Greetings little humans, part 1 of ?

Since we are about to have another birth experience, it is time for me to finish the story of the boys’ birth so I keep everything straight. I’ve been writing it out in bits and pieces for two years – temporarily losing the bits of paper with large chunks and never in the mood to start from scratch. But I’ve found everything now so here we go...

Prologue

One mid-January afternoon, at 34 weeks of pregnancy, I walked into what would be my 19^th and final ultrasound (background information as to why so many ultrasounds). The technician told us the amniotic fluid surrounding Baby B (aka “The Little One” who would be Jonah) was low and both boys’ weight gain velocity had slowed. He conferred with the doctor, who decided it was hatching time.

So the technician held out his arm. It took me a few long moments to realize he meant to escort me to the maternity ward.

“They’re going to be born right now?" I asked, a bit bewildered, but also more relieved than you can possibly imagine. It will finally be over. A few minutes later my OB came bearing the unpleasant news that the boys wouldn’t be born until the next morning. I had to spend the night hooked up to three heart rate monitors, one for each of us.

Maternity beds are obviously designed to be as uncomfortable as possible so that women are motivated to deliver ASAP. They are not designed to provide a good night’s sleep – the last you will have in a long time – dare I say ever.

One of the nurses assigned to me had given birth to four sets of twins (!!), three of which survived. As a rule, I don’t like nurses, but she was very nice and sympathetic to my phobia of all things medical.

And thinking of how chaotic her life must be certainly took my mind off my own miserable existence. I was connected to three heart monitors all night so every time I adjusted my position (which, in desperate attempts to get comfortable, was every four minutes), alarms went off because one heartbeat or another disappeared.

At some point that evening the anesthesiologist came in and explained what would happen during the c-section the next morning. You know how some women have elaborate birth plans with stipulations regarding immediate breastfeeding, no drugs, only wear the color orange, and all that?

“Here’s my birth plan,” I told her. “I don’t want to remember anything. In fact, if you could just knock me out right now and wake me up in a few weeks, that would be perfect.”

(to be continued)