In which I have the power to multiply the loaves and doctors talk about cars. In other words: Jordan's birth story

I don't think I ever told you Jordan's birth story.

It stands in stark contrast to India's, and I figure I might as well write it down before I forget it entirely. Although truthfully, I've had to ask Nick about Jordan's birth, because I was stuck behind a sheet and also rather drugged up.

I mean, my face was stuck behind a sheet. They had the rest of me. Probably goes without saying.

I'd gone in to be induced on a Tuesday night, and then Wednesday they tried to manually open my cervix and it wouldn't budge and also caused me to practically fling myself through the roof with pain.  So they they gave me an epidural and tried again and nothing doing.

So they said: "You're going to wind up with a C-section. You can decide to have one now, or you can wait until your baby goes into distress."

In retrospect I think, oh fuck you very much for the manipulation. But at the time, it only seemed reasonable to not wait until potential harm came to the baby.

Anyway, the bitchy OB on duty that day was having an allergic reaction, and so my OB came to fill in for the surgery.

(On a side bar: I told my now-ex-OB how awful his colleague was, and he said that actually she was about to have a baby herself. I was all, "How nice for her." And only because of Karma, which I hope exists but don't actually much believe in anymore, did I not wish her a C-section.)

Anyway. Back to the Sibley operating room, August 19, 2009.

I don't know if they added more drugs for the procedure or not. I do know that I was awake, but barely present.

I also don't know if they always spread your arms straight out from your sides for surgery? Maybe so there's easy access to your sides? Or it's easier to manage the IV?

Regardless, they had me on the table with my arms out at my sides, completely numb from the chest down, unable to see anything that was going on. And the men - the doctors were all men - started talking about cars. Seriously. Cars!

I recall being puzzled but not bothered, because it was so surreal. And also I was having my own personal mental rave party right there on the operating table.

I'd been so upset all day, but at that point, I was not much bothered by anything. 

So there I was, looking up at bright lights, arms out, face behind a white sheet, listening to car chit-chat. I remember turning my head from one arm to the other. I felt very floaty.

I lay there thinking, "Wow. I. Am. Jesus."

And then there was a loud wail, because Jordan cried as soon as his head was out in the world. And then they got the rest of him out, which I knew because Nick said, "He's out. And he's perfect."

They whisked him across the room to do all the drops and cleanup and whatever.

I smelled burning and wondered if I was on fire, so I asked Nick. Who said they were cauterizing the incision.

And then they showed me my baby, all wrapped up in a hospital blanket.

I was no longer Jesus at that point, in case you're wondering.

And then, as they wrapped up, no fewer than three people said to me, "Look at the size of that head! You are so happy he didn't just come out of your vagina."