Is this thing on?

Meet Jackson:

Jackson was suctioned into this world on November 26th(ish), 2011, tipping the scales at 5 pounds 2 ounces.  Now, you might be thinking, “Oh, that’s small!”  Well no shit – our son decided to grace us with his presence exactly one month early.  That decision made him a premature baby, and me a premature dad.

Here’s how it went down.

On Friday, November 25, I had just gotten home from work and was cooking sliders in my custom slider skillet when my wife, Hailey, called.  She had just finished a 12-hour shift at the hospital, and was experiencing some “symptoms of labor.”  (Note: I haven’t decided how graphic I want this to get, so I’m replacing “leaking” with “symptoms of labor” for now.)

A little background: Hailey is by no means a hypochondriac, but she doesn’t shy away from the doctor’s office either.  If something’s wrong, she gets it checked out.  So her request to go to the hospital for a quick checkup wasn’t overly alarming to me.  I assumed they would classify the symptoms as “normal” for an 8-monther (the doctor warned us of a “weeping vagina in the third trimester”), and we’d head home, eat sliders, and move ahead as scheduled with our turkey-fry the next day.

Jackson had other plans.  According to the nurse, Hailey’s water had broken at some point during the work day, and the baby was to be born within 24 hours (SOMETHING I LEARNED: Any birthing more than 24 hours after the water breaks increases the risk of infection for the mom and hellion).

We were freaked out.  Materials-wise, we were prepared.  Jackson’s crib was up, the room was painted, and the ski season was pretty much cancelled.  Mentally, however, it was a shit-show.  My first feeling was obviously fear for the baby and mom’s health (SOMETHING I LEARNED: Most human pregnancies are supposed to last 9 months).  The nurse ensured us, however, that a 36-week birth is pretty common (my favorite word that day), and that all should be good.

OK, so we’re still lined up for a healthy baby and can calm d…..aaaammit, we never discussed our birth plan.  Less than a week earlier, Hailey and I took our first birthing class, and one of our homework assignments was to develop our birth plan.  Pain soothing techniques, deciding whether to go through the process naturally vs. on drugs, etc.  My wife’s plan had similar questions to address.  We quickly came to the decision to use drugs if/when needed, and to let everything else take care of itself.

Next, we were admitted to our room, and the medical team started going through the motions.  Inserting IVs, charting, tabulating, groping, etc.  Since Hailey’s water had broken at least a few hours early, they started her on a drug called pitocin in hopes of speeding up her contractions (SOMETHING I LEARNED: Everything in the previous sentence).  Well, it worked.  Within an hour, she was off the charts in pain, and my half-assed massages weren’t doing the trick.  We ordered the next drug, an epidural, which basically numbed her from the waste down.  That helped, but it still didn’t relieve all the pain.

Left with no other options, Hailey just toughed it out until our doctor arrived, probably straight from a holiday party.  He immediately suited up, unfolded his tarp, popped the hood, and got to work.  There were a few scary moments when the boy was trying to make it through the birth canal.  The epidural was affecting his heart-rate, and he wasn’t in the most ideal position.  The room had a feeling of panic, but we still don’t know for sure how serious it ever got.  Nevertheless, four hours after we were admitted, and five hours after I was preparing sliders, our son was born.  Hearing his first cry felt pretty good (SOMETHING I LEARNED: Subsequent crying is not as enjoyable).

After everything settled down, we were able to spend some time alone before being moved to our “suite.”  Let it be noted that all this occurred during the peak of Tebowmania, a topic we’ll address more in a future post, so I naturally had to inspect the TV setup.  It wasn’t ideal, but there was a TV nonetheless, so I agreed to settle in.  After two (much needed) lazy days at the hospital, we were finally given the green light to head home, five pounds heavier, and about ten years older in terms of responsibility.

So that’s how I became a premature dad.  Now that you’re caught up on the “how,” I look forward to sharing more of what I’m seeing, learning, smelling, and messing up in future posts.  Stay tuned!