At approximately 12:45 am, Erin returned for another check of Lyndsay. In her words, Lyndsay was "almost 10 cm dilated" and she decided to have Lyndsay do some "practice pushes". Having been in the room for 3 previous labors, this sounded odd to me, but that was a long time ago, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
...and so, Erin had Lyndsay start her "practice pushes". Lyndsay did really well...so well, in fact, that Erin decided to go ahead and have her push for real. It was time to have a baby!
Lyndsay rose to the occasion despite her own self-doubt. She gave it everything she had, but there wasn't any real progress being made. Quinn would move down while Lyndsay pushed, and then return to the position he was in to begin with after the contractions were over. This went on for a little under 2 hours.
Finally, Erin declared that Quinn was transverse in the birth canal. She informed us that, at this point, we had 2 options:
1) Lyndsay could continue pushing for 4 or 5 hours and hope that Quinn's head turned to the proper position and still run a very high risk of having to undergo a C-Section if it didn't.
2) Go ahead and have a C-Section.
It seemed like a no-brainer to both of us, and preparations were made to send Lyndsay into the operating room.
Erin then went over the procedures with us while the the head/charge nurse and Lyndsay's nurse prepared to take her down. A different anesthesiologist came in and put the medicine that would completely numb Lyndsay for the C-Section into her epidural. Somewhere along the line, I was told "if the numbing medicine doesn't work properly, we would have to put her completely under. In that case, you would no longer be needed and would be asked to leave."
heh...I'd like to see them try to find someone large enough to move me if I didn't want to go...and I wasn't leaving Lyndsay's side, awake or not.
At around 2:50 am, Lyndsay was wheeled out of the room and I was left to get gowned and to wait for them to come let me know when I could go into the OR to see my son's birth.
Now, let me flash back to the birth of my second son, Aiden. A similar situation (pushing wasn't effective, his mother had to have an unplanned C-Section) occurred, and I was told they would come get me when it was okay to come into the OR...but I wasn't allowed to go in because they "didn't want me to pass out". Of all the lame ass excuses...
Back to 2014--I waited for what seemed like an eternity. I started having not-so-fond memories of the shit that was pulled the day Aiden was born, and I worried that I was being shut out once again. I paced...I worried...I ALMOST vocalized my thoughts...and then the charge nurse came and got me.
I entered the OR and Lyndsay was strapped to the table, looking like she was the appropriate mixture of excited, happy, relieved, worried, and terrified.
I took my seat over her shoulder and we waited for the magical moment.
At 3:15 am, one of the surgical team said "He's out!", but...
...no cry...
"Not a big deal," I thought. "Donovan (my oldest son) didn't cry either. He just needed a little help getting his lungs going."
Then the charge nurse brought our son to the other side of the surgical drape for us to see...
...He was blue from head to toe...
The nurse whisked Quinn away to the warming table and started a timer. She then proceeded to place a tube down his throat to suction the leftover amniotic fluid from his lungs.
The timer was at 1 minute and counting.
The nurse continues to work on Quinn.
"Why isn't he crying?" Lyndsay asked...she was still draped, so she wasn't able to see what I saw.
"They're working on him, baby," I said. "They're sucking all the gunk from his lungs so he can breathe on his own."
The timer was at 3 minutes...still no cry. The charge nurse made the decision to call a Code Pink, and various personnel came in and crowded around Quinn. I could no longer see him, but I could see his blood oxygen monitor, his pulse monitor and that infernal timer.
The anesthesiologist, hearing Lyndsay's questions and pleads for Quinn to cry, chimed in, "airways are my speciality. They have to suction out the amniotic fluid to clear his lungs so that they can get him started breathing..." she droned on as my mind swirled.
The timer was at 4 minutes...and my baby boy still wasn't crying.
I had done my best to keep a strong and reassuring face on, for Lyndsay's sake. At this point, however, I was going crazy inside.
I found myself dropping the reassuring act.
"Breathe, son...come on...breathe...give Daddy a cry. Cry for me, baby boy...please," I heard myself saying.
Then I heard a little cough. Then another...but, still no cry.
...5 minutes on the timer...
The coughs were mildly reassuring. You can't cough if you have no air in your lungs. That reassurance was short-lived, however, when I saw the monitors:
SpO2: 51%
Pulse: 90
"CRY, QUINN!"
I don't know whether I yelled it aloud or just screamed it in my head, but, to me, it was deafening...
5 minutes, 42 seconds on the timer...and then...
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
Quinn had announced himself to the world, and it was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life...
The Code Pink team mulled out of the way, and I saw Quinn "pink up" within seconds. He was kicking, screaming, and pissed the fuck off, and I loved it. He was 7 lbs. 5 oz. of raging piss and vinegar, and Daddy couldn't have been more proud.
The charge nurse swaddled him up and brought the new and improved (and in a much more attractive color!) Quinn over to properly meet us. They were still closing Lyndsay up, so she wasn't able to hold him, so the nurse handed him off to me, and I held him down next to his very tired and very relieved Mommy for her to say hi and shower him with kisses.
Now, I have to take a break in the action to mention one of the highlights of the entire experience (outside of Quinn turning out healthy and Lyndsay making it through intact), Dr. Xavier Ortiz.
Dr. Ortiz is, without a doubt, one of the most caring and professional physicians I have ever had the opportunity to meet.
After he finished closing Lyndsay up, I was on my way out of the OR to go inform her family about what happened, and I felt a tap on my shoulder. Dr. Ortiz had removed his surgical attire and was standing there with his hand out. He shook my hand, gave his congratulations, and patted me on the shoulder. None of my previous children's attending OBs ever made such a gesture. In many cases, the fathers are treated as an accessory at best and a nuisance at worst.
It was a small gesture, but, given the craziness that had just happened, I'll never forget it. Dr. Ortiz is a pure class act.
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So touching!
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