What Happens During A C-Section? Incisions, Baby A, Baby B, And A Belly Dancer
18 November 2019
Damn, that’s a lot of blood.
We knew for quite a while that we were going to have a C-section. I am using “we” very loosely here. We knew that she was going to get cut open and that I would bring the cranberry juice and chewing gum. Everybody has a role, but some parts are bigger than others. Jenn had above-title billing. I was the Old Dad in Room (uncredited).
There is nothing that can prepare you for this day. Take comfort in that. Nothing. That written, get a great night of sleep if you can the night before because when it comes to parenting twins that will be your last for years. They have an uncanny ability to tag in and tag out like you wouldn’t believe (i.e. one naps while the other poops; one gets up at — thank you, Jesus — 7 am, but the other likes waking up when it’s still dark out; etc ). So pamper yourself. Take a long bath, add an expensive bath bomb, exfoliate with Korean body mitts, get a massage using an essential oil blend. Then follow this up with a moisturizing and calming oil or cream-based face mask, do your nails, and give yourself a blowout. Then sit still. Can you hear that? Really listen to that peace, that silence, that uninterrupted stillness. And exhale. Ahhhhhh…
And then, voila, there will be a baby, maybe two, in the room getting cleaned and placed in a warmer. The baby mama will have oxygen saturation and heart monitors attached to her finger. Sh— just got real.
They gave me scrubs and a mask and kept me in a room next to the OR for a while by myself before letting me in. I felt like Michael Spinks in Atlantic City in 1988 right before Tyson KO’d him in 91 seconds.
I did have a thought or two about just making a run for it. Honestly, Jenn would have probably preferred it if I had suddenly disappeared and she could do solo-parent parenting. She could have made unilateral decisions stateside while I played backgammon with old men on some remote Greek island until the retsina and metaxa left my liver scarred like two boys without a father. I decided to take the path most traveled and headed into the OR.
I didn’t expect that many people. Or a curtain. I would have prepared some jokes or some musical numbers. Instead, I sat next to Jenn, who was as high as Ice Cube in Friday. The rest is a bit of a blur. They pulled out Baby A and then Baby B and then the show was over. Except for one thing. One of the doctors decided, regrettably, to go off-script and said to Jenn, the love of my life and as of 30 seconds ago the mother of my children, while I was sitting right there on the other side of the curtain, “Are you a belly dancer?”
I could write more, like about the blood transfusion that Jenn needed (she lost a lof of blood) or about how one of our boys had to stay in the NICU for a couple of days or about the decision to circumcise or not to circumcise, but the twins are up from their nap so it’s a wrap.
