Paper 2 “Dresden”

Jeremiah Adams

Eng Comp 121

David Thorn

8 April 2009

Dresden

Nostalgically, I remember that day which changed my life forever. It was 3 a.m., that 30^th of May 2007, Kari and I nestled comfortably side-by-side in our queen size bed, which was perfectly centered, along the tallest wall in our master bedroom. Above us, a ceiling fan gently whorled. Next to it, a skylight poured moonlight onto the foot of our bed where our two cats lay intertwined, basking in the moonlight like a pair of kindred lovers. In the corner, pillows and blankets smother an empty white basinet waiting patiently for our new son Dresden.

Suddenly, I felt a nudge on my right shoulder, then Kari’s voice: “He keeps kicking me…Jeesh.” Kari reached across the bed, grabbed my left hand, and gently laid my palm atop her pregnant belly. Moments later, I felt her entire stomach clamp down as if to hug our unborn son. For the next fifteen seconds, I could feel the definition of my son’s body through her abdomen. Kari asked, “Did you feel that? He is really moving.” Curiously, I thought to myself, “It seemed like your belly moved, not our son.” I found it odd Kari couldn’t tell the difference, but I held my tongue because she’s a nurse and probably knows better than me. I immediately checked the time on my wrist watch, then replaced my hand atop her belly. I asked, “How long has he been moving?” Kari replied, “About two hours now. I didn’t want to wake you”. After some time passed, I felt it again. But this time, I became certain her belly moved, not our son. Subtly, I drew my hand away from her stomach and peered at my wrist watch, carefully counting the minutes passing between these “movements.” I count to myself, “One, Two Three, Four, and Five… Five minutes!”

Instantly, our obstetrician’s words reverberated throughout my thoughts: “There is plenty of time to get to the hospital, so don’t freak out. Take your time, support her and drive carefully. Remember, most deliveries take 12 hours, and the most dangerous part of any delivery is the commute.”

Calmly I looked over at Kari and reiterated, “I don’t know love. I think it’s your belly moving, not our son…” again Kari replied, “No, it’s him moving, I’m sure of it.” Respectfully, I accepted her response and laid my palm on her belly again. Patiently I waited, until again I could feel the silhouette of my son through her abdomen. I inquired, “Is he moving now?” Kari replied, “Ya.” I glanced at my wrist watch and thought, “Five minutes again!” I stated, “Love, this is happening every five minutes. You’re having labor contractions.” Kari replied, “Are you sure?” I emphasized, “Well every time you thought he was moving, he wasn’t. It was your stomach contracting.”

I hopped out of bed and flicked on the bedroom light. Kari said, “I’m not sure these are contractions. Let’s call the clinic’s emergency line and see what they say.” Kari grabbed the phone, dialed the number to our obstetrician’s after-hours service, and got an answering machine. Calmly, she spoke our contact information into the phone, requested a quick response and hung up. After the phone call Kari stated, “I’m going to soak in the bath till they call back. Maybe he will stop moving.” I thought to myself, “It isn’t him moving but… okay.” Meanwhile, I dressed while simultaneously packing a suitcase full of the necessities a hospital doesn’t provide. Sluggishly I hauled the suitcase down stairs and placed it by the front door.

The phone began to ring! Hastily, I darted to the stairs and jogged up them, skipping every other. I entered the bathroom and sat quietly on the toilet next to the bath. Kari answered the phone, “Hello.” Quietly, I sat next to the bathtub, willfully containing my anxiety, trying to subtly eavesdrop on the murmuring female voice streaming from the phone’s earpiece. Kari informed her of what transpired, and then paused for a response. During the pause my ears transformed into that of a K-9 because from a distance of three feet, I heard every word said to Kari: “Those are contractions; you need to check into the hospital. I will notify your doctor and she will meet you there.” Kari relied, “Okay, we are on our way.” Immediately she drained the tub and I helped her step out. She dressed as quickly as a bursting woman could and asked for help down the stairs. Like an over sized penguin Kari waddled down the stairs, leaning slowly from right to left to right… At the bottom, we both threw on our jackets and out the door we went.

After getting her situated inside the car, Kari’s labor pain’s begun. Suddenly, all the pregnancy TV programs we preparedly studied flashed through my mind. One in particular stood out and became my mind’s focus. I recalled watching a woman give birth in the back seat of a car while her husband drove to the hospital. That mental image sent a shock through my system, causing my stomach to wrench sideways. I thought,” I CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN!” Quickly I ran around the car, got in and cranked the ignition. Instinctually I wanted to drive like a bat out of hell. Luckily our doctor’s message, “Drive safely” still echoed within the recesses of my mind, arresting my impulses. As we drove, each pot hole sent whimpers of pain from Kari’s mouth. Suddenly, a nemesis came into focus – a nemesis in which I could focus all my attention and anxiety – pot holes. With hawk eyes, I scanned the road, targeting pot holes, swerving around them as elegantly as an ice skating champion. The deeper we traveled into downtown Denver, the rougher the roads became. Eventually the hospital came into focus and I found it easier to simply visualize a top-heavy steaming coffee cup sitting ominously atop the dashboard.  

Finally, we arrived at the famous Rose Medical Center. We chose the esteemed hospital because of its reputation among medical personnel and doctors.  That reputation boosted Rose Medical Center as “America’s best labor and delivery hospital”, and was nationally advertised as “#1 in the Nation”. As we approached, four different emergency entrances came into view. I drove into the closest emergency room parking lot. Carefully, I aligned the car into a parking space assuring Kari ample room to exit the vehicle. We glanced upwards to see a sign: “EMERCENGY VEHICALS ONLY.” As I peered around at the other parking spaces, all of them presented an identical sign. I glanced at the emergency entrance, noticing a sign: “NO PUBLIC ACCESS… please use street entrance.” Quickly, I pulled out of the parking lot and parked in front of the emergency street entrance. An orderly strolled up to the car, tapped on the window, and informed us curbside parking was not allowed. I exclaimed, “My wife is in labor! I’ll come back and move it in a few minutes!” He retorted, “You will get towed if you do so.” I turned to Kari and instructed her to go into the hospital while I parked the car. After watching her enter the hospital, I parked the car one block away and ran non-stop untill I entered the hospital.

After I entered the hospital, we re-registered because our pre-registration information disappeared. Afterwards, we slowly made our way to the elevator and traveled to the third floor. We stepped off the elevator, turned left and made our way down a long beige sterile hallway until we arrived at a nurses’ station. Two nurses greeted us with, “Hello!” and assigned us a labor room.    

Our labor room offered a spacious five hundred square foot octagonal layout, containing every amenity an expecting mother could want. Entering the room, the longest wall ran along the right side. A labor bed sat centered, with its head board butted to the right wall. On either side of the bed, cherry cabinets ran the walls length. Immediately to the right, embedded in the cabinets and almost behind the door, a peculiar contraption with heating lamps reminded all who entered: This is not a hotel room. To the left, two angled walls held three doors. Each door offered more and more luxurious pleasantries for the pregnant type. The first door, closest upon entering, opened into a large bathroom with an enormous single shower, sink, oversized toilet and a specialized hand rail system for standing births. The second door, right next to the first door, provided inhabitants all desired supplies. The third door, some feet from the second door, opened into another bathroom containing a jetted Jacuzzi bathtub for water births or relaxation.

Upon entering the glorious labor room, Kari undressed, slipped into a hospital gown and gently slid onto the labor bed. Meanwhile, I unloaded my over-burdened arms, called family members, and pulled a chair next to the bed. Glancing up from my perch, I noticed the time was 6 a.m. and I began to wonder, “What’s next?” Moments later, a nurse entered and begun to stretch three long Velcro strips around Kari’s mountainous abdomen. As the nurse proceeded, she explained, “The straps identify contractions, measure heartbeats and monitor respiratory activities. The information is fed into the monitoring device to my right.” Finished, the nurse felt Kari’s cervix, remarking, “You’re at one centimeter. I will check you again in two hours.”  The nurse offered Kari water and exited the room explaining, “I’ll be back. If you need assistance just press the call button.” As the door closed, Kari remarked, “It’s almost their 7 a.m. shift change. I bet she just wants to go home so the next nurse can deal with us.”

For the next hour and a half, I watched Kari manage her contractions, held her hand, caressed her, soothed her worries and reaffirmed all’s well. Her moans reminded me of a chiming grandfather clock demanding my undivided attention. The only difference: Kari’s chiming moans didn’t arrive on the hour but rather every five minutes. Each of Kari’s moaning chimes were accompanied by squirms of discomfort which she could not control. Every moan and squirm slowly dissolved any sense of security I held, until I was stripped naked and unsure what each new moment would bring. Any witness to the scene would surely have described us as engaged in an agonizing dance, a dance in which Kari led and I helplessly followed.

At one point we called the nurse in to check Kari’s progress. After the nurse viewed the monitor she stated,” I’m not sure you’re in labor because everyone manages pain differently. Try walking around or laying in the Jacuzzi. I’ll check your cervix at two hours, at which point we’ll likely send you home.” The nurse left the room again repeating, “If you need anything just push the call button.” After the door closed Kari remarked, “I can’t believe she doesn’t think I’m in labor! I can’t believe she doubts my pain threshold! I’m a goddamn nurse!” I replied, “Well let’s try walking around.”

For thirty minutes we paced the room, then the halls, and then the room again, failing to assuage her pain. Every few minutes Kari’s contractions seemed to intensify. With every contraction, Kari became more and more anxious until she exclaimed, “Nothing is helping! Can you help me into the Jacuzzi?” I drew warm water into the bath and helped her enter. Kari adjusted the Jacuzzi jets to no avail. Like a fish halfway out of water, she flopped around, moaning from the agony of labor pains. The bathroom door opened and our doctor peered inside. The doctor yelled over the bubbling noise, “You doing ok?” Kari exclaimed, “NO! Nothing is helping!” The doctor replied, “Put your gown on and lay in bed so I can check you out.”

Soon Kari lay in bed while our doctor examined her and our nurse nonchalantly peered over the doc’s shoulder. Our doctor commented, “WOW! Five centimeters. How long ago did you arrive?” I replied, “We arrived an hour and a half ago.” Kari added, “The nurse was going to send us home because she thought I wasn’t in labor. She wouldn’t check me till hour two.” The doctor subtly turned at the torso and briefly glared at the nurse, then turned back, facing us again. The doctor replied, “Hang in there sweetie. Do you want an epidural?” Kari affirmed, “Yes!” and continued, “We had a cesarean scheduled for next week because I’m a high-risk pregnancy.” The doctor replied, “Well let’s get the anesthesiologist in here to administer an epidural, and we’ll take it from there.” Our Doctor continued, “Sadly, I have a scheduled procedure to attend to, but Doctor Sally, can fill in for me. Is that okay? Otherwise, I can cancel my procedure.” Kari replied, “Dr Sally is fine, we like her.” Both the doctor and nurse turned to leave the room. As the nurse followed, I couldn’t help but notice a regretful glance back at Kari and me.

Till 7:40 a.m., Kari and I waited alone in the room, expecting an anesthesiologist to enter at anytime. Kari’s moans progressively increased until only three to four minutes passed between them. Her moans, gestures and squirms became more and more dramatic. During a break between contractions I exclaimed, “Dammit! When are they going to get here?” Kari replied, “It’s a hospital. It could take hours.” Twenty minutes later, a massive contraction caused Kari to shriek, sending shivers down my spine. My eyes grew wide with horror. She turned, looked into my eyes with a ghastly expression, crying out in terror: “SOMETHING’S WRONG!” I felt as if my heart stopped. Immediately I snatched the nurse assistance button, pressing it firmly. I listened, hoping to hear a voice, while next to me Kari melted in agony. Seconds later, I decided I could wait no longer.  I dashed around the labor bed, leaping for the door. I reached out and awkwardly grasped the door lever and yanked the cumbersome wooden beast. Mid-yank, Kari shrieked again. I spun around. Buckling in pain Kari screamed, “THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG!” Just as she finished the outburst, I heard an odd “pop” sound from her body. In a whoosh, bloody water gushed from between her bent spread legs, soaking the bed. I flung the door open to find two nurses chatting pleasantly at the nurses’ station fifty yards away. I yelled with as much authority as I could muster, “WE NEED HELP DOWN HERE… NOW!” A minute later, the two nurses poked their heads in asking, “What’s going on?” I exclaim, “She thinks something’s wrong!”

The two nurses meandered to her bed side. One presented herself as our new nurse and checked the status of Kari and our son. Consolingly she remarked, “Ohh, it’s alright dear, your water just broke, let’s get you cleaned up.” In coordination the two nurses lifted Kari and pulled an absorbent pad from below her, replacing it with a couple more. Then they walked over to the supply closet, pulling items out and placing them at the foot of the bed. Meanwhile, Kari squirmed and shuddered for several more rounds of contractions. Suddenly, Kari made an unmistakable sound. She made a demonic sound which sent my mind racing. Instantly, I understood the severity of our present situation. This amazing “Nation’s best hospital” had failed to keep pace with Kari’s labor. Enraged I turned and stared at the two nurses standing at the foot of Kari’s bed. There they stood, relaxed, engaged in their own little world. I glared at them as they opened supplies and bantered comically about a personal matter. I injected forcefully, “Did you hear that?” Before they could reply, I injected again, “SHE IS PUSHING!”

The nurses frenzied, dropping their work. One ran to the phone, the other assessed Kari. Kari pushed again. The nurse assessing Kari reached down, felt her cervix and announced, “She’s at ten centimeters!” Then she nervously stated, “Try not to push dear.” I thought to myself, “Ten inches means, FULL CROWN!!!”  A minute later, our anesthesiologist rolled in with a large cart followed by an army of nurses. At this point in her labor, Kari could not help but to push. Quickly the nurses pulled Kari upright into a sitting position with her lower legs dangling off the left side of the bed. Meanwhile, the anesthesiologist prepared to perform an epidural. I thought to myself, “She can’t have an epidural past eight centimeters. Why are they giving her one?” Immediately I visualized a TV program depicting a patient, bear hugging her knees, while an epidural needle injected her spin. But before I could voice my concern, the anesthesiologist said, “Hold perfectly still I’m going to pierce your spinal cord. HOLD PERFECTLY STILL!” As the needle approached her back, a horrendous contraction began causing Kari to grunt and bear down more ferociously than any prior contraction. Like two boa constrictors, I wrapped my arms around Kari, cinching them tight and then tighter again. My legs stiffened into tree trunks and my feet grew roots, holding us perfectly still. Like a super sense, I used my peripheral vision to assess and predict any notion of movement, countering with forceful precision. Internally terrified, I intrepidly prevented Kari from becoming a paraplegic because of a slight nudge or twitch.

Just as Kari’s contraction ended, the anesthesiologist finished inserting a needle into her spine and asked that she lay back on the bed. Moments later, one of the countless nurses noticed I had begun to hyperventilate and requested I take a breather. Without question, I stepped back five feet and gathered my wits. Withdrawn from the situation, I began to feel tingles run throughout my body. Moments later, I felt recovered. I proceeded to scan the room, noticing five nurses, Kari lying on the bed, and several carts scattered about. Then Doctor Sally entered the room, and I instantly returned to Kari’s bed side.

Moments after Doctor Sally entered, she proclaimed, “I got the page! You’re having a baby!” At this point Kari had begun to feel relief from the epidural. She replied, “Yea! hopefully all goes well. We scheduled a cesarean operation for next Tuesday because I’m high risk. He came early.” Doctor Sally replied, “If you like we can perform the operation. But your recovery time will be much longer. What would you like to do?” Kari replied, “Lets try vaginally.”

Situated at my perch, I noticed a nurse preventing someone from entering the room. Curiously, I watched as she spoke to whoever opened the door. The nurse turned, and looked at me, mouthing, “It’s your parents.” I replied, “Please ask them to wait outside. I’ll be with them shortly.” While this familial distraction took place, Doctor Sally spoke privately to her staff. Finally I had a chance to look in Kari’s eyes, without distraction. I expressed my love for her and caressed her hand for a minute or two while the nursing staff transformed our room into a birthing center.

After the transformation, our hospitable room appeared adequately suited for our situation. Near the entrance, that peculiar contraption now glowed in a halo of heating lamps. Below the halo of light, a platform firmly sat, adorned with soft blankets. Next to the contraption, seemingly guarding our door, three nurses stood at attention attuned to every movement. Above the bed, long extendable surgical lamp fixtures reached from a hiding spot far up in the ceiling, shinning on their intended targets. Nurses traversed the bed’s perimeter moving from cart to cart like a swarm of bees, preparing interments and serums necessary for labor. In the center of this commotion the labor bed sat, now projecting birthing stirrups from its base.

Accustomed to the commotion, Doctor Sally asked Kari, “Can you place your heels in these stirrups? If not, we can help you.” Complacently, Kari lifts her legs, placing them in the stirrups jutting from the base of her bed. Doctor Sally warns, “Now I’m going to fold part of the bed out from under you. Don’t be alarmed.” Kari shook her head in acknowledgment. Quickly, almost half the bed folded into itself, cutting its surface area nearly in half. Doctor Sally asked, “How are you feeling?” Kari replied, “Much better now that I had the epidural.” Sarcastically, she continued, intending the nurses to overhear, “Man I wish I had this an hour ago when I was five centimeters.”

Unaware of prior events, Doctor Sally asked a nearby nurse to roll a mirror into place in order for Kari to witness our son’s birth. With the mirror adjusted and in place, Doctor Sally stated, “Kari, I want you to push with each contraction. Make sure you bear down.” For the next ten minutes, Kari pushed but seemingly became more and more distracted mid-effort. Knowing Kari’s twisted-nurse thought process. I remarked, “Stop watching yourself push and focus on pushing.” Kari turned her head towards me and giggled in a sick perverted way only another nurse could truly appreciate, replying, “But it’s so interesting.” I demanded, “Push!” Meanwhile, apparently Doctor Sally understood all too well Kari’s fascination for biological functions because she quickly threatened, after my “Push” remark, “If you don’t start pushing I will remove the mirror.” Immediately Kari began to push but again she tapered off mid-effort to examine the effects. Doctor Sally projected loudly, “Please remove the mirror.” Suddenly a nurse removed the mirror stowing it in a nearby corner. Doctor Sally commanded, “I need you to focus and push!” Over the next ten minutes, Kari pushed well with every contraction. Perched next to her bedside, I began to see an odd shape emerge from her vagina.

     From inside Kari’s vagina emerged a white banana-shaped pale protrusion. Immediately I thought, “OHH MY GOD SOMETHING IS WRONG! How could that be my son’s head? It looks flattened like a pancake!” Patiently I waited while Kari pushed. With every grunt, another centimeter protruded from Kari. Soon I realized what I saw as a pale banana-shaped object was merely my son’s scalp folding under the pressure. Soon I saw a fragile cranium emerging from Kari’s vagina. Moments later, I noted the cranial protrusion slowed and I glanced up. Doctor Sally yelled, “Kari you have to push NOW! THE BABY IS IN DISTRESS!  PUSH LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”  I turned to Kari exclaiming, “PUSH…PUSH…PUSH… DON’T YOU STOP!”

Suddenly, my son’s head slipped out of Kari. As he arrived, facing upwards towards both Doctor Sally and me, he cried. Doctor Sally held his head level ordering, “VACUME!” Suddenly, a nearby nurse on standby, prepared for this very directive, injected tubes into his mouth and nasal passages, sucking mucus from his lungs. Doctor Sally peered up at Kari spouting, “One last final push!” Kari pushed with all her might, forcing my son’s body to slip out of her.

As Doctor Sally handed our baby off to nearby nurses, I couldn’t help but notice his purple color. I thought, “He looks the color of a grape!” Immediately, I worried but was drawn back to Kari as Doctor Sally assessed her vaginal tears. Doctor Sally fingered Kari’s tears while asking, “Would you like a husband’s stitch?” Kari replied, “Sure.”

Confident Kari was in the best hands; I circled the bed while dodging nurses and made my way towards our son. Immediately I noticed his color had returned to normal. Calmly, I stepped outside to thank my parents for coming. Just as I exited the room and entered the hallway, a nurse slipped around from behind me asking, “ARE YOU THE FATHER?” I quickly replied, “Yes.” She pushed my son into my arms yelling, “FOLLOW ME, QUICKLY!” My mind raced as we jogged down the hall to the neonatal unit. I thought, “What could be wrong? I acted diligently and kept the hospital staff on pace with his birth… WHAT COULD BE WRONG?” As we entered the neonatal unit, the nurse I had shadowed so diligently snatched my son from my arms, placing him under another heat lamp then laying an oxygen mask atop his face. I asked, “WHATS WRONG? WHAT’S GOING ON?” The nurse replied, “Nothing. We just administer oxygen when a child pauses half way through the birth canal because fluid can linger in the lungs.

Eventually, the nurse handed my son to me. We weighed him and traveled back to the labor room. As I entered, I noticed my parents next to the bed where Kari laid peacefully, waiting to meet our son. Gently, I handed our son to my wife. She caressed him endearingly and kissed him repeatedly. To my left, on the nightstand I noticed a medical form reading, Dresden Michael Adams, born May 30^th 2007 at 8:30 a.m. weighing 7.01lbs. I thought to myself, “What a beautiful day it turned out to be.”