From: nospamum@radix.net (MegaLiz)

Subject: Lemmy is an air breather at last

Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 00:39:10 GMT

 

[The following is straight reporting. At least, as straight as this

whirly-gig brain is able to produce. Rev. Random's account may be FAR

CLOSER to the truth, but don't ask ME...]

 

I should mention right off that I birthed in a westward direction as

promised, but the triangulation was not EXACTLY right, so I had my

first terrorized, post-stitches, emergency excremeditation in the

general direction of NENSLO also.

 

That should about cover it.

 

Lemmy was supposed to be induced Thursday morning, the 17th, but

somehow Dobbs had FINALLY tired of fucking with ME and natural labor

commenced at 3:00 a.m. that very day. This pre-emptive move meant that

everything fell into place with perfection AND I even got to wake Jack

at 4 in the morning with the stereotypical, "Honey... AAAAARRRRGGGGGG!

I think it's time to go to the hospital."

 

Among the string of miracles, there WAS gas in the car, no traffic and

a perfect parking space available. The admission process took at mere

30 seconds AND since there was a huffing and terrified first-timer

just behind us, nobody insisted that I ride a wheelchair.

 

We were ushered into a room that looked exactly like a newly

remodeled, upscale hotel room: the only difference being that it came

with a mechanized break-away bed, which was illuminated by a strobe-

guided pair of spotlights. We played with the strobe thingy until we

got caught. After that we played with the chairbeds and the other

nifty gadgets. The nurses loved us. Really.

 

I was assured that Dr. Bob was "in the building," although we were

supposed to have faith, I suppose, that he wasn't tanking up in the

lounge or parking cars in his spare time. Or both. His forwarded

instructions were to "walk around." So we walked around the halls,

which were configured in a huge rectangle from the screamer section to

the nursery and back again. For some reason, each time we passed a

bank of elevators, Lemmy entertained me with a heavy-duty contraction,

so that anyone exiting onto our floor would be welcomed with the sight

of me squatting and hissing like a bloated, menacing frogwoman. This

was a delightful development in more ways than one.

 

When we returned to the room, the nurse announced that due to

impressive cervical progress, I could have an epidural when ready.

"I'm ready," says I. Moments later the quick-stepping, elfin

anesthesiologist chirped his instructions and whipped out the big

needles. These guys KNOW that everyone is glad to see them and they

seem to relish making a big entrance. His lovely sidekick was a bit

more somber, but she had the hard job - restraining the shoulders of

squirmy mommies-to-be. I was not squirmy or particularly desperate,

but it is a bit of a weirdness to curl up and present your back to a

happy-happy man with massive injection devices. Some of you know what

I mean. I had to compliment the Shoulder Lady, though I don't know WHY.

The next phase was a few hours of impatience. We napped and tried to

avoid studying the mystifying blood pressure readings and counting the

galloping Lemmy heartbeats. Eventually our most excellent nurse

announced that I was nearly done BUT Dr. Bob was in the throes of a

complicated emergency hysterectomy. My dad, the beloved font of Slack,

had yet to show up also. This was the only side drama of the day -

would anyone else actually be there for the birth?

 

Dr. Bob was the next to appear. He seemed a tad disheveled, but ready

for action. Since the nurses hadn't tried to hasten things, he decided

to break the leaky "bag of waters". He approached with a large crochet

hook, prodded for an instant and then quite suddenly, he and the nurse

both JUMPED BACK and DUCKED as a tidal wave of gooey fluid hit their

side of the room. I had just enough time to holler at the Rev, "Don't

look!" so he missed the flood AND the abrupt soft shoe routine.

 

I have to marvel at my charitable impulses - I really could have made

things BAD for the Rev, but he'd been SO GOOD and utterly non-annoying

that I have to admit that I never really had the urge to bite or

disfigure him at all. He seemed to know just when to rub, and most

importantly, when to SHUT UP.

 

After the fluid explosion, Dad whisked into the room with his

backpack, looking as if he were just about ready for anything.

Actually, he looked worlds more alert than Dr. Bob. Moments later Dad

was holding a leg (one of mine), and the Rev had a hand in hand as the

pushing stage began. Dr. Bob insisted that the Rev SIT for this part

saying, "I've seen that look before." Thinking quickly, the Rev

replied, "Ga!" and pulled up a chair.

 

Ten minutes and six pushes later we were treated to an instantaneous

indignant gurgle from the new kid. Eventually, we were informed that

Lemmy was NOT Lemmy, but rather a GIRL baby. This large changeling

female was and is physically perfect in every way, and resembles

nobody but herself. We goggled at her and chatted while all the

machines and tubes were put away. Jack backed out of the room quickly

to fetch the little big sisters right about the time that Dr. Bob

overhanded the placenta into a tray with a twanging thud.

 

It was a thoroughly Slackful and lovely birthing experience overall.

The only time I had to actually ASK for anything was afterward, when I

requested the HazMat team be brought in to mop up the crime-scene

style bloody footprints. I didn't want Sparky and Spunky to get the

wrong idea when they came in to meet little Spider Monkey.

 

We're a little worried about Lemmy. I mean, he's out there somewhere,

causing terror and imitating Orson Welles far out of our control. It

was nice of him to trade housing arrangements with this lovely child.

At least, that's what I have to ASSUME has happened. It just seems

inconceivable that this placid, tiny person could have been

responsible for the in utero Lemmy mayhem.

 

We'll find out. I'm pretty sure.

--------------------------------------------------

Temporary Identity Crisis Pacifier:

just call me NANA MEGSKOURI DRACHMA-DRACHMA

It won't help you remember my email address and it

will not fatten your feets, so what's the HARM?!?*