Garrett Imeson was somewhat cynical about people’s claims to “life changing” moments, until he had one himself. This is it.
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As a rule, the phrase “life changing” is used far too frequently. Seemingly everything from movies to food has been given this incredibly impactful title. I love my movies and my food but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything I would deem so eminently important. In fact, I’ve become quite jaded as to the use of the phrase. Or, at least, I was jaded, until I encountered the day that truly did change my world completely: June 4th, 2015.
The pregnancy had been long and hard. My wife had a condition known as hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) that basically was debilitating. Of the nine months of pregnancy, my wife spent roughly six of them on bed rest. She lost 25 pounds in the first trimester of pregnancy, basically by not being able to keep food down. We went to our local cancer center for infusions of IV fluids just to keep her hydrated enough to survive. I think I became the most recognized man in the women’s clinic where our midwife practiced.
We had a plethora of ultrasounds for a variety of reasons. We confirmed that we were not having twins (the ultrasound tech looked on in horror as my wife and I high fived). We checked anatomy for health multiple times, especially given all of the complications my wife had. Finally, we had hoped against hope that the baby would not be get my genes that caused massive babies (my siblings and I were all near or over ten pounds at birth). We were wrong. Our last ultrasounds showed an abdomen that was “off the charts” (as told by multiple ultrasound techs), a head that was measuring in the 95th percentile and an estimated fetal weight of 9 pounds 6 ounces at 38 weeks.
We weren’t done yet. My wife, who has traditionally low blood pressure, started having blood pressure that spiked up. It didn’t meet the traditional standards for concern but, because our midwife was proactive, we were put on watch for pre-eclampsia, the only cure for which was delivering the baby. Needless to say, by the time June 3rd rolled around, my wife in particular was ready to be done.
That being said, we weren’t ready for the decision during a routine checkup to be sent over to the hospital to induce labor and get that baby out. After a night of a failed induction and an invasive procedure, undesired, to help move natural labor along, the decision was made, on June 4th, to go for a C-section.
* * *
What followed may have been the longest eight hours of my life. Despite the thought that once a plan was settled, I’d feel the calm before the storm, I instead felt as though as I imagine a skydiver feels before their first jump, on the precipice of something terrifying but incredibly exhilarating all at once. Finally, the scheduled time for the C-section came around and things got moving. I got dressed into scrubs, they wheeled my wife away for prep and I was left alone with my mother-in-law. Neither my wife nor I are certain how long we were separated. In reality, I’m sure it was probably 15 minutes. It felt like the length of the entire Twilight movies. Then, my time had come. I was walked to the operating room.
* * *
The moments were surreal. I remember being struck by how bright the operating room was. Apparently, I’d watched too much Grey’s Anatomy, where the ORs were always dimly lit, for dramatic effect. At this point, so little had gone to plan (we had about 8 copies of our birth plan. No one but us ever saw them.) that we had one important thing left to us. Several months ago, I wrote about why my wife and I were choosing to let the sex of our baby be a surprise. To fulfill that goal, it had been decided that I was going to be the one to announce the sex to my wife.
I sat on my wife’s side of the sterile field, with a curtain up so most of the operation was blocked from my view. The noises and the curtains moving were just surreal. And then our midwife called for a stool and I got unbelievably curious. I was unaware that stools were a part of the C-section. On my side of the curtain, the whole operation seemed unreal. However, the operating room fell silent and I was told to stand up at 5:39 pm.
I’m sure there was a lot to look at. After all, the incision was still open, there were nurses, our surgeon and our midwife. But I saw none of it. I’d never really experienced true tunnel vision before. With the plethora of sights before me, my eyes instantly focused on the baby, freshly plucked from the womb in the hands. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden (this was hardly a surprise; my wife carried multiple handkerchiefs in her wedding dress. Not for her, but for me) and I bent down to my wife and choked out the words, “It’s a boy. It’s our baby Oliver.” Then, with our penchant for horrifying the staff, I followed it up with “You’re not pregnant anymore.”
Then that first, full throated cry sprang out from our baby. At that moment, the earth shattering realization that I was a father set in. Before Oliver was born, I didn’t fully comprehend the effect it would have on me. I don’t think any first time father can prepare for it. With a single glance at my newborn son, I realized my life was forever changed. It is a moment that I will never forget. Not only for the memory itself but for the potential of the life my wife and I had created, full of possibility that neither of us could accurately predict. A life that I hoped to help achieve a parent’s ultimate goal: happiness, in whatever form that may take for Oliver. So, yeah, there was a huge change.
Two weeks ago, I was a guy with plans. I was a guy tearing around with ideas on how to make it all work. Today, instead of all that, I am a dad.
And that is exactly who and what I want to be forever.
Photo: Flickr/Karen Sheets de Gracia