her skin (Sid claims that right after birth she was blue; I tend to believe it). Fortunately, there was not much work for neonatologists - and in the next moment I had her with me. She seemed to be unbelievably chubby, but I thought that it was just in contrast with Tom who was a preemie. However, the first weighing surprised everybody -- 8 3/4 pounds and 21 1/2 inches!

In a dizzying change, the scene of a minor drama transformed into a regular hospital room -- disappeared all the instruments and strange people, and we were on our own again. The midwife had said that after a difficult birth, the baby may not want to eat, but Lisa has shown her real hippo nature, and did not hesitate with food advancements. I sent Sid home -- granny had to be brought here to let her drive away the car I came with. Meanwhile they moved me (with Lizzy in my arms) to the postpartum department. My baby left me for a brief moment, to undergo basic pediatric exam, but that was the only instant we were separated.

	Here's the pic to compare scales (Lisa: 21 1/5 in / 8 3/4 lb; Tom: 35 1/5 in / 30 lb)

	Our first walk with a double stroller: Tom sitting up front, Lisa is hiding in her shell; the whole thing handles like a fully loaded bus.

Sadly, the hospital was bursting in seams, and I washed up in a double room. My Mexican mate did not speak any English and kept watching some telenovelas -- I braced myself for an anti-culture shock, imagining ceaseless line of noisy visitors in sombreros, and a live fiesta in the room. Luckily, I was wrong. Her only visitor did not even possess a hat, having crept in by eleven p.m. with a briefcase. My nurse did not miss him -- she came to me asking if I wanted him out, as visitors are not allowed in a shared room after ten in the evening; she would send him packing to sleep in the corridor. I pictured this new father being evicted to the hall, but calling his wife on a cell phone, and both trailing in and out -- I decided that I was going to tolerate a strange man in my room. We were separated by curtains, so there was an appearance of optical privacy -- and since my roommate turned off her telenovelas by ten p.m. and made only whispered conversation with her man, I thought that they would behave. I was not disappointed -- the father slept in our room (although I wonder where -- in a chair?), but vanished to work at five in the morning. Suddenly I felt almost sorry for my roommate -- after a Caesarian she just dragged around the room, and the only person ever visiting was her husband -- and even he only had a few hours during the night. Our nighttime was eventful enough anyway -- kids took turns in screaming (as it regularly happens) and we were privileged to participate in a fire alarm drill at three. And I don't really count nurses coming and going, doors slamming, uproar in the hall -- simply put, hospital nights suck.

What more, Lisa refused to sleep in hospital issue crib -- if I wanted to accumulate any sack-time, I could only do so with half of my bed occupied. Well, we had lasted together in one body for nine months, we would fit in one bed -- and there would be time enough for disciplined upbringing. Morning rounds woke me from a deep sleep (I wonder why daytime always seems quieter in a hospital) -- and my doctor told me after checking me up that if I wanted, I could go home in the evening -- i.e. 24 hours after delivery. Given the fact that the hospital changed their rules and I would be discharged on Sunday morning (as opposed to evening, as it used to be the rule two years ago, when I had Tom), I have actually welcomed the option. If I had a chance to stay in bed and be taken care of for another whole day, it would have made sense -- but I did not feel like staying only for a (horrible) night. I gathered that both my baby and I could be more relaxed at home than in any other institution, and focused on meeting all the conditions for my release -- i.e. to have all the paperwork approved and all required examinations booked.

In the end, we managed it all (with Sid's substantial help) and after dinner we were leaving the hospital. The fact that this time, our baby could ride home with us, was worth all the difficulties I had during my last pregnancy phase.

Copyright © 2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.