Idealism.

By megret | October 30, 2009 at 12:10 pm | One comment | The Real Me Challenge

People like me….the type-A, love to plan sort….can be idealistic about things in life. Though I’m a staunch realist in so many areas, in regards to things I plan for and strive for personally, I set high goals and see no reason why those goals can’t (and shouldn’t) be obtained. I form a rosy, sunlit picture in my mind of “how things should be,” and I dream and dwell on that image regularly.

So after I was blessed with the news of my first pregnancy, this idealistic planner (read: controlling) part of me kicked into overdrive.

I had every pregnancy book. I abstained from every frowned upon food deemed unsafe for pregnancy. I stressed about what I ate. I stressed about what I didn’t eat. I drank lots of water. I bounced on the big ball. I only slept on my left side. I exercised. I rested. I signed up for birthing classes. I watched every episode of pregnancy and birth related shows on Discovery Health. I interviewed obstetricians, pediatricians. I toured hospitals. I kept a pregnancy journal. I stayed out of the sun and heat. I ate organic produce. I read books to the baby. I bought a body pillow. I put earphones on my belly and let our baby listen to classical music. I let Ken empty the cat litter box. I was early to all of my prenatal checkups. One ultrasound wasn’t enough, so I drove 40 minutes to let students at a technical college give me another one for training purposes. I cleaned. I sanitized. I laundered, folded, and organized.

And I made up a birth plan.

The way I figured is this. In almost all areas of life, you work hard, follow the rules, and stick to the instructions….and your “project” turns out well. You adhere to the assembly manual and you don’t leave out any bolts or screws. You follow the recipe exactly and you pull a perfect cake out of the oven. You handle your money right and you get to enjoy a comfortable retirement.

The only problem? Pregnancy and birth are uncertain and unpredictable. And babies? They don’t know (or care) what the term “birth plan” even means.

You want to know how really sure I was about this “birth plan?” I skipped over every single c-section chapter in my pregnancy books. I didn’t need it. No one in my family had to have a c-section — why would I? I watched them being performed on medical shows and thought, “That poor girl. Glad that won’t be me.” I was seriously that detached from reality. Floating on a dream cloud. Ignorant and naive!

So imagine my shock and utter unbelief when, lying in the OB triage room on a cloudy morning three days before my due date, I heard the doctor say, “His heartrate is in de-cel. It’s looking sort of spooky. We have to get this baby out now. We are going to head to the OR.”

OR? OR? Certainly he meant the Great State of Oregon, because the “operating room” was written nowhere on that birth plan of mine.

I cannot even begin to describe the insanity that ensued. The flurry of activity with doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, and insurance specialists. Sign here. We have to take off your nail polish. We have to do a catheter (sorry). I’m here to shave your stomach. What’s the last thing you ate and when? I’m here to draw blood. Put this on. Take this off. Sit still. Lie down. This shouldn’t hurt. You’re in good hands. Hurry up! Breathe deep. Tell me if you can feel this?

Before I knew it, before I even fully realized exactly what was happening, I was draped in blue fabric and my abdomen was cut open. Our son was born at 11:52am on a Tuesday, the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and also in a tight knot. His cry was loud and angry. And my eyes were suddenly filled with tears. Before I’d fully prepared to meet him, he was here. He was safe. He was breathing. He was okay. He was ours, and he was beautiful.

He got here just as he was meant to get here….whether the “plans” lined up to mine or not.