Maybe this isn't interesting to anyone but me and Allison. I would have written this all down regardless of whether I shared it with the internet. So here's a condensed timeline of events of Robin's birth day. Enjoy.
December 20, 2021
10:00 PM - I come home from work. I tell Allison about my day. She listens intently to everything I say, as usual. I ask her how her day has gone. Instant tears. “You’re gonna be mad,” she says.
December 31, 2021
8:00 PM - New Year’s Eve celebration with my family. We tell them we’re going to have a baby. My mom is so excited. My sisters and grandma are excited. My dad says “Okay, cool.”
February 1, 2022
11:35 AM - We have our first doctor’s appointment. “Yup, I can confirm you are pregnant.” Thanks, doc.
March 2, 2022
2:00 PM - We’re having a boy. I don’t know if I was explicitly excited, but I certainly wasn’t disappointed.
April 4, 2022
3:00 PM - We get our first gift for our yet-to-be-named baby; a jacket from our friend Sarah.
May 8, 2022
6:00 AM - I get in the U-Haul we loaded up the night before, bound for Orange County. It’s been a long and difficult decision to leave Portland, but being near family will be helpful for raising a newborn.
July 24, 2022
10:00 AM - My sister’s throw us a lovely baby shower. Forty friends and family from across the country show up. We feel so loved.
July 30, 2022
3:00 PM - Every weekend is now spent building baby furniture and preparing an area of the house that will be a nursery. Diapers of many sizes are shelved, and clothes are organized by size. I joke that it feels like we have enough to last us to his third birthday.
August 16, 2022
11:30 PM - After the baby shower, our room is filled with gifts from friends and family. It feels real now. Every evening, I close my eyes before falling asleep and joke, “tonight’s the night, honey.”
August 23, 2022 (Tuesday)
8:30 AM - We wake up on the morning of his due date. Still no baby. We go to the doctor’s office for a scheduled appointment. Allison’s cervix has not dilated at all. We are told to go home and wait. “Could be tonight, could be next week,” says the doctor.
August 26, 2022. (Friday)
8:30 AM - We wake up, and Allison’s water still hasn’t broken. No baby today. Per Doctor’s instructions, we schedule an appointment to induce labor. We’re told it could be a 2-3 day process. Appointment is in two days, at 9:00 AM.
August 27, 2022 (Saturday)
11:00 AM - We are slow to roll out of bed. We know that today is the day for final preparations. No matter what, we are going to the hospital tomorrow to have this baby. There’s both excitement and anxiety in the air.
4:30 PM - We took Kita to the Animal Airport Hospital, where she’ll be boarded until Wednesday. I’m very sad, because she doesn't understand and is very stressed out. I’m angry that I have zero friends who are able and willing to dog sit her. And I’m angry that I don’t have enough money to board her in a more comfortable place.
I posted on social media that I was feeling this way. Several people replied and told me to reach out the next time I needed a dog sitter. That made me feel a lot better.
7:00 PM - We took Nana to my sister’s house. We stayed for about five minutes to share some of her tendencies with Bethany, but Nana made herself at home and was already having fun with Bethany’s dog.
11:30 PM - We are scheduled to arrive at 9am at the hospital the next morning. A restless night of little sleep.
August 28, 2022 (Sunday)
6:00 AM - We get a call from the hospital. They tell us that they’re very busy, and we should call back at 9:00 AM. They’re going to push our appointment back a few hours. They might even reschedule for tomorrow.
9:00 AM - We call back, and they tell us to come in whenever we’d like.
9:30 AM - Farmer Boys breakfast burritos.
11:00 AM - Arrive at the hospital.
11:15 AM - We are efficiently checked into the delivery room by the very friendly nurses and staff. The room is large and spacious. We unpack and get cozy. Our moods are relaxed and excited. We mention several times that we feel like we are on vacation. They tell us the induction process can take 2-3 days.
12:00 PM - Hospital staff walk us through the induction process. Because Allison’s cervix isn’t dilated, they explain the use of Cytotec, a drug intended to thin her cervix and move her body into active labor. They’ll give her a dose, wait 4-5 hours, and then take another dose. There will be a total of 4 doses of this drug, meaning this could be a 20-hour process.
12:15 PM - Allison takes the first dose.
12:30 PM - A quick lunch of bland hospital food.
2:00 PM - I watch the first episode of Love is Blind on Netflix with Allison.
3:00 PM - We download Peacock, the NBC streaming service, so we can watch The Office. (We watch all of Season 2 before we are discharged).
5:00 PM - The nurses check to see how effective the Cytotec has been at thinning her cervix. It has not been effective. They tell us that we are welcome to keep trying Cytotec, but they do not believe that it is going to move the process along any quicker. They recommend a Foley catheter next. The Foley catheter is a balloon that will be inserted and filled with a saline solution. It is designed to dilate her cervix to 4 cm (“Active labor” would begin when she is dilated to 6+ cm). It can take up to 12 hours to work.
5:05 PM - Allison and I have a private conversation to see how we’d like to proceed. It is stressful for both of us. The Foley catheter is going to be uncomfortable. Allison is nervous about the pain, but the nurses come back and are very supportive. They let her know this is a common procedure.
6:00 PM - They insert the Foley catheter. It can only be described as “fucking awful.” Allison called sensation “worse than the worst period cramps you can imagine.”
7:00 PM - Our friend Kylie comes to visit us. She doesn’t know the hospital’s Covid rules, and makes a small lie when the staff ask her relationship to the us. “Sister. Uh, step sister,” she says. They give her a name badge, and she brings us lots of snacks.
8:00 PM - The pain and discomfort of the catheter is really awful. Allison requests any kind of medication for pain they can give her. She’s on a morphine drip. It really helps the pain, and she finally relaxes.
10:00 PM - Remember, we were told that the Foley catheter could take up to 12 hours to dilate Allison’s cervix to 4-5 cm. But Allison went to the bathroom after four hours, and the balloon fell out.
10:30 PM - With the catheter out, the doctor and nurses are very encouraged that Allison is progressing toward active labor at a steady pace. We’re told to rest and wait.
11:00 PM - Allison’s contractions are every minute, even if she isn’t dilated enough to begin “active labor.” Her pain is intense, and she receives an epidural.
August 29, 2022 (Monday)
12:30 AM - Just after midnight, I return to watching The Office while playing games on my computer. Allison is exhausted; the drugs have worn her out. She’s completely asleep.
1:30 AM - The “dad couch,” as both we and the nurses referred to it, is not comfortable at all. But by 1:30, and after only getting 4 hours of sleep the day before, I’m exhausted. I change to the sweatpants I brought and do my best to fall asleep.
2:05 AM - Our night shift nurse, Cynthia, comes in. As she had done every couple of hours, she adjusts both of the monitors that Allison has strapped to her pregnant belly. One monitors her contractions, while the other monitors the baby’s heart rate. This time though, she spends a little bit more time than normal looking at the screens that display the information measured by the monitors. The length of time she was there was noticeable. She doesn’t say anything to us. She leaves.
2:07 AM - Cynthia brings in another nurse, and I never caught the second nurse’s name. Maybe it was Danielle. She asks Allison to rotate from laying on her left side to laying on her right. But Allison didn’t realize that she was completely numb from her hips down. She can’t turn. The nurses have to help her nearly 100%.
2:09 AM - The nurses all have this little headset wireless phone. They call the doctor, and ask her to come to our room.
2:10 AM - The second nurse says that the fetal heart rate is lower than it’s supposed to be. She’s very comforting, and assures us it's nothing to worry about, but that they “need to wake him up.” [Allison recalls this moment differently. She was very, very worried. She felt like the nurses were not telling her the entire story so as not to worry her]. They were hoping that turning from one side to the other would bring it back up, but it didn’t. So they wanted to call the doctor to see how she wanted to proceed. Allison immediately starts crying.
2:11 AM - Allison asks me what the heart rate monitor says. We were told that the typical fetal heart rate should be around 130 beats per minute. I read the monitor at 90, but I fibbed and told her 105. Maybe this was the wrong move, but I didn’t want her to have a panic attack. (The discharge report later said that it was as low as 60 beats per minute. We didn’t know this until we were home though, and that’s probably for the best).
2:13 AM - The doctor walks into the room. They turn on the lights for the first time. The doctor looks at the monitors and says she needs to break Allison’s water immediately to try and induce active labor right now.
2:16 AM - The fetal heart rate has not gone up. The doctor looks at Allison and says very matter-of-factly, “we need to take you to the operating room right now for a C-section.” Allison gives one loud sob.
2:17 AM - Both of the nurses leave the room while the doctor explains what is about to happen. Neither of us can recall a single word that she said.
2:18 AM - Both of the nurses, along with 2 more enter the room. They unplug all of Allison’s monitors from the outlets on the wall. They raise her hospital bed and unlock its wheels. They rotate the bed 90 degrees so that it’ll fit out the door. Just before they take off for the operating room, our main nurse, Cynthia, shoves a clipboard in front of Allison and puts a pen in her hand. “We need you to consent to the operation.” Still crying, with the bed literally moving toward the operating room, Allison signs the paper. (We also found out later Allison signed on the wrong line. The next morning, they had her re-sign).
I was asleep 15 minutes ago, and now there are five additional people moving very quickly around our room. A nurse, whom I had not yet met, stops to explain some things to me. “Hi, Dad?” She didn’t know my name either. “You’re going to wait here and we will come get you when we are ready for you.” She turns and walks away immediately. I didn’t say anything in return.
2:20 AM - I’m suddenly alone in a room that I’ve spent the last 16 hours in. Allison is gone. The hum and beeping of the machines is gone. The largest pieces of furniture and the five staff are gone. The silence is deafening. I’m still in my pajamas and flip flops. “I’m not going to be in my flip flops for the birth of my son,” I thought. (As an aside, another thought I had was that they wouldn’t let me in the operating room without close-toed shoes. “Is this an OSHA violation?” Bro, capitalism’s hold is deep on the psyche, but that’s a different post for a different day.)
2:22 AM - The adrenaline rush was like nothing I had ever experienced before. No stage fright, job interview, or roller coaster could have prepared me for this. I don’t know how long it took, but I struggled to maintain my balance while I put on my pants. My hands were shaking so badly that I had to try twice to tie my shoes.
2:23 AM - These were the longest minutes of my life.
2:24 AM - It's the middle of the night. I debated whether or not I should text my friends or family. I don’t want to wake anyone, or scare anyone unnecessarily. I start a group chat with my sisters and two of Allison’s friends. “Emergency C-section. Wish us luck. Love you guys.”
2:25 AM - The nurse who I had never met comes back with a protective suit for me to wear over my clothes into the operating room. I can only describe it as a hazmat suit made out of a really strong paper towel. She gives me a pair of booties to go over my shoes made out of the same material. I throw it on as quickly as I can. I must have looked immensely uncoordinated. She told me to take a deep breath and slow down.
2:30 AM - The nurse gets a call on her radio. She nods her head and hangs up. She gives me explicit instructions. “Where is your phone?” she asks me. “Hold your phone in your hand, not in your pocket, and follow me.” She leads me down a hallway, through a set of double wide doors, and I enter the operating room.
The change in lighting was harsh. Our first room was painted with warm colors and was dimly lit. This room is movie-set-insane-asylum white and a dozen hyper bright light bulbs were pointed directly onto Allison’s exposed stomach.
Another nurse again gives me very explicit and firm instructions. “Dad, there’s a blue chair next to your wife. Take a seat in the blue chair. Blue chair, dad, blue chair. Nice.” After some reflection, I realize this is the only kind of communication I could have effectively had with any of the hospital staff. I was in shock, fear, and a fog.
2:31 AM - Allison is laying on the operating table, but a curtain is perpendicular from her body, obscuring her view from her stomach. She’s crying. She’s throwing up into a cup being held by the kindly anesthesiologist. Needing to throw up while laying on your back sounds awful. I kiss her cheek, wipe her tears, and hold her hand.
There’s probably 10 people in the room. Some nurses are sitting on the edge of the room, just watching. Several people are talking to each other. I can’t make out what any of them are saying.
I hear the doctor say something. She makes the incision. Maybe I’m not recalling this correctly, but I swear I could smell a change in the room.
I hear liquid hit the floor just below the operating table. I don’t look. The doctor asks for a towel. One of the nurses who is only observing throws a towel across the room. Another nurse moves around on the floor with her foot.
I don’t look at the incision right away. I’m just trying to comfort Allison. I feel Allison’s chest move a little as the doctor wrestles with her abdomen.
2:32 AM - I hear a baby crying. Holy shit. That’s my son. I peek over the curtain. I see him, still attached to the umbilical cord. They cut the cord and the doctor hands him off to another nurse. Two nurses take him to a table nearby to clean him up. “Go to him,” Allison says to me. But I’m frozen. “Is he okay? Go to him!”
“Go to him.” I force myself across the room to see him. I can’t believe it. He’s really here. I remember the old adage that if you can hear the baby crying at birth, that’s a good thing; it means they’re breathing. He’s fucking loud.
2:34 AM - “Dad, do you want to cu
t the umbilical cord?” I don’t know if I verbally agreed or if I just nodded my head. I walk toward the table, and the nurse tells me to hand my phone to her. She trades me for a pair of scissors. Another nurse pulls tight a 2 inch long section of umbilical cord. My hands are shaking as I cut through it. It has the consistency of a stale Twizzler, covered in olive oil. I only cut through about 2/3rds of it, and I have to make a second cut.
I look over at Allison. I give her the thumbs up. He’s alive and healthy. I can see the instant relief on her face, in spite of her exhaustion.
I see her incision. A few inches below her belly button, six inches across, skin pulled 3 or more inches apart. Bright red.
The nurse who was cleaning up the still-unnamed Baby swaddles him in one of the hospital blankets. Puts a cap on his head. Again, gives me explicit instructions. “Take your phone out, Dad. Take some pictures of Baby and Mom.” I follow the nurse, who is holding my baby, to Allison. She cries. She grabs the baby and kisses his face. I snapped a few photos.
The nurse then takes my phone and tells me to get in there. Holding the baby in one hand, she takes several pictures of the three of us. Honestly, this is still super impressive. This ain’t her first rodeo.
2:40 AM - They take me and the baby to a recovery room while Allison is being sewn up. I take my paper towel hazmat suit off and throw it in the trash.
2:41 AM - The nurse who was maybe named Danielle asks if I want to hold him. I do. Obviously this is the youngest baby I’ve ever held, but I’m still in shock at how small he is and how suddenly he’s been brought into my life.
3:00 AM - They bring Allison back into the room. She’s so zonked from the drugs she can’t keep her eyes open. She’s in and out of a restless sleep. Her hands shake uncontrollably, a side effect of the drugs. She asks me if he’s okay. I go back and forth between holding him for a few minutes, then placing him in the bassinet cart for a few minutes. Nurses come in frequently to check on Allison and Baby.
3:15 AM - Our nurse Cynthia asks us if we have a name for the baby. Over the last 18 hours, every nurse had asked us if we had chosen a name, and we were noncommittal in our response every time. But I answered this time, “His name is Robin.” Cynthia is a little shocked. “Did you know that was your delivery doctor’s name?” Our doctor was named Robyn, spelled one letter differently. We had no idea, and what an amazing coincidence.
5:30 AM - They moved us from the third floor to the fifth (the Mother/Baby unit). Cynthia pushes Allison in the hospital bed, and I’m given the task of pushing Robin in his little cart. I’m also holding all of our bags. I’m so cautious about avoiding the walls of the elevator.
The last three hours have flown by in what feels like minutes. It wasn’t until I checked my text messages days later that I realized we had been in the recovery room for so long.
11:00 AM - Neither Allison nor myself can recall what happened in those first 5 or 6 hours on the Mother/Baby floor. Somewhere in that window we were introduced to the PM nurses, the PM nurses were relieved by the AM nurses, the AM nurses introduced themselves, I ate breakfast, and we both squeezed in as comfortable a nap as we could, given the circumstances.
11:05 AM - Somewhere during this morning, I changed a diaper for the first time in my life. No one tells you that those first couple of diaper changes are wild. His poop is a tar-like consistency and is black. I’m told by the nurse that the first poops are excess red blood cells being expelled from the body, since he’s been living in it for the last 10 months.
12:00 PM - I was so tired that I felt like I was being rude to the staff. I recall being so exhausted that I couldn’t give the nurse the basic attention requirement to hold a conversation. She was explaining the very important process of getting Robin’s social security card and birth certificate, but I could hardly maintain eye contact or ask clarifying questions. I just nodded my head in pauses in her monologue. They must deal with this every day though, she was always very kind to us.
August 30, 2022 (Tuesday)
I can’t give you an hour-by-hour play-by-play of what happened Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. It is all a blur. Nurses would come in every 2-3 hours, 24 hours a day to check on Allison’s and Robin’s vitals, run the standard tests, and help Allison to the bathroom. Other staff would bring us food every few hours. Not to mention we have a 24-hour old baby. When he’s crying you want to do anything you can to soothe him, but when he’s sleeping, there’s the anxiety of making sure he’s still breathing. All this combines for a few consecutive sleepless days.
August 31, 2022 (Wednesday)
6:00 PM - Wednesday morning and afternoon go much the same as Tuesday. We eat the bland hospital food, the staff is very attentive and kind, and the baby is either eating, sleeping, or crying. We fill out the paperwork, and we are escorted out. Allison is holding Robin and being pushed out in a wheelchair by our nurse. I have a cart with all of our bags. All of the nurses on the floor congratulate us and wish us luck on the way out.
6:30 PM - We arrive home. Our hospital is only 2 miles from where we live, and we can drive entirely on residential roads to get home. We’re both starving and we have Chinese food delivered to the house. Welcome home, baby Robin Augustine.
Thanks for letting me Overshare. Leave a comment, like the post, or share with a friend; they all go a long way in growing the website. If you'd like to contribute to the project, please consider supporting me through Patreon. You can also follow me on socials for updates on Instagram, Tiktok, and Twitch, or through the email list.
Comments