The 'Third day at hospital' look- Mrs. Tony C wears it so much better...and she just delivered a human being!
So, our little bundle of joy arrived last Thursday morning at 8:08 am coming in an ounce shy of six pounds and half and inch short of 20. She's a mini-human...my little tiny dancer. Dad couldn't be prouder if he'd push her through his own...well...let's not get carried away crazy here.
Almost a week later, I still stand in complete awe of a Divine design that produces such a glorious moment called child birth. As I stated in my last post, my role was minuscule. I managed the wet wash cloth, camera and thick skin. Ice chips weren't necessary...but I had it covered none the less. The delivery staff were nothing short of amazing. A well-oiled machine that made this former Marine officer beam with glee at the management of organized chaos that occurs when another number is added to the roll of the human population.
Oh yes...and it's a most beautiful concert.
Maestro, aka, Dr. B was unflappable. While the subject of recent post have involved the OB/GYN experience for yours truly as a bull in a china shop, the calming effect of Dr. B sharing a fly fishing story involving his own son while I chewed scissors through a cord both a part of my new daughter's body as well as her mother's should go down in bedside manner lore. The situation was potential for the medical school instructional film series. Had my mind focused for even a brief moment on the task I was actually performing...to two of the most important people in my life...or my eyes wondered to where the cord went on either end...someone would have been using the cold wash cloth on me.
I'm not sure my HMO would have covered that either.
Look. I'm no stranger to bloody situations, or weak-kneed, or even fainthearted. I pulled a guy's molar once with a pair of pliers and gauze pads (no, he didn't owe me money...he actually wanted it pulled). I've lanced boils and blisters with a flame-sterilized K-bar (now we're talking pus). I've recovered a severed finger to hopefully be reattached! Hey...I'm no girly-man people!
Sorry. I guess Marines and former Marines just get a little defensive if we come across a bit squeamish or weak. It's a natural reaction. Some brainwashing...I mean indoctrination...no, training...last a lifetime. Besides, 'cutting the cord' has a completely different meaning/context in our field manual. But we won't discuss that here because some of you might be a little squeamish...
Thanks Dr. B for helping me save face by not ending up on my face...oh, and kudos for helping bring my little tiny dancer into the world. To use a fishing phrase...she's a keeper.