My family knows this story, and a few friends I suppose. I tried to write it out once, but I just fumbled around. I still get uneasy. If you have a weak stomach and a vivid imagination, or problems watching ER and CSI, just put the paper down now and walk away. I may not spell out the worst, but if you read between the lines, it’s in there.
It was a quiet January 12th in the wee hours, and considering that we were 12 days into the new millennium and one block from a biker bar, the tranquility was a premium.
Holly and I were married the previous spring and decided to stay in the crummy two-bedroom apartment I had been renting on my own. The place was a dive. Managed poorly, the owners didn’t put a dime into anything.
2:00 AM
Holly was getting up and heading for the bathroom repeatedly. Being 7 1/2 months with child, she figured that the discomfort she was having was part and parcel in those latter months. Holly is fairly thick-skinned for certain types of physical pain anyway. She decided to sleep on the couch so as not to wake me up.
5:00 AM
Holly woke me up saying, “I think something is happening”. From a receiving viewpoint, this seemed less informative than I was hoping for.
Had the psycho squirrels from the tree world outside finally returned from the dead (we fed them chocolate and they all died), entering our home for their final vengeance? Did we have biker bar patrons at our door asking for a cup of sugar? Had the veil of shadows been lifted, with IBM compatible owners the world over now wandering toward the Apple store like hardened zombies honed on a beacon of light? Any of these would have been better than the truth at hand.
Holly’s water had broken sometime between 2AM and 4AM. This was our first time and Holly was so tired. Confused, she considered that maybe the baby had stomped on her bladder.
5:03 AM
With the cobwebs of sleep still tangled about my brain, I decided we should call the regional hospital in Burnsville. I paused to ask Holly if they were even open for business yet. Five AM genius at its best.
I dialed and got a 24-hour nurse line representative who promptly asked me the important questions — time between contractions, aspects of Holly’s condition, and so on. We concluded that we would drive to the hospital. The nurse indicated that if we had any problems, we should call 911.
5:05 AM
We tried to gather a few things (car keys, clothes). But, Holly, who had previously been writing off the pain as standard operating procedure, was now indicating hyper increases in pain. I could see her knees getting weak. We called 911 and got a young woman whom we later found out was a rookie, working her first shift alone.
She did a great job, asking several relevant questions and offering to send emergency services. By this time, Holly reported feeling a bit better and indicated she could make the trip. We declined the dispatches and hung up. We didn’t even get to the door. Holly went in the bathroom, and shortly after, proceeded to sit down on the floor.
5:07 AM
The phone rang — it was the rookie. Armed with our update, she put me on hold and dispatched the necessary personnel.
5:09 AM
The rookie had me acquire towels, and all the stuff they fetch on TV enactments. She also had a police officer on the way, followed by rescue/medic teams from the fire station. We didn’t know this at the time, but our particular address was the farthest point from all of the fire stations in the city of Burnsville.
5:10 AM
Officer Wayne arrived. He had the appearance of being older, and one would thus hope, experienced. This was not the case. He got down on one knee beside Holly and I and proceeded to enter a statuesque state. I’m fairly sure that he has been trained to leave medical things to the medics. To be fair, he was probably doing his job. Still, I was hoping for a little more, say, slight movements or possibly a pulse.
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| 5:12 AM
I had a pillow under Holly’s head, trying to create some comfort. In hindsight, I can now see the diminutive nature of my efforts relative to the overall pain she was having. It wasn’t much different than trying to beautify a pasture by finding just the right fence post to display a doily.
Holly was starting to make vocal noises that should only be heard during battlefield scenes from the motion picture, Braveheart. Knowing the contents of our medicine cabinet, the optional spinal injection for pain reduction was looking a lot like two Tylenol.
5:14 AM
The rookie had me asking Holly questions, and giving Holly instructions. The stories of men getting slapped, bitten, and cussed at crossed my mind. My old high school football helmet could have been handy.
5:16 AM
The questions and information being passed revealed we were quickly getting down to brass tacks. My reports started including how much of the top of the baby’s head I could see. Being the technical person that I am, I’m properly reporting surface area in square inches. At this rate of delivery, Officer Wayne could have cited us for unlawful launching of a projectile within city limits.
5:18 AM
I was reporting six square inches of surface area. We later found out that the rookie was following a very helpful process book. She was taking the information we provided, and going to the right pages accordingly. But an ominous discovery was about to reveal itself.
The rookie 911 operator asked me for another update on how much of the head I could see. I took a real hard look this time, since she indicated that I would start to see the baby’s face soon. The bathroom was poorly lit, though the soft light fell beautifully upon Officer Wayne, our new Greek art piece. The 911 tape we acquired reveals it all — there was a long pause, and then my exact words were “It’s not the head . . . it’s the butt.”
The rookie’s many words had now turned to silence. At the time, I was calm and feeling like I was in the hands of professionals (Greek art included). On the tape, that moment sounds very different. If doom had a sound, then that is the sound it would make. You see, her book didn’t have a “breach” section. Breach is a medical term used for any orientation other than headfirst. “Frank Breach” is the specific name for the folded-in-half, butt first scenario, which we had.
Now, the rookie had only assurances based on the imminent arrival of the firemen. Little did we realize, the firemen were already in the building, but could not find our apartment. The property owners had never updated the numbering on the individual doors such that numbers ranging in the 100s meant 1st floor, 200s meant 2nd floor and so on. We were apartment #107 on the third floor. So the firemen were running throughout the 1st floor working upward, ripping down the wreaths and decorations on every door.
5:20 AM
The baby’s bottom was out about three inches and stuck. At 7 1/2 months, an infant is very small in stature, so three inches was a lot. It also means that the umbilical cord was completely compressed, trapped against the body of the child, cutting off blood flow. Obviously, with the head coming out last, there was no option for first breaths.
It is said that time is the fire in which we burn.
To be continued next issue . . .
That’s my report from the “Big City”.
Brian in the Big City
Employee #0090698
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