Ava Li has joined us on the earth. I’m sitting here in a cream colored chair, and she is sleeping in a baby rocker to my left, and Teddy is sleeping on the floor left of her, and Aleisha is eating a salad on the couch across the room.
Ava Li, this is the account, in my view, of how you came into the world.
On Thursday night, we took Teddy to the dog park. He played with his friends – we walked laps. That night I picked up pizza and wings, and we ate them with Luke. After Aleisha went to bed, I walked out into the driveway and stood on the sidewalk holding a glass of lemon and tequila and Coke and just beholding our home. I sometimes still can’t believe we bought this place. It’s perfect for us, and every brick and wall from the 1950s is ours – unless we stop paying our mortgage – then it is no longer ours. I finished my drink on the chair beside the bed in the dark and went to sleep.
At 2:30, Aleisha woke me up with the words, “Javen, my water broke.” We showered, grabbed our packed bags plus a few snacks and took the mostly empty highways and street to St. Joseph’s hospital. We parked in the garage, left the unvalidated ticket on the dash, and took the elevator down. We checked into the “O.B. triage” wing and were given a small space with a bed and a curtain where a nurse checked vitals and gave us a breakfast menu and reached deeply into Aleisha to determine she was 4 cm dilated.
After some really bad toast, pretty decent bacon and eggs, and a cup of surprisingly good coffee, we were taken to the delivery room where you would in fact not be born. The epidural was started, contractions drew a bit stronger, and we were attended by Jenny, a very nice nurse whose cousin was a tennis player competing in the Canadian Open up on the TV and was doing quite well. We waited – Aleisha slept – the nurses and midwife, Cece, checked in. I mostly sat to the right of the bed and anxiously watched the heart monitor. The heart rate fell a lot, and usually just as I was about to hit the call button, Jenny would rush in to reposition Aleisha and get the wavelengths inside the green again. Otherwise, we played “I’m thinking of a person,” watched Tennis and the Little League World Series, and waited.
You could contain my knowledge of childbirth on a stone tablet. I thought you might be born within an hour at any given time. So it was disappointing when around 2:30 p.m. CeCe said we were doing great and that she’d be back to check on us in a few hours. I had the hospital lunch brought up for Aleisha and ate it since since she wasn’t allowed to – mash potatoes, broccoli, and some sort of meat. Around 7 p.m., they said Aleisha was dilated almost all the way, and the contractions were strong and closer together. She began to push. Many different positions for a long time: Aleisha bearing down, mashing the epidural button for more fentanyl, me counting to ten more times than I ever have, holding her hand, watching your heart rate drop and then recover with every contraction, you not really moving at all. This went on for about two hours.
I asked CeCe, with some words typed on my phone, if we would need a cesarean. She said it was possible. Aleisha was all for it – she was done. For the next half hour of contractions we waited. The physician, Sarah, came in to tell us the risks of a C-section and how hepatitis-B gets through one out of every three hundred thousand screening for transfusions. Some paperwork – more contractions. Tommy Paul won a great match, despite the insane play of Carlos Alcaraz. More heart rate dropping – more family wondering. Sarah came back to determine whether it would be you, in room 13, or some kid in room 16 who would be cut out first. Due to the heart rate, and maybe my terror stricken face, she mercifully placed us at the front of the line for her knife. This began one of the most tense hours of my life – Aleisha was more drugged and more at ease. The nurses injected another medication, then removed the heart monitor and pushed the bed a bit frantically to the operating room. I was given full PPE gear and a chair outside where I prayed, held back tears, and waited.
About twenty minutes later I was led into the O.R. It was through wooden double doors and to the left. There were like twelve people in there, about six of them standing over Aleisha. I sat next to her head and spoke to her. I had no desire to look over the sheets on her chest and into the red canyon carved into her abdomen. But when I looked at Sarah, I could see blood and organs reflected in her face shield. It was a busy environment – monitors and people reading numbers, nurses counting sponges, metal tools being handed to Sarah, Aleisha wincing. And then, they reached down, as if into a hole in the ground they’d been digging, and lifted out a child, dripping blue and grey and screaming. They took you to a baby cleaning station and wiped you off. They brought you to me, and I held you to Aleisha’s head while they put her back together. At this point I cried just a little bit. Then they told me the baby had to leave and that I could stay or leave with you. You seemed in capable, if expensive, hands, and this did not seem like a good time for abandoning your mother. My first wedding vow is that I’ll never leave, and that ran through my mind when they asked me.
Soon after, Aleisha fell asleep and began snoring which seemed good. While they finished up, the anesthesiologist and I talked about the housing market. Eventually, they took us to a recovery room. On the way out I have a solemn nod to the dad of room 16 who was in PPE and sitting in the dad chair. Alex, a GCU grad, was our nurse. She was great. Luke was also great – he brought me a carne asada burrito from Filiberto’s and a Cactus Cooler soda – you were born in Phoenix, child. I fed Aleisha ice chips, and we held you and waited for a real recovery room to open. About two hours later, after I kept drifting off to sleep sitting up, they wheeled us to a room with a nice view of the city. We could see the BMO tower which we used to live right under in our little apartment. The nurse, not one of our favorites, took a very long time to leave us alone. We were so tired. It was about 3 a.m.
Right before Luke brought my burrito, I went down to the chapel, which was locked. St. Joseph’s hospital was started by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy and has a placards on many of the halls with their pictures and the story of how it has grown out of their service. During one of Aleisha’s appointments I’d sat inside the beautiful chapel with stained glass, red chairs, the table, the crucifix. But that night the best I could do was a wooden bench outside. I sat and cried into my sweatshirt – it was everything I’d held back for the last twenty-four hours. I haven’t, in at least fourteen years, cried like that. I was so scared of losing you and Aleisha too. Sitting outside the O.R. it crossed my mind that there was nothing I wouldn’t give to see you both make it safely.
You didn’t let us get much sleep that night. You were just hungry. We stayed in that room all the next day, the night, and they let us go home on Sunday afternoon. You were born on 8/11/23 at 9:37 p.m., 6 pounds, 11 ounces, and 19 inches long. Luke brought us food – friends came to see – family sent flowers – we video called your new grandparents. We were so excited to get to come home, and we were released because Aleisha was doing so well, and I think because August was a very busy time with many babies being born, and they needed our room.
At home, Teddy was very excited to see us and seemed pleased with you. He gets concerned now when you cry, licks you to try and help, and becomes uneasy when other people hold you. We live in a Phoenix neighborhood, and even though it’s hotter than heck outside, you seem to like it. I suppose you’re a Presbyterian, because we go to a Presbyterian church. I’m not really concerned with that; we love you – whatever happens. You are so beautiful.
Welcome to the planet. Terrible and wonderful things will happen. Don’t be afraid.
javen.bear. 