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I figured I should start writing things down before I forget them, so here goes, starting with Wednesday, May 21st. I woke up at 6:30 as usual to the annoying sound of my alarm clock (are they ever not annoying???) and hit the snooze, again as usual, to give myself time to actually gain consciousness. I didn't get the chance to attain self-awareness on my own, though, because the phone rang just a few seconds later - it was Vika on the other end telling me "Stephen, you should probably stay close to home because my contractions have started." I was, needless to say, not exactly inclined to spend a day of anticipation in the office, thus opted instead to remain at home by the phone. Since I was too excited to try to sleep any further, I got up and made breakfast and started to re-read, for the 6th or 7th time, my favorite book - "The Brothers K" by David James Duncan. Reading this book always gives me a very discernible feeling of inner peace, so I figured it was a good choice for what I was about to go through. I was right, to some extent, as you will see. So I finished breakfast and sat down to wait further, thinking "any second" Vika would call me from the delivery ward to tell me I could come on up and check in. I already had a bag packed with comfortable clothes, a bottle of water and some Snickers bars, my Certification of Completion for the pre-birth class and my blood tests showing me HIV and Hepatitis negative, and a tennis ball which I would use to massage Vika's lower back. My wait turned out to be an all-day event, however, and I ended up going to the hospital around 2pm not to check in with Vika but to walk around the hospital grounds with her to help "spur" along her labor. She was, indeed, in labor, but her contractions were still very light. We walked around until 7pm, when Vika had to go back upstairs for the evening. I went back home, figuring it would again be only a matter of hours before she called me to tell me to "get my butt up here and check in." I had dinner, talked to her for a bit on the phone, then went to bed thinking I would probably only get a few hours of sleep. I was right, I only got a few hours of sleep, but not for a great reason. Vika called me at 2am in tears, telling me that I "couldn't come into the delivery room." The hospital staff had placed her in a sterile delivery ward under the pretext that she wasn't allowed into the regular ward because she had tested positive for toxicoplasmosis antibodies. Why they chose to tell my wife that at literally the last minute was a mystery, but was clarified later when we found out it was all a bullshit excuse. The truth is that they had no room on the regular delivery ward - the beds were all full with expectant women. Rather than do something humane like move one of the women to the sterile room whose husband would not be attending the birth (and believe me, there was no shortage of women going through this by themselves!), they took the easy way and stuck Vika in there. We commiserated shortly over this situation, then Vika said she had to hang up because they were coming to take her to the actual delivery bed. She said she would call me back "when everything was over" in the morning. Having no other choice, I rolled over and managed to fall asleep around 5am. I woke up again to my alarm clock at 6:30, and got up to go through the morning process of getting ready for work. Vika and I had "agreed" that since I couldn't be there with her, I should go ahead in to the office. I got through everything, all the way up to putting my shoes on to walk out the door, when I realized that I would be 100% useless at work and immediately decided I would endure this ordeal from home. Part of my decision was based on the aforementioned possibility of no productivity, but a greater part was because I did not want to go through an entire day of well-meaning people coming up to ask me how things were going. My own anticipation and nervousness were enough for me to deal with, without adding that of the entire office, no matter how genuine the intent on their part. I again tried to placate myself with breakfast and my book, though it was of little avail. After I ate, I called Vika's mom to see if there was any way she could find out how Vika was doing. Mom called Vika's outpatient physician, who was on her way to work and who promised to go by the maternity/delivery ward first thing to check on Vika. This was at 7:30am.....by 11:30am, we had not heard back from the doctor, nor was I able to get the maternity ward's information desk on the phone, so I was almost literally bouncing off the walls. If you've kept up with this website since last October, when Vika first went into the hospital, you know that I am decidedly paranoid and uptight when it comes to my wife being in any hint of danger. This time was even worse, though, because the process of childbirth is considerably more than a "hint" dangerous. I was imagining all sorts of horrid, worst-case scenarios and was pacing back and forth through the house talking to myself, to God, Zeus, Hera, Hydra, Vishnu, Circe, Odin, Allah, Mogadishu, Paul Prudhomme, Sister Sledge, Michael Jackson and Justin Timberlake, promising them all sorts of fortune and my everlasting soul if they would just join hands and sing for my Vika to be okay. Michael J and the gang weren't answering, though, so I decided to take matters into my own hands, at least as far as was possible. I jumped in the shower, threw on some clothes, grabbed my cellphone, my book, a couple of magazines, my MP3 player and my cassette Walkman and a pack of Camels and hiked up to the hospital. I figured if I couldn't see my daughter come into the world, I could at least be somewhat present when she did. I got to the hospital and asked at the information desk what the status of my wife was. They checked and said things were progressing "as normal" and that they expected the baby to come out in about 2-3 hours. The little lady "manning" the info desk was very sweet and kind, and even pointed me to the exact window behind which Vika was enduring this process. I parked my ass on a curb right outside the window, lit my first Camel, and proceeded to alternately read and listen to my wife's blood-curdling screams for the next 3 hours. Every time she screamed, I held my breath and waited to hear the corresponding scream of my daughter. Each time I didn't hear Maria's scream, I had my usual paranoid horrible thoughts and went running to the lady at the help desk so she could call the delivery room to make sure everything was all right. "Three more hours.....she's doing fine." To her credit, not once did she give me that eye-rolling exasperated reaction that I rightfully expected, seeing as how I was pestering her every time a cricket chirped. Finally around 4pm, I heard what would be the most frightful of all Vika's screams, and which seemed to drag on for an entire minute. When it stopped, I didn't hear anything for an undetermined amount of time (according to Vika, later, 2-3 minutes actually passed), then I finally heard a couple of short, unmistakably-baby screams - my daughter Maria Stephanie had made it into the world, and I had been "there" with her! Vika later told me that Maria sort of plopped down onto the table, turned her head, and gave Vika a dirty look as if to say "so YOU'RE the one who put me through all that!" My girls had been going at it for 16 hours straight, and both of them were extremely tired. Of course, I had to run straight in to my sweet little info lady to ask for sure "what happened?" She called the ward to check, and reported back that yes, I was now the father of a little girl, and that both her and mommy were fine but extremely tired. God, as I write this even now, over three weeks later, I still get choked up with emotion as I remember that moment, it was so crucially defining to my entire life, something I had awaited for nearly my entire adult life, something I wanted more than I could ever imagine wanting anything else. My tears were borne both of joy and relief, joy at the miracle fate and Vika had given to me, and relief that it was all over and everybody had made it through okay. I must also point out that I had enough wits left about me to open my pack of cigarettes to see how many I had smoked - only one Camel remained of what had started out as a full pack, and I didn't even notice myself smoking them! They had to clean Maria up, plus monitor Vika in the recovery room for a few hours before they put her in her "permanent" room where I would be able to stand outside the window and see her, so I called all the relatives and friends to tell them they were new aunts/uncles, grandmothers/fathers, cousins, etc. Mom came running up to the hospital, of course, and I'm sure whoever was looking out their window got a hoot out of watching the two of us standing in the middle of the parking lot hugging each other and crying like silly old maids. Neither of us cared, we were both so incredibly happy and relieved. They finally got Vika into her permanent room, and we stood right outside her window and chatted with her. She was (and still is, of course!) amazing, what a sport, she looked as if she hadn't just spent the last day spitting a watermelon-sized object out!!! As always, my sappy ass had to turn on the waterworks, I started boo-hooing just as soon as I saw her. I make no apologies, though, because I was and still am so in love with my wife that it sometimes simply overwhelms my emotions. We stood there and chatted for a little while, she told us about the whole experience, at least as much as she could remember. They wouldn't let her in to see Maria, they were keeping her in an ICU under observation, nothing bad just standard practice for long/difficult births. We stayed there talking to Vika for about an hour, then mom and I said goodbye to her and went to a local restaurant to celebrate "our" accomplishment with a ton of food and beer. So that's it...the rest is ever-unfolding history about which I am trying to faithfully update as often as possible to the main page of my website, so keep watching there.... |