Up until now, the contractions were not so strong as to deprive Ginger of a sense of humor. For example, the hospital provides a laminated (don't ask) scale by which they ask you to "rate your pain" on a scale of one to ten. It's in a series of languages, which caused Ginger to joke that she wanted to have her labor in Tagolog because it didn't appear to have a word for "Excruciating," while sadly enough English apparently does. It also has a series of round "happy" faces, descending into a very sad looking frowny face. "Point to the frowny face that best corresponds to your pain." I think if I were asked such a question I would be tempted to point to my own face, perhaps with a finger other than the index. Anyway, on one occasion a nurse came in and asked her to rate her pain. Ginger said, "Four." And the nurse pulls out the laminated chart anyway, and asks her to point to the place on the chart that corresponds with her pain. I'm thinking, what, are they using different numbers between one and ten? Have six and four been transposed, making it necessary to clear up an ambiguity? The incident caused Jen, Christa, Ginger and I to joke that we needed a new scale. "Frolicking kitten, sad polar bear, or angry badger?"
Suffice it to say, we were now very clearly in the throes of angry badger.
Contractions are three minutes apart, and strong enough to cause Ginger to be unable to interact much while they're happening. I'm holding Ginger's right hand; Jen is holding her left. Christa is spelling both of us from time to time, mostly because I've been wearing the same dress shoes since 10:00 the day before and they're really killing me. (In fact, my comment to that effect -- "My shoes are killing me" -- was met with the very last thing Ginger said about anything other than her own pain, which I won't repeat here.)
We, being old pros at this, know that it's time to tell the nurse. Only problem -- shift change at 6:00. The nurse who comes in has to be brought up to speed on everything -- history, birth plan, etc. So we try to sound as old-pro as we can, to communicate that we're not the Nervous Nellie first-timers who want to see the doctor every time there's a contraction. I had even already put on my paper scrubs for the occasion. Maybe I fooled her into thinking I was a new doctor on the ward. In any event, I guess I communicated that I know transition when I see it.
The nurse, bless her heart, gets the doctor right away. He checks Ginger and finds her at 8 cm. And he says these words: "Given your history of quickly going from 8 to full, we'll put you in the OR now." First we're told that Ginger can have me and one other person in the OR; Jen graciously agrees to let Christa go, as she's new to this. Then the perinatologist asks for another set of scrubs for Jen -- all three of us are going! Oh, right, and Ginger. Ginger asks the perinatologist that even though we know the girls will be headed for the NICU right away, can they spend some time on her belly before they go? He says yes, but that we'll literally only have a minute with Baby A because the cervix will start to close if you wait too long before continuing. Uh, yeah, a minute would be fine, we say.
Yes! Wheeling down the hall, turning the corner into the OR. And then Christa, Jen and I are stopped at the doors. They want us to wait while they get set up, then we can join. Ginger is wheeled through the doors and out of sight. We make small talk in the hallway, mostly about how ridiculous we look in paper scrubs, but also about how they really bring out my blue eyes. At least, that's what I remember.
Finally, we go in. Ginger's already on the table, but they're installing the stirrups. The perinatologist is barking orders, but in a totally nice way, 'cause it's his job and all. Ginger's had a few more contractions since we were separated, but I take my place, this time at her left hand (with Christa behind me), while Jen takes her right. A few more contractions, some small talk in between, then PUUUUUUSH.
It took a grand total of three pushes to get Anna out. It's 7:03. True to his word, the perinatologist put Anna up on Ginger's belly. We petted her and named her. Then they took her to one of the tables, and we were back to work. A bit of trouble -- the perinatologist seems to be handling a live squid for a bit there -- and then Evelyn is born at 7:09 and is placed on Ginger's belly. I'm then handed Anna, all wrapped up -- exactly what we were told in advance was impossible for a NICU baby. Ginger gets Evelyn in the same condition.
Then it's off to the NICU. I follow and watch them unwrap and begin to prep them for their isolettes. Jen and Christa stay with Ginger and follow her to the recovery room.
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