Here's my story...
This story is about the birth of my youngest child way back in the early 90's. It was chaos from the very first moment. Months of morning sickness and heartburn, weird cravings and more and more morning sickness, In the beginning, I was losing weight instead of gaining because I was sick all of the time. I went to my very first ultrasound with my fingers crossed for a girl and my husband rooting for a boy.
They smeared that lovely jelly on my stomach and said, "Congratulations! You're having a boy!" and then proceeded to print me a picture of lovely boy parts. I was devastated. I wanted a girl, I have 4 brothers, 1 son and a husband. I needed some girl power desperately. When my due date came and went in the middle of the hottest part of the year I was seriously considering self-delivery. Finally, the Dr. sent me for another ultrasound two weeks after my due date.
So back up on the table, more of that lovely jelly, and imagine my surprise when not only was my baby breech, but he had turned into a girl!!! The first ultrasound had obviously been a mistake and I couldn't have been happier. My husband not so much. I heard his gasp of breath, then him hyperventilating. The technician asked my husband if he was alright or if she needed to call a Dr. "You promised us a boy!" he said. "Sorry, no refunds or exchanges," she said.
A C-section was scheduled for the very next morning and we were off to switch all of our football and baseball paraphernalia for ballerinas and baby dolls. All the blues and browns for pinks and purples. I was so happy, and my husband pouted the whole day.
My C-section was scheduled for 7 a.m. We spent some time with our son before leaving him with my family for the duration and went to bed early. I awoke at 3 a.m. in full labor so after a mad dash to the hospital it was time to get the show on the road.
They took my husband one way to be fitted into his gear. Which he managed to put on both upside down and inside out. They took me another way for the epidural and operating room. My arms were tied down and that was just the beginning of my terror. I finally heard the clump, clump, clump of my husband's boots as he entered the room where we would welcome our little girl.
To say I was scared was a major understatement, I was petrified! My husband was rubbing my hand while whispering encouragement into my ear as they got started. Very early on I started to notice that the grip on my hand was getting stronger and stronger. It had moved over into bone crushing.
I raised my head to tell him he was hurting me when I saw the problem immediately. I looked up expecting to see the beautiful blue of his eyes and saw only the whites as the blue had already rolled upwards. I saw the sweat running rivers down both sides of his face as he held my hand in his death grip. I tried to scream for help, but he was much faster. He started going backward almost immediately. It was much too late for help.
He fell straight back and instead of hitting the ground like you would expect, he hit the anesthesiologist right between the eyes with the back of his head. They were both seeing stars, but the man responsible for giving me drugs was bleeding profusely from his nose while falling backward himself. He didn't hit the ground either. Instead, he hit the machine that was controlling all of my IV's and medication. It rolled noisily across the room slamming into the wall while ripping the IV's right out of my arm. No more monitoring and more importantly No. More. Drugs!
Within seconds, a replacement anesthesiologist arrived to reattach the good stuff while a group of 4 men ran in to get the now unconscious husband into a wheelchair and out the door. In the middle of all of the craziness our sweet little girl arrived... and was immediately whisked out into the hallway to meet her father! He wanted more children... and that would be a definite no!