From: email@example.com (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?!?*