A star is born!
Colin Joseph Pronko was born October 21, 2003 at 3:42pm. He weighed 9 pounds, 2 ounces, and measured 21 inches in height (length).
Last night, Tuesday the 20th, we went into the hospital to try to be induced a second time. Chelle was given a drug which was supposed to work on preparing the cervix, first at 9:30pm and then again at 2:30am the 21st. The actual drug intended to bring on labor, pitocin, was administered starting at 7:00am on the 21st. I arrived in the hospital at around 9:30am and have been here nearly the whole day so far. Chelle experienced contractions as she had last week, at the first attempt to induce labor, but they didn’t really strengthen at any time. At around 2:30pm it was indicated that basically labor wasn’t happening – something we more or less knew already. We were faced with a tough decision. We could elect to have a C-section the same day, or we could wait and try inducing a rare third time. If it failed the third time, we’d definitely need to have a C-section. Chelle’s blood pressure was high enough that the doctors would not let her go two weeks past her due date (Oct. 9).
I can’t recall the last time I had to take part in such a difficult choice. I mean, here we were, a month after when we originally expected that we were going to have a C-section. We were looking forward to having a natural birth. We narrowly avoided a C-section on Sept. 18 by the placenta moving out of the way (no longer lying low and in the way). But we were being denied the natural birth anyway!
With heavy heart and great hesitation, Chelle and I informed the doctors that we’d like to go ahead with the C-section. Chelle was given some forms to sign related to disclaimers about possible complications of the operation. This procedure is done fairly often, I understand, but it’s still major surgery. Anesthesia was approved. I was given “scrubs” to wear. Chelle was wheeled, bed and all, to an operating room in the same wing of the hospital. I would need to be away in a waiting room for a good amount of the early procedure.
Minutes felt like hours as I waited. No one else was in the room at the time (and for that matter, no one else showed up while I was there), so I turned off the television to try to help me relax. Thinking about it, though, the distraction might have helped to keep me calm… ah well. My mind’s been racing this whole time, of course, but never this fast and worriedly.
I lost track of how long I was there. I felt completely out of it, and I wanted everything to be over.
At last someone showed up to escort me to the operating room. My heart sunk and my throat went dry. Two rooms over, I pushed through a doorway and found my wife in a state which was the opposite of fun and pleasant. The color blue was ever-present. Mostly what registered for my half-aware mind was the divider set up to shield my questionable fortitude from what was “actually going on.” Chelle wore an oxygen mask. Her arms spread wide, she looked helpless but aware and we greeted. I was instructed where to sit.
The staff was helpful in keeping my mind off the severity of the situation. Pets were discussed (and among other aspects, how well we expected various pets to take to the new arrival). I relaxed a bit, as nothing seemed to be going wrong, and before I knew it (yet still after an eternity of waiting), a baby emerged. It’s a boy!
I’ve seen a limited amount of media about how babies look when they’re born. Needless to say, they’re all true. Baby was covered in a film affectionately referred to by Chelle as “cheese.” Baby wailed loudly as the hospital staff took to their tasks: cleaning baby, recording vital statistics. Baby was most quiet when he wasn’t being disturbed and could just lie there.
I had earlier contacted our good friend Jen, the child’s Godmother-to-be, and she had taken off early from work in order to come by and lend any support she could. She had been waiting an hour or so for us. It was very nice to have her there; as new parents, we needed all the support we could get.
I’m not sure what color eyes our son has. He’s been opening his eyes, but either the lighting in the room isn’t dark enough (I wouldn’t doubt this) or Colin’s eyes are still too dark to tell (wouldn’t doubt this either). He’s got all the necessary parts intact. He’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. This is the happiest day of my life.
Pictures so far, in index-o-vision:
Sample picture of my son:
