note to self: hard to update blog when ‘free time’ mainly consists of getting to shove food in your mouth, your breast in someone else’s mouth, or even more elusively; sleep sweet sleep.

Today:

6:45 – Woke up to alarm and bewildering mass of long limbs skirmishing all over the bed until he realized the early one was set for me and not him.

7:00 – dressed and cleaned, I found hardware that lets me access the hospital with a modicum of legitimacy (student badge, security swipe card). Shoved dried apricot into mouth in order to be able to claim I “ate breakfast” should anyone ask. Shoved more apricots into handbag in case the un-hungry feeling present before daylight hours should later pass.

7:10 – knocked on my (former) preceptor’s door because her car was blocking mine in the driveway. Felt relieved she’s a midwife and exceptionally good and waking up quickly and following instructions half asleep

7:15 – zoomed over to the hospital in my newly new-batteried, otherwise decrepit car

7:30 – arrived at Day of Surgery Admissions, whipped past the full waiting room by flashing my pathetic credentials at the receptionist, only to stand awkwardly in the hallway with gowned people whizzing by importantly because my preceptor wasn’t there yet.

7:38 – left again to try and find cell phone coverage to text preceptor in case I was in the wrong Day of Surgery????

7:40 – bumped into her in the hallway before I could press send. She was late (for one of those myriad of legitimate midwifery reasons. like bleeding clients). Whew!

8:00 – pre-op bleh blah blih – got into scrubs, checked the fetal heart (stroppy as could be), watched the doctors go through the consent forms. Hung out with the mama and her husband, distracting her with talk of. . . who can remember now? Babies, I suspect.

8:30 – followed the wheeling entourage into the operating theatre. Scrubbed in while the spinal anaesthetic needled its long way into one hunched over back. Momentarily enjoyed having my surgical gown tied up for me and the very nice little blue cotton towels (one for each hand) you dry off with. Easily amused, yes.

8:40 – tried not to faint while standing still at the foot of the operating table while scar tissue of previous sections was delicately picked through – no not the ‘gore’, please, some credit here. . . just the lone apricot taunting my blood sugar.

9:05 – Clear amniotic fluid suctioned out of a raw rip, and then, without any warning to him or I, a small, squalling boy dragged suddenly into the humming air. Held up to an astonished dad and then deposited neatly into the receiving blanket in my outstretched arms. Not my usual catch, but still stunning in strange and beautiful way. I clutched the sudden mass of warmth to my chest and stepped over to the resuscitare to place him gently down.

9:06 vigourous rubbing by the pediatrician and I (under his instructions I was assigned the hands and feet) and a shower of kidney-functioning proof. Quick check, weigh, squall, the perfunctory examination of the brand new. I held his exquisite soft head in the cup of my palm and crooned – out of place, and  perfectly appropriate.

I got home after 6:00pm that day – the rest of it spent roaring all over the big, wide, windy countryside visiting other women in their child-bearing year.
Home, dinner, breast, breast, breast, bed.

And still, that perfectly round soft head, memory-pressed into just part of my hand; a section.