The Number Field

Before some moments from Roman's birth story become exaggerated while others wither on the fields of memory, I want to capture the story as I know it now.

The doctor scheduled Jenny for induction at exactly 41 weeks, and that had a calming effect on us. Instead of hoping that every passing day would be the one, we had a deadline and focused on making final preparations. When the day finally came, with Elena safe at her grandparents' house, we ate a hearty breakfast and headed off to the hospital, checking in a few minutes before our scheduled 8:00 am arrival time. A staff member showed us to our room and shortly afterwards we met our nurses. There were two of them because one was in training and still needed a mentor to help her follow the proper procedures. Confidentiality laws prohibited them from telling us much about what was going on outside our room, but we did learn that it was shaping up to be a busy day in the maternity ward.

After Jenny answered lots of questions for the hospital's paperwork, the nurse finally hooked her up to an IV drip and the labor-inducing drug Pitocin, so that we could get the show on the road. Twenty minutes later, the mentor nurse came in and noticed that the Pitocin was not hooked to the main IV line, so she attached it and things got started for real. The trainee nurse was so chatty that it became at times awkward, which was amplified by the fact that she was clearly completing her tasks more slowly and with less precision than a trained nurse would.

Our doctor came in to discuss our plans and expectations. She said that all the signs pointed to Roman not being as large as Elena so conditions were favorable for a trial of labor. Along with that, she explained the risks of shoulder dystocia and reminded us that she would have no qualms about whisking Jenny into the operating room if she deemed it necessary. After a quick check of the progress, she headed out to her other patients--according to the nurses, she was the busiest doctor in the ward.

By the time we reached mid-morning the stretches of time when we were on our own grew longer and longer. Jenny was managing the pain well, we watched some cable TV, and I slowly worked my way through my snacks and lunch. The trainee nurse seemed amused at my regular snacking, but her mentor commended me for taking measures to keep my strength up so I wouldn't faint later. One inconvenience of being induced is that it requires constant monitoring. Even though she would have liked to spend some time walking or just standing, she could only do so for short stretches without causing a nurse or technician to hurry in and check on things.

Morning turned into afternoon as Jenny's contractions became more regular and intense. By mid-afternoon, we started to indicate that she would like to have an epidural, but it wasn't until some time later that her doctor could check that the labor had progressed enough to allow for the epidural. After that was taken care of, the anesthesiologist started his work. Jenny needed to assume a sitting position for the procedure to take place, but the pain of contractions made that quite hard. I continued to hold her hand during contractions, as I had throughout, but later on I was asked to leave the room or at least sit in the corning. I soon understood why; the sight of a bloody-handed doctor coupled with the idea of needles being stuck directly into Jenny's spinal column was enough to make me queasy and scared.

We told the anesthesiologist about the problems with the procedure during Jenny's labor with Elena. He explained that there's sometimes a false loss of resistance, making it seem like the line is in place when it isn't. I think that it helped to tell him about the previous experience, because he said that he felt the loss of resistance but kept going until he was sure that everything was in the proper place. I have only the vaguest idea of what he was actually doing, so if any doctor reads this and it doesn't make sense, the fault is entirely mine. The doctor had a warm bedside manner, which has not always been our experience with anesthesiologists.

With the epidural working well, Jenny was able to relax and even fell asleep for a while. I got some dinner at the in-hospital Subway and made some phone calls to report progress. Our doctor came back for another exam and broke Jenny's water. The nursing shift changed, and we met our very competent night nurse. The epidural stopped working, but only in one small region; however, the increased Pitocin dosage meant that the pain exceeded its previous levels, even though it was isolated to that one spot. I again loaned Jenny my hand to squeeze with every contraction. It took some time for us to convince the nurse that Jenny's pain had returned, but when the anesthesiologist finally came back in he was happy to give her an extra dose of medicine to calm things down--he was surprised that Jenny had gone on so long after it got bad again.

After the epidural was working again, we enjoyed another hour or two of rest. Jenny and I both slept at least a little bit while her body worked on the baby and night fell. At about 11:15 Jenny was starting to feel pressure, and when the nurse took a look it was clear that Roman was ready--his hair was already visible. The doctor hurried in, Jenny started pushing, and less than fifteen minutes later we had a baby; Jenny pushed like a champ. It isn't very often that a nine and a half pound newborn will be described as tiny, but in this circumstance it made sense. The doctor seemed quite happy with how Roman came out: easily, and with a minimum of maneuvering. There were only three or four medical personnel in the room--at the peak of Elena's delivery we must have had ten people helping out. Before I knew what was happening, Roman was lying on Jenny's stomach and the doctor handed me scissors so I could cut the umbilical cord.

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We've been watching the World Track and Field Championships. Elena already likes running, but she's picked up some pointers from the pros, especially regarding the start.

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Hurricane Irene has passed us by with barely a scratch. Although there are still lots of people without power in this vicinity, ours has been uninterrupted. We're slowly drinking all the water from various containers that we filled up in anticipation of trouble--there's no need to let it go to waste now.

Long before Irene threatened, we had planned for me to go on a Saturday morning grocery run. The only thing I added to the list was extra water, but I did try to go as early as possible to beat the crowds. At Wegmans, my first stop, I had just taken my place at the end of the register line when a store employee came up to me, took a look at my basket and invited me to skip the line by checking out in the catering section. The line I had been in was only six people long, but some of them had full carts so I appreciated his help.

I wasn't sure that getting out of Wegmans so quickly would reduce my total trip time because it meant I would be at Costco before their scheduled opening time. That turned out not to matter, because the parking lot was already partially full and the doors were open. I breezed through my shopping list--it's amazing how much quicker it is without a toddler in tow--and made it home before the first drops of rain fell.

Before hunkering down at home to ride out the storm, we did make one more trip: a birthday lunch for my father. My parents and Leisa and Sam were kind enough to converge on a location near us, both because of Roman and because we live almost equidistant from their homes. The restaurant wasn't very full and appeared to be well-staffed, but slow service was almost unacceptable. Couldn't they see that we had a tired toddler in addition to our sleeping newborn? It was good that Roman slept peacefully through the whole meal, because Elena and I had to take several breaks by walking around the restaurant to look at the decor. She did like looking at the mounted fish, deer heads, armadillos, and antelopes. On the other hand, my food tasted great. Happy birthday, Dad!

We returned home and didn't go back outside until the weather cleared this morning. We watched lots of TV, cleaned up the house, and waited for something exciting to happen. It never did. Even Roman's late-night feeding was uneventful. This morning, after the rain was gone and the wind died down, I moved all the plants and toys from the kitchen back to their regular spots on the back porch, and it's almost like the storm never happened.

We've been here for a year now. I didn't expect it to end with a new baby, an earthquake and a hurricane. Moreover, my best estimates indicate that the upcoming year will be equally exciting and unpredictable.

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Elena's learning to be my car and boat maintenance assistant. On Tuesday evening, my car's battery died so completely that it couldn't be jump started, but not before stranding me miles from home at rowing practice. Luckily I discovered this while other people were still around and one of them graciously offered to drive me home. The next morning Elena and I returned to the scene to diagnose the problem and fix the car. At first I hoped that the problem was just corroded terminal connections, so I cleaned them off to no effect. While I was working on that, Elena picked some things out of my toolboxes and did some 'work' of her own, mostly in the area of the front grille. It was very cute, and amazingly she didn't lose any of the tools; although one piece dropped into the front of the engine compartment, I was able to recover it.

After I cleaned the terminals and still couldn't jump start the car, I pulled the battery from Jenny's car, which we had driven that morning, and hooked it up directly--my car started right up. At that point I realized I could buy a battery and ask Leisa and Sam, who were bringing us dinner that evening, for a ride over there on their way home. Elena and I cleaned up and stowed our tools, then took a look at the rowing shells and walked down to the dock. We saw a crab in the water hanging on to the side of the dock, but Elena was more interested in looking at the coaching launch. She said that she wanted to go coaching with me, and I would love to take her, but with good reason it's club policy not to take children out. I still need to make good on my promise to take her out on the water in some kind of boat.

We still had time for one more stop, while we were in the area. I'm not sure if I initiated the idea or if Elena requested it, but we headed over the boathouse where my single scull now lives. Almost exactly a year after I wrapped it for storage and shipping, I cut off the plastic wrap and bolted on the rigger. Elena helped me with the rigger--I the nut steady while she turned the wrench on the bolt to tighten it up. I can hardly wait to get out on the water; maybe I'll get a chance next week.

By that time it was getting pretty late, so we went to a fast food drive through for chicken nuggets and french fries. I wouldn't call it a reward, but certainly a thank you to Elena for helping me so much. I hope Jenny appreciated having some time alone with baby Roman.

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Roman is three days old, and we've only been home for one of them, so we are definitely in a transitional stage. The hardest part is managing the relationship between Elena and Roman. She loves him much more than any of her toys, but she thinks that she can play with him as if he's one of them. Jenny and I are sleep deprived and still adjusting to Roman ourselves, which means that our reactions to Elena have lacked the nuance that they might have at other times.

This afternoon Elena would not leave the baby alone in his chair. Jenny tried something clever: she made a buffer zone by laying a blanket between her chair and his, and instructed Elena not to cross into the neutral zone. Elena controlled herself while Jenny was in the room, but then Jenny stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water. When she returned, not ten seconds later, Elena had already draped herself over her brother, trying to give him a hug.

Feeding time is the hardest. Mother and newborn need some peace and quiet to establish that interaction, and that doesn't happen when big sister wants to get up close and personal. It's the perfect time for her favorite question: "Mommy, what doing?" I thought that we had a good balance between enforcing rules and allowing choice, but we are sure to test that framework in the next few weeks.

I run interference as well as I can, but she is quick and persistent. At one point I looked over to see her standing on the edge of the chair with Jenny and Roman. I called out in a sharp voice "Elena, get down!" She did, but then came over to me and responded "Daddy, no yell at me!" I tried to explain that I didn't yell because I was angry, but because I needed her to change what she was doing. I also promised that I will always make such requests in a nice voice at least once before using harsher tones. She may not have understood this time, but I think she is capable of understanding if I'm consistent.

Even though this first day has been hard, there are many positive indicators. Elena loves her brother, and treats him as gently as she can. She and I spent some good alone time together when we went for a run this evening. I have confidence that we will be able to adapt and find balance.

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Roman Mark was born at 11:37 pm on August 19, fourteen hours after labor was induced but with only about ten minutes of pushing. He weighs 9 lbs, 7 oz and is 21.5 inches long and, when awake, is very alert. Baby and mom are both healthy and recovering well.

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The skies opened up almost immediately after we started on the road to my parents' house. I had to concentrate on driving through the torrential rain so I couldn't play with Elena as much as she wanted. When driving in the rain, I love that brief moment of respite that comes when driving under bridges. It's quiet, calm, and ends so quickly that it seems like it might never have happened.

While we were driving, Elena asked if she could go back to her own house, but once we got to the grandparents' home and played for a little while, she was ready to stay. She must have been pretty tired, because she said goodbye to me and Jenny and headed upstairs before we were ready to leave her.

Now is the quiet moment. Tomorrow morning we're out from under the bridge, pounded by the rain, eyes on the road. Everything looked good at yesterday's appointment. The ultrasound machine gave us a weight estimate of nine and a half pounds. While his head measurement was average, his belly and leg measurements were both 'out of range.' That doesn't lend confidence to the estimate. Make your guesses in the comments about Moonbeam's birth weight; maybe I'll even send a prize to the winner.

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Before the three of us become the four of us we took one more trip to the park.

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We never thought it would come to this. Moonbeam has apparently decided to hold on for as long as we'll let him. I think that if we were back in Texas with the doctor that delivered Elena, she wouldn't have let this pregnancy go so far, but we trust that our current doctors know what they're doing. In just a little bit less than sixty hours we'll check into the hospital to have labor induced.

Tomorrow we have one last doctor's visit. We're not sure how long it will take, so Elena will spend the morning with a family that graciously agreed to watch her. The appointment is early, but the mom in whose care we're leaving her said it would be fine if Elena's still in pajamas when we hand her off.

The appointment will include some standard diagnostic procedures to make sure everything is okay: a sonogram to check fluid levels and the health of the placenta, a non-stress test to check Moonbeam's movement, heart rate, and oxygen levels, and the standard doctor's exam. It's a remote possibility that the doctor will send us directly to the hospital, so we'll take our bags with us to make sure that doesn't happen.

Assuming they send us back home, we'll have a quiet Thursday. In the evening we'll hand Elena off to my parents, who will watch her until we return from the hospital, then try to get some sleep before the big day. And that's about the only thing we have on our minds right now. Everyone at work has already been wishing me good luck every evening and acting disappointed every morning for more than a week now. I guess they can tell that I'm ready. I can see that Jenny's ready. Tomorrow we'll find out if Moonbeam's ready, too.

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