All I was aware of, after he started shouting his arrival into the world, was that the doctors wanted me to look at him and say something. I said, "well, he has lungs. That's good." And then, I just wanted to get back to Carly, because her guts were quite literally out of her, and she probably needed me to comfort her. The kid was the doctors' problem. Carly is still mine. So I moved around the machinery and sat down, and rubbed Carly's forehead. I told her, "he's alive, he's blue, he's moving around, and he has balls like a bison." She laughed, and then complained that she had weird pain in her armpit. Then the doctors needed me to come with them. When I got up, I could see straight down the hole in Carly's stomach into the bottom of her pelvis. It reminded me of the song, "Turning Japanese." Give it a listen. You'll get it.
I followed them down the hall with the Wolf resting on something that looked like a french fry warmer. They were explaining things to me that I just kind of know, now, but I don't remember them specifically telling me anything. Except the bracelet. I had to keep that on, even in the shower. They led me to the NICU where the kid would be holed up and showed me the basic procedures. Scrub up every day, use the antiseptic gel every time I touch something grody, like my mobile phone. To quote Justin, "Well, obviously phones are gross. I play chess while I'm pooping." Then there wasn't anything for me to do, and staring at the little blue baby didn't seem too important while Carly's guts were out, so I asked if I could go back to her. No, they told me, she'll be in the OR for at least 15 minutes, and then they will move her to recovery. Go out to the waiting room and make some phone calls. OK, I did that.
I called all the primaries: parents (now grandparents!), my sister, and work. After a while, the guards came over and asked me to take off my scrubs, because, well, they didn't want people thinking I was a doctor, just sitting around looking freaked out and picking my nose. So I ditched the scrubs in a trash can, nearly forgetting to remove my wedding ring from one of the pockets. When did I take that off? Oh, who the fuck knows. Then I went to find Carly.
When I found her, she was just out of her mind on painkillers and shivering on the gurney in the recovery area. Every few minutes a nurse would come by and poke at the monitors and machines and we'd hear about them prepping a room for her. I talked to her a bit, ate what I could that was left of my breakfast (a cup of fruit--the chocolate chip muffin didn't seem as appetizing now), and then I told her I would go and check on the baby.
It had only been an hour, but he had already changed dramatically. He was pink now, not blue, and he stretched out. He was laboring to breathe, but it was obvious that it was a brand new thing for him, and he was doing quite well. The measurements came to reality, finally--he was 4 lbs and 7 oz, and he was 19 inches long. That seems long. Yes, the nurses indicated that he's a long one for 33 weeks. My cousin Kate later confirmed that her twins were born around full term, each of them 2 pounds heavier than Wolf, and the same length. We are still wondering how big he might have gotten if he grew to full term.
Around this time we started to get details of Wolf's last minutes in the womb. When Carly got her epidural, her contractions just went through the roof. She went from having steady, moderately strong and painful contractions to serious, major PUSH NOW, MOTHERFUCKER! CHARLIE'S IN THE BUSHES! contractions, instantly. Essentially, she'd been controlling the pressure and holding it back. Without pain meds, she could probably have dragged labor out for a bit. But with the release of control of her lower half, suddenly her uterus turned into a discontinued ride at Geauga Lake, the kind that would make everyone sick and break collarbones. Wolf, at that point, was too little to survive that, and was basically being compressed to death. And then, it turns out, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. So he was basically fucked if they didn't get him out of there right away. I can remember the look on the faces of a few of the nurses and the one anesthesiologist that was in the OR, because she was standing right next to me when I was comforting Carly. It was one of those, "Oh, shit..." looks. The kind of looks that even the seasoned veterans rarely see, like, this-entire-thing-is-fucked-and-I-don't-know-if-I-can-deal-with-a-homicidal-maniac-if-that's-what-this-poor-bastard-who-is-about-to-lose-his-child-turns-out-to-be. Luckily, it didn't come to that.
And that's what we're repeating, over and over. We were extremely lucky. Like, so lucky it's hard to brag about it. Wolf was in the NICU next to some really rough cases, babies that were born at 24 or 25 weeks, barely the size of a kitten or a baked potato, kids whose parents didn't talk, and when they did talk, they used short sentences. We were very very close to being like that. If I hadn't been running late on Tuesday morning, if I left for work on time, I don't think I'd be writing this right now. I'd probably be sedated in a jail cell after having destroyed several city blocks with my bare hands. I will say it again, we have been very lucky.
Carly was put into a comfy room right next to the nurses' station down the hall from NICU. Around midnight that night, they gave her permission to get up and walk around, so we shuffled down to Wolf's crib to hang out, and it was the first time she really got to see him and touch his feet. It was awesome to see them together, but Carly was exhausted and needed to sleep. The next morning, she got to hold him and feed him with a bottle. Since then, it's just been steady improvements. The kid is forming up, eating like a Black Water Snake confronted by a swarm of drugged up mice after a bachelor party, and stretching out his arms, legs, and lungs.
Carly has been working on getting her milk flowing, and it's a slow process at best. This morning, we went to a breastfeeding class, and she just couldn't take it--all the talk of holding your baby, how important it is to breastfeed, and then the video showing all these beautiful babies latching onto their mothers' beautiful nipples, she nearly ran from the room in tears. All the other new mothers in the room had their kids in their rooms with them. Ours was in one of those containers you get at the grocery store for a rotisserie chicken, down the hall. So she got pretty emotional.
Later that morning, we basically just insisted that she get the opportunity to hold Wolf and get some skin-to-skin time, and even try to breast feed. And, goddamn, it worked. That kid took to the boob just like his old man. It took a few fumbling tries at first, and then he was a natural. If anything, Carly needs more practice to keep up with him. The breastfeeding consultant lady was amazed... 33 week old kids aren't supposed to do that. They're usually still behind on development to get the whole clamp-and-suck thing, and she told us that Wolfie was doing better than his full-term, chubby counterparts. We're swelling with pride. After that first attempt at breastfeeding, Carly's boobs have become mythical objects. She's producing milk like some fabled goddess with antlers and the lower half of a fish or something. Well, you make it make sense in your head. I don't want to explain it to you.
I wanted to get all of this down while it was fresh, but I can already tell that the clarity of the memories is being fogged over a little, as the stress and turmoil of that first day are fading from view. I hope that we can tell Wolfie the story of his coming in a few years and he'll get it. He'll understand that it's a crazy world and how you get here is pretty important. The e-book of his life starts with a flickering Kindle load screen, and it's hard not to blink even though it's not really emitting any light.
I'm making Carly laugh and it's pulling at her stitches, so I should probably wrap this up. Pester me with questions, and check FB and G+ for pictures. There are plenty. Tomorrow, I'm going to stop in at work and see if I can arrange a few things, put my "out of the office" message up and retire to being a dad for a few weeks without worrying about anything else.
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