I had a great entry planned this week. I finally figured out the meaning of life, and I was going to share it with everybody. But something more important came up -- namely the birth of my second child -- so I am going to write about that instead. I'll get back to that meaning life thing on another occasion -- or not. To be honest, I can't really remember what it was anyway.
On Thursday afternoon, I got a call from S, while I was at the office. She asked me to step outside into the hall for privacy, which meant it was something important. She prefaced her next statements with "Everything should be alright..." which simultaneously put me at ease and made me anxious (should?). She then proceeded to explain that, at a checkup appointment, her doctor noticed an abnormality with our unborn child. Specifically, she could not detect blood flow to one of his testicles. Apparently, this is very strange, not only that it happened, but that she noticed it. She said that it could be nothing -- maybe everything was normal, and, for whatever reason, she just couldn't detect blood flow. Or it could be that the blood flow was actually being restricted, in which case there was the possibility that, if we didn't act fast, he could lose the testicle.
Faced with those possible outcomes, S booked a C-section for the next morning. She told me to wrap up everything at work and talk to my boss, because I was going to be taking some time off. Then five minutes later, she called back and told me to come home ASAP because the C-section was happening tonight. "Holy shit!" I said to nobody in particular and hustled home. I was revved with adrenaline, but I was actually quite relieved that the operation was happening immediately. I was not looking forward to the sleepless, apprehension-filled night that was surely on the horizon, if it was not happening until the morning.
To make a long story short: The baby was extracted and everything is completely fine, with both mother and child (well, mother has a sizable gash on her belly, of course, but it will heal). They had a specialist on hand to make sure everything was OK with his testicle, and it appears that it is. ("His jewels look fine," the doctor told us with a thick African (Nigerian?) accent.) And now we have another happy and healthy baby boy: Lil' S2.
I have to wrap this entry up now, as Lil' S and I are going to visit his baby brother and his mother in the hospital in a few minutes. Last time, we got a private suite, and I slept at the hospital too, but this time we got a shared room, so I can't stay the night. It saves us some money (quite a bit actually -- those private suites aren't cheap), and I need to be home a lot to watch Lil' S, anyway. S's mom is here, and she's a huge help, but, to be honest, I only feel comfortable having her watch Lil' S for short periods at a time. Part of this is my own paranoia; part of it is that she has arthritis in her knees and literally cannot keep up with him -- she can hold her own, she has her grandma tricks to keep him in line, but still, it makes me nervous.
When Lil' S was born, I distinctly remember "In the Air Tonight," by Phil Collins was playing in the operating room. So I made it a point to listen to what was on when Lil' S2 popped out. It was "Hungry Eyes." by Eric Carmen (they must just put it on the '80s station), which prompted the anesthesiologist to make a crack about our baby being the next Patrick Swayze and then tell us all about a really bad Patrick Swayze tattoo he saw online. He was a bit on the chatty side. But, he was nice, and I think S appreciated his verbosity. When somebody is cutting into your abdomen to remove a human life that has been growing in your body for the last nine months, perhaps it's refreshing to hear somebody talk about something as silly as a tattoo of Patrick Swayze with a centaur body in a Chippendales outfit.
Until next time ...
On Thursday afternoon, I got a call from S, while I was at the office. She asked me to step outside into the hall for privacy, which meant it was something important. She prefaced her next statements with "Everything should be alright..." which simultaneously put me at ease and made me anxious (should?). She then proceeded to explain that, at a checkup appointment, her doctor noticed an abnormality with our unborn child. Specifically, she could not detect blood flow to one of his testicles. Apparently, this is very strange, not only that it happened, but that she noticed it. She said that it could be nothing -- maybe everything was normal, and, for whatever reason, she just couldn't detect blood flow. Or it could be that the blood flow was actually being restricted, in which case there was the possibility that, if we didn't act fast, he could lose the testicle.
Faced with those possible outcomes, S booked a C-section for the next morning. She told me to wrap up everything at work and talk to my boss, because I was going to be taking some time off. Then five minutes later, she called back and told me to come home ASAP because the C-section was happening tonight. "Holy shit!" I said to nobody in particular and hustled home. I was revved with adrenaline, but I was actually quite relieved that the operation was happening immediately. I was not looking forward to the sleepless, apprehension-filled night that was surely on the horizon, if it was not happening until the morning.
To make a long story short: The baby was extracted and everything is completely fine, with both mother and child (well, mother has a sizable gash on her belly, of course, but it will heal). They had a specialist on hand to make sure everything was OK with his testicle, and it appears that it is. ("His jewels look fine," the doctor told us with a thick African (Nigerian?) accent.) And now we have another happy and healthy baby boy: Lil' S2.
I have to wrap this entry up now, as Lil' S and I are going to visit his baby brother and his mother in the hospital in a few minutes. Last time, we got a private suite, and I slept at the hospital too, but this time we got a shared room, so I can't stay the night. It saves us some money (quite a bit actually -- those private suites aren't cheap), and I need to be home a lot to watch Lil' S, anyway. S's mom is here, and she's a huge help, but, to be honest, I only feel comfortable having her watch Lil' S for short periods at a time. Part of this is my own paranoia; part of it is that she has arthritis in her knees and literally cannot keep up with him -- she can hold her own, she has her grandma tricks to keep him in line, but still, it makes me nervous.
When Lil' S was born, I distinctly remember "In the Air Tonight," by Phil Collins was playing in the operating room. So I made it a point to listen to what was on when Lil' S2 popped out. It was "Hungry Eyes." by Eric Carmen (they must just put it on the '80s station), which prompted the anesthesiologist to make a crack about our baby being the next Patrick Swayze and then tell us all about a really bad Patrick Swayze tattoo he saw online. He was a bit on the chatty side. But, he was nice, and I think S appreciated his verbosity. When somebody is cutting into your abdomen to remove a human life that has been growing in your body for the last nine months, perhaps it's refreshing to hear somebody talk about something as silly as a tattoo of Patrick Swayze with a centaur body in a Chippendales outfit.
Until next time ...
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