I have a baby sleeping in her bassinet.
I have a baby resting with her (sleeping) father on the couch as they watch Toy Story.
So, perhaps I should take this opportunity to update the blog.
Cagle- party of four. Woah. Those words are slightly surprising.
But, man oh man- are they great words to say.
A family of four.
Turns out that due date of 12/21 was accurate- just the time was a little off.
Friday found us at the doctor's office with the knowledge that we were heading to the hospital. Friday being December 14- not December 21. My blood pressure was up, my platelets were down, and I was beyond ready. Turns out, I had "white coat syndrome" -- which meant that my blood pressure was up with the anticipation of it being up.
More blood work and a second appointment on Monday- December 17. If my BP was still high and platelets still down, then I would be heading to the hospital. Monday morning was hectic. LMC and I had a battle of wills. I broke down and knocked on my neighbor's door and asked if she could keep her. I cried. This pregnancy had to cease. Literally, I was on the losing end of the sanity battle. Greatest Neighbor Ever graciously took LMC.
Off in traffic I head. Out in the cold air, cutting off cabbies, and heading to the downtown office, with the knowledge that with what my morning had been like... there was no way my BP would be down. I was heading to the hospital.
My blood pressure was normal.
The nurse looked at me and said, "No no-- that's a good BP."
"I kn-kn-kn-knowwwwww," I responded.
Walking back out into the waiting room, 15 pregnant women stared me down wondering what kind of bad news I had just received as a hot flash set in and layers had to be shucked... until I got down to my black "unitard" and tennis shoes. Needless to say, I was a sight.
My phone rang. It was Husband. I cried again.
Seriously, I was a sight.
After an ultrasound and a bill of perfect health, I head out to lunch for one.
Wednesday.... December 19. I have to drive over to Sibley Hospital (45 minutes and 8 miles away) for pre-admission blood work. My head was light and I was seeing spots. All those false alarms with a packed bag-- here I was, bagless and husbandless. After getting my blood work done, I head up to L&D to ask if they could check my BP (totally normal in Georgia). The nurses said I would have to go through the ER or, at the least, be admitted before they could do that. Seriously? I just needed to be hooked up to a machine and have my arm squeezed.
The doc took a little pity on me and lead me into a room ... where, yes, my BP was very high. I was admitted. I was going to be monitored for several hours. Husband is on the other end of the phone and a $52 cab ride later- by my side. Those several hours passed and the prognosis went from there would be a delivery today... to there would not be. Then, there would be. Finally.... no delivery.
I cried, but only before telling the doc, "I'll cut you."
"What?" she asked.
"I trust you," I said, changing my tune.
Husband and I got in the car and later he told me that I looked defeated and sad. And he knew that there was nothing he could do to change that.
Wednesday night wrapped up four doting (and very nervous) grandparents with two anxiously awaiting parents and one clueless toddler. Thursday night found those two same parents back at the hospital with an announcement of labor and a delivery at 3:49am, December 21.
This girl high fived the nurses when they announced labor and that I would be delivering shortly. Classy. They told me to walk to the OR. I asked if this bus had wheels.
The nurse said she liked my attitude and popped the brake on the bed. We were wheeled down to the OR. Four sticks for the epidural and... I was crying again... telling Husband that I was scared. I started shaking- a lot. My BP started going up and I kept crying, telling Husband over and over again that I was scared. The anesthesiologist looked over my head and asked how I was doing.
"I am scared. Please knock me out."
"No can do. The drugs can cross the placenta and effect the baby."
"Please. I'm scared. Please knock me out," I said between sobs.
"I can't. But as soon as the baby is out, it'll be the first thing I do."
Thirty seconds later...
"Dude. Seriously. KNOCK ME OUT. I am really scared and I can't stop shaking." (as if he couldn't see the tremors)
"Dude. Seriously. Anything I can give you to calm you down will effect the baby."
"HONESTLY. KNOCK ME OUT."
"Honey, I wish I could- but I can't..."
back and forth- me begging Pusherman for drugs and Pusherman saying no.
I look back at him, square in the eye, and with everything I have, I say (okay, scream), "Knock me the f... out." (classy, right?)
"Honey, I'm from the Bronx and have been screaming at pedestrians since before you were born. You don't scare me. I promise, I've got the drugs and will give them to you the second I can."
I start noticing the tugging and pulling on the other side of the drape. The anesthesiologist says to Husband, "Hey- look- here she comes," and flips the drape for him to see... my uterus on my abdomen, sliced open. Thank God that he's not squeamish.
As soon as MB came, the drugs were in. Pusherman asked me, "Are you still scared?"
"Yes... but I just don't care anymore."
The first person we called was Brother. Thank God for technology- at four thirty something, or five fifteenish... somewhere in the predawn hours Facetime allowed him to see his newest niece when she was minutes old and he was eight hours away.
Good grief, I miss him so much sometimes. But am eternally thankful that he is here for me to miss.
So, here I sit- with so many other things to say, all of which will have to be tabled for now. I'll get my writing legs back underneath me soon enough. In the meantime, we are all doing great and adjusting to this new life we have.