Due to a very long history of fibrosis (thanks mom!) the moment I found out I was pregnant it was made clear I would have to schedule a C-section. I always thought the idea of scheduling the day your baby would be delivered was a funny concept. You could essentially count down the seconds until you brought a new human into the world.
The date was set for June 17, 2015 at 10:00am. Me and my husband were prepping for the day. Making sure we had several changes of clothes, the breast pump, the Boppy, the 6-foot-long body pillow, 16 tiny shirts, 13 pairs of baby socks, a noise machine, day shoes, night shoes…you get the idea. (Spoiler alert! The only thing I should have packed was a suitcase full of suppositories…courtesy of the gas that is pumped into your abdomen prior to baby removal that makes you feel like you want to just die!)
Anyway, I digress. As it were, 12:09am (9 hours and 51 minutes before my scheduled C-section) contractions begin. I calmly (ha!) alert my husband and we gather our truck load of “necessities” and head to the hospital. I get checked in to a room and after several minutes the nurse confirms I am going into active labor and Benjamin will be arriving a few hours sooner than expected! I am elated and scared and sweaty and fat. Here we go! I am ready!
As I am about to be rolled out of the room another mother arrives and the doctor needs to deliver her twins first. So, I do the waddle of shame back to my bed-cot where I get an intravenous injection of (what I can only describe as) Red Bull & 5-hour energy to stop my contractions. I have never been to a rave, but I can only imagine the feelings are similar.
My heart rate spiked… I felt like I was talking to my husband the same way the advertisements speed through the points of a promotion that would prevent people from purchasing. Although I felt like I was on some sort of illegal upper, the contractions slowed down allowing the whore of a mother who took my turn in line to deliver her babies (I am sure she is super pleasant, but that is not how I felt about her at the time.) Finally, I was up! I was ready to go! Put me in coach! Then…another mother came in, with another set of twins!
Same story, I was injected and transported back to rave-land. Time was speeding up and standing still at the same time. 9:00am is now upon us. The doctor comes in and finally wheels me back to the operating room where I am set up to get cut open. Lovely. While I am being prepped my husband is in another room donning his dress and face mask. A few minutes later a man I have never seen enters the room and sits down next to my head. I am confused, but there is a lot going on and I don’t think much of it.
The doctor asks me if I am ready. He begins the motion of starting the procedure. I am finally able to pause the cause just long enough to ask the whereabouts of my husband. Everyone looks at me like “poor girl, you’re just confused” then assures me it is fine, we are going to get started. It took a few minutes for the whole room to understand the man sitting next to me was not my husband, but another expectant father that was in the same room as my husband when he was called back…with the same name.
I now have a random “Scott” in the room about to watch the delivery o
f another man’s baby. “In the 25 years I have been doing this, that has never happened!” exclaimed the doctor as my Scott enters. A few minutes later my sweet baby boy makes his debut appearance into the world. This quirky day set the foundation for Benjamin’s existence. June 17, 2015. …the day my life began.