Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Happy Birthday, Lexie AKA the wildest ride of my life.


29 years ago today, and around about this time of day, I was getting highly pissed off because the nurses at the "hospital" where we landed would not bring my brand new baby girl to my room. Instead, I had to get my sore and tore up ass out of bed, hobble down to the little "isolation" room and nurse her every hour or so. Oh, and I had to take my own pillow to put into the hard plastic chair they so graciously put there for me. I called the beautiful doctor who was supposed to help me deliver her in a hospital 25 minutes up the road, and I bitched and howled and cried.
Ok, I must stop here and tell you that I had a major thing for this doctor who was so caring, so tender and knew all the right things to say. He was fresh from school, a brand new family doctor and he was built like a lumberjack, had hands the size of baseball mitts and a black beard and long hair and a pot belly. But I would have been his for the asking. He was the sweetest, gentlest doctor I have ever known, and I have known tons of docs.
Ok, back to the story of Lex.
So I was sobbing into the phone to my sweet doctor, and he said, "I will call you back." So just a few minutes later, he called and said that I should get my baby and go home, and come to see him tommorrow morning. He teased me and asked me "You couldn't wait for a few miles so I could deliever her?"
You see, she was my second child. My son, who was and is 21 months older than her, was many hours of hard labor getting here, and he put me through the ringer and just was stubborn as hell about escaping the womb. I expected tha same from her. She, on the other hand, was in a huge ass hurry, and still is. What I thought was an upset stomach, turned out to be labor pain. But did the young dumb me ever wake up enough to consider it? The answer to that is no. So by 8 am I woke up to see my husband off to work and figured it out. By then, the pain was coming on about every 15 minutes. So I called my doc and he told us to meet him at his office in the next town in 1 hour. So i got my whale-like self out of the bed, walked to my dresser and BAM! The heavy duty labor started. I immediately knew I didn't have an hour. As we would find out later, I didn't have but about 15 minutes.
We got about halfway down the steps when my water broke as we headed to our Volkswagon Bug, (i know you are asking yourself VOLKSWAGON????) When my neighbor across the street came to get our small son, told her husband to take me in their CAMERO (also has a small back seat.) I told them to take me to the closest hospital, which turned out to be just up the hill and a few streets over, but the problem was it was a Community hospital, and more like a nursing home than a hospital. Every bump we went over her head popped out a little more and by the time we pulled up into the parking lot, she was crowning. For those who are not familiar with childbirth, this means the top of her head was popping in and out. I also was still wearing my underwear.
So we screeched to a halt in front of this "hospital" and h e ran in to get help, as my husband was trying to get me to do all that Lamaze we had learned to keep from having my baby in that Camero. I believe my neighbor was about to have a stroke but he was able to stick his head in for a close up of my crotch and exclaim "the baby is coming" and then he disappeared to get help. There is a lull in my memory here, but then I remember someone bringing a wheelchair and I just laughed hysterically. Like I could sit up, or even move, at that point.
So finally some doctor, I think, showed up and stuck his head in the car and just told me to go ahead and push because she was nearly out anyway. I have never heard any sweeter words. One or two big pushes later, she slithered out of me and into the waiting hands of the doctors and they ran inside the hospital with her and then somehow I was put on a stretcher and wheeled into a room to get my vagina looked at some more. They declared me to be ok, and wheeled me into a room with one other lady who had HER baby in the room with her. When I asked if I could have my baby now, please, I was told NO. My baby was born "outside hospital conditions" and was "contaminated" and in "isolation" and that I would have to go to her.
So that brings us back to the beginning of this little tale. To make a long story short, or a short story long, I took her home the same day she was born, in the little wicker basket my friends had bought for her, and we celebrated her together with our friends. She is a wonderful woman now with 2 kids of her own, and I am proud to say she is my daughter. She was in a hurry then, and is still in a hurry today. But she gets that from me, I guess.
A little side story. A few weeks after the happy occasion, my neighbor who drove us to the hospital said something was stinking up his car and maybe I left some placenta in there. I was horribly embarrassed and had no idea what to say to this.
After another week or so he came over and told me he had found the source of the smell, and it was some old bait he had in the trunk of his car and not placenta.
Thank God for that.
So that is the story of how Lex came into the world. Every year I have to retell that story to her 10 year old daughter.

Now You know.
Happy birthday Lex. I love you.

7 comments:

green-bean said...

Awwwww. NOW I WANNA HEAR MY STORY! D:<
lolololol

DaBee said...

No time for labor HAhA!! Love your story--Didn't your handsome doc warn you the second baby almost always comes quicker and easier? Who signed the birth certificate anyway? Sorry I missed the coming home celebration. LOL DaBee

GardeningJo said...

This is an amazing post - thank you for sharing it with us! Wow, my heart's beating a little faster, I was right there with you!

PS, I love your music selections!

Thauna said...

I love this story!!! Thank God that was bait in the neighbor's car. LOL, so funny. I'm so glad you shared with us. And a Happy Birthday to your daughter!

teri said...

I really think WE should get the cakes on birthdays instead of our kids. What did they do, after all? Look at all the work YOU did. Happy birthday, mama.

Cindy said...

Great story! I totally agree with Teri; it's the mamma's that went through the wringer to get these kids here that should do the celebrating! In fact, I just told my youngest that last Thursday! :) Happy belated Birthday Mom and daughter too!

OyaSophia said...

I tell my son his birth story every year on his birthday, just as my mother still tells me mine. I think it's a wonderful tradition! My son is 22, I am 50 and my mother is 81.