Nurses started flooding into Lindsay's room. They explained that Lindsay would receive a "spinal"--which meant that I would be allowed to be in the delivery room with her. One of them handed me a face mask, a full length, yellow gown, and two blue booties for my shoes. I'm not exactly sure what changed, but just as I finished adorning myself with the medical gear that was given to me, the doctor told Lindsay and me that she would be given general anesthesia--completely sedated--which meant I would not be allowed in the room with her for delivery. Upon hearing this I went to Lindsay's bedside. I told her that I loved her and that I would see her soon. I kissed her, turned to the nurses, and asked in a near shrill, "What do I do??"
The nurses prepared Lindsay's bed to be moved. One of them turned the bed so it was in the direction of the door. Another nurse gathered Lindsay's IV stand together. Finally one of them said, "Someone will come and get you."
"So I stay here??"
Lindsay was being wheeled through the door with the entourage of nurses, and the last nurse replied, "Yes, stay here," as she passed through the doorway.
Just as the ambulance ride from Bloomington to St. Vincent's three nights prior, Lindsay was being transported and I couldn't be with her. I allowed the tears and emotions to rise up and consume me as I was now alone in the room. I felt ridiculous standing there in that emptiness. I felt purposeless. I ripped off all the medical clothing and guards I was wearing and began making phone calls to family. In a shaky voice with tears running down my face, I informed them one by one that Dorian was on his way.
I was on the phone with my sister in Florida when a nurse burst into the room. "Come on!" she barked at me. I put my phone in my pocket, and I raced side by side with this woman down the hall, past the nurses' station, through the lobby, and into a part of the hospital I hadn't been before. "Where's all your stuff??" she demanded of me.
I immediately knew she was referring to the gown, mask, and booties I was no longer wearing. "I was told that I couldn't come in," I explained to her as we came to a set of large double doors.
"Well," she said, "things have changed." She pressed a button on the wall and the doors opened for us. We continued our quick pace down another hallway, turned a corner, and we were met by another nurse standing beside a cart with shelves. The nurse that guided me here grabbed a face mask off the top shelf and handed it to me as the second nurse assisted me with a gown. "You'll need these," the first nurse said as she attempted to put the booties on my size 13's. She managed to get them both over the toe sections and declared, "Good enough!" A hand was placed on my back, and I was shoved through another set of double doors that I had failed to even notice directly in front of me.
The room I entered was very bright--I remember that. I immediately saw Lindsay on a table a few feet in front of me to my right. There were curtains (thankfully) around her body, and 3 doctors surrounded her. "Over here," a firm voice said. I followed it to a man standing behind an empty chair which had been placed at the head of the table by Lindsay's face. I went to it quickly and sat down.
"Hey baby," Lindsay said sleepily.
"Hey," I replied through my mask.
"We're having a baby," she said calmly with a smile.
"You're going to feel some pressure," the doctor said suddenly. The table that Lindsay was laying on shook, and Lindsay furrowed her brow slightly.
After 29 weeks 5 days, at 9:36am on March 4th 2012, Dorian was born.
He let out a small cry as the doctor held him up for us to see. "He sounds like a kitten," Lindsay said. He wasn't nearly as small as I dared to imagine. I remember he looked long, gray, and not too happy. I could definitely see some mats of hair on his head. I didn't have long to look before he was whisked away to a station on the opposite side of the room.
"He looks good," I said through tears as I squeezed Lindsay's hand.
"We made a baby," Lindsay said with a smile.
"Yes we did," I replied with a nervous, elated chuckle.
"Two pounds. Fifteen ounces," the nurse caring for Dorian informed the room. "And sixteen inches." Dorian was then taken to another room through a door and out of our sight.
"He looks good," the doctor proclaimed. "I think he peed on me." I looked at the doctor from my seated position, and I noticed some clear droplets on his shoulder. "That's a good sign," he said. "That means everything's working."
That's when we heard it.
The first night we were at St. Vincent's (Friday night), I was taking a break in the lobby on the second floor. It was sometime after 8pm, I had just woken up from a 4 hour nap, and I left Lindsay alone in her room to rest. The lobby is rather long with couches, chairs, tables, and a television. On the north wing of the lobby is the "High Risk Unit" (where Lindsay was). "Regular" deliveries occurred through the double doors at the south. There were two families sitting in a group just outside those latter double doors. I sat on a couch alone near the north end. I could hear their excited conversations about their new grandson, granddaughter, baby, bundle of joy, etc. Being in the emotional, exhausted state that I was at that time, I sat quietly staring off into nothing. I thought it was interesting that, from where we were sitting, we literally represented the spectrum of emotions regarding the arrival of a new life. Suddenly over the PA system "Lullaby" by Brahms played softly.
"Whose is it?!" I heard a female voice shout with excitement.
"Is it ours?" another woman asked.
I soon figured out that every time a baby is delivered at St. Vincent's, the lullaby is played. It was too much for me to handle at that moment, and I went back through the double doors leading into the High Risk Unit and Lindsay's room. Looking back now, I'll admit that the lullaby is very cute and lovely.
But that's not what Lindsay and I heard.
When Dorian was born we heard the "Imperial March" from Star Wars (aka Darth Vader's music). "Is that what they're playing for Dorian??" Lindsay asked me.
I looked up and saw a nurse walk toward a table across the room. She picked up a cell phone where the song was originating and silenced it. "It's just a ring tone," I explained to Lindsay.
"Okay," she said, and we both laughed.
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