Just so this doesn't get lost to the ravages of time, I thought it fitting to give an account (mine, at least) of Jonathan's birth:
Our tale begins on July 4th weekend. While having a July 4th baby would've been fun, I was grateful to have that last day off; it seems like we'd been running all over doing everything for the past several months: trips to Home Depot, trying to get everything packed and prepared and ready for the big day. There wasn't much to do on the 4th, so we mostly just relaxed around the house.
On the morning of the 5th, Marci comes out of the bathroom and informs me that she thought she'd just lost her mucous plug. According to all the books and everything, that means probably 24-48 hours. This came as somewhat of a relief to Marci, who'd been afraid that with all her Braxton-Hicks contractions and already being dilated almost to 4cm, she'd completely miss the early part of labor and not realize she was having the baby until it was too late to get to the hospital.
Whether physical or psychological, she started having stronger contractions about 9 or 10AM, but as the morning progressed, they subsided and we went about the rest of our day. We didn't really go anywhere or do much on Saturday because we thought real labor could be just a moment away, so Marci napped while I played games and puttered around the house.
We went to bed about 10:30 that night; Marci was having somewhat stronger contractions again, and I felt her get up and leave the bed about 11. There wasn't much I could do, so I slept. Marci also rested a little while, but started having really strong contractions at 1AM. She was told to wait until they were 5 minutes apart for an hour, so she dealt with that until 2AM, when she woke me up and said it was time to go to the hospital. The contractions were still bearable, so we took a shower, got dressed, double-checked that we had everything, and we headed up to the emergency room at Providence. She walked all the way to the elevators and we rode up to the 5th floor. They took her to this little room to observe whether she was actually in progressing labor or not. It was about 3AM. They hooked her up to a couple of devices and had her lay in the bed for about an hour before admitting her. Somewhere in the middle, another lady came in to be observed and they put her in the same room, so they shooed me out to the waiting room. More tired than worried, I closed my eyes for a while to prepare for the long day ahead.
A little after 4AM, we moved to one of the posh birthing suites at Providence; if I'd known we were only going to be there for a few minutes, I'd have snapped a picture, but alas, I thought we had plenty of time. It was about 4:30 when I notified the grandparents (our parents) to start heading this way. Just minutes after that, Marci's obstetrician came in to check things out. He talked to her about a epidural and started getting ready to break her water and really get the labor underway. He had the big plastic crochet hook unwrapped and ready to break her water, but first he started checking her to feel for the suture lines (the gaps between the plates in baby's skull) just to double-check that everybody knew their marks and was ready to go. He said he wasn't feeling them and went to get an ultrasound machine to check. Sure enough, down there we had a back and some legs, and up at the top of Marci's belly was his little head.
At that moment, my baby wasn't the only thing upside-down; my whole world had been flipped over. Marci's pregnancy had been picture perfect; never a bad test or checkup, never an abnormal problem or discomfort, just a happy, smooth sailing pregnancy.
Suddenly, they're talking about prepping for surgery.
We're both in tears; this is not the way this was supposed to go. The anesthesiologist comes in and explains the process, using really bad anesthesiologist humor to try to calm our nerves.
They wheel my wife and unborn son away and I'm left alone in the room that was supposed to be our home for the next 6-12 hours. The nurses give me a surgical gown, a mask, and some booties that I'm barely able to fit around my shoes.
5:30AM: All the parents have arrived. Mom took her time. Mary and Jim must've flown. If my garb didn't give away our new situation, the pale look on my face surely did. Like clockwork, I have just enough time to explain what's going on before they tell me that it's time for me to go to the operating room. A quick, silent prayer, and a minute having the nurse help me get my mask tied properly, and there she is -- my best friend, my lover, my wife -- awake and shivering on the surgical table. Part of my brain flashes back to that first day of marching band practice, thinking, "wow, she's cute." Who'd have ever guessed then that I'd one day be sitting in an operating room with her as our son was being born.
I ask how she's feeling. She says she can't feel anything below her waist and asks if they're starting soon. "Oh, yeah, we've already started." At least we know the anesthesia worked.
Just a few minutes pass. 5:51AM. They pull him out -- he's quiet at first, but then he starts his (now familiar) crying. What a healthy set of lungs on this kid!
Still behind the surgical curtain, they cut the cord and clean off most of the gunk on him. He's passed to a nurse to be weighed and measured (6 pounds, 14 ounces, 19 inches long), and I get to see him for the first time (He's got a head full of hair just like his Dad!):
The nurses wrap him in a blanket and hand him to me. I think, Wow, he's not nearly as ugly as I had thought he would be. In fact, he's kinda cute. The doctor asks me what I think about him; I say, "I think we'll keep him."
I glance back at Marci and see the doctor throwing blood-soaked gauze in a bin. Okay, there goes any interest I had in watching what they were doing.
I take him back to the stool I was sitting on by Marci's head. I try to lean and show him to her, but she's laying flat on her back (she's not wearing her glasses either, so at most she could only see a pink blur anyway).
They escort Jonathan and me to the recovery room and put him under a warmer and attach a monitor.
Over 30 minutes pass before Marci is wheeled into the recovery room. During that time Jonathan got pretty fussy, but he was happy to suck on Daddy's pinkie. Once Marci had a little time to get her bearings, she starts trying to nurse him. Finally, our family is all together. I with them for a while, and then step out to give our parents an update.
The rest, as they say, is history. While this was far from the experience we were expecting (and is rather something we were quite hoping against), in the end we got a beautiful baby boy, and both mother and child came through this time healthy and safe. While it's not the experience I wanted, I'm grateful for the way things turned out.
My son, Jonathan Gabriel Dieterich, was born at 5:51AM on July 6, 2008. May God watch over him all the days of his life, and give his parents the wisdom, strength, and compassion to raise and guide him along the path that He has set out for him.