Scott Alexander Rough arrives

Today my little man is ONE. A whole year old. Gulp. I am doing better than I thought. Of course, yesterday I was a total basket-case...a weepy sobbing mess, who couldn't -- or didn't want -- to accept the fact that her little baby is growing up.

On this Saturday, though, I am determined to have a different frame of mind. I am going to celebrate my son and all his accomplishments over the past 12 months, and look forward to all the "firsts" still to come...

But before we get to the party...I wanted to take a look back -- 365 days ago. September 10, 2010.

Much of the following was written in those first hazy days after Tank was born. I've done some minor edits for clarity, but have left the bulk of the text intact.
This, my dear son, is a letter from your mommy to you. It is the story of your entry into this world. Happy First Birthday!
Mommy and Daddy love you very very much.


I actually expected to meet you a week or so ago. But you made me wait, and wait and wait. But you were so worth it! I went to the obstetrician  on Friday, September 3, for my 38 week checkup. My doctor, (who rocks!) had me do a stress test. Basically they made mommy sit in a big comfy chair and strapped some stuff to my stomach and listened to your heartbeat for 30-45 minutes.


(This is a requirement for us old moms. The official term is "of advanced maternal age" and in today's world, it means anyone who is 35 or older. Yes, I know, at almost 36, I apparently have one foot in the grave and am ready for a walker.)


 Anyway, the doctor came in and shocked me by telling me that I was in the early stages of labor. He pointed to one line of the test which showed I'd been having regular contractions every three to four minutes. For the record, I felt nothing.


But he told me he was on call all weekend, and said you might be making your appearance as early as that night. I called your Daddy, told him the good news, and then went to the office for a couple of hours with the goal of cleaning up some files and getting things in order before my maternity leave started.


But as typical with my job, all hell broke loose, and I ended up working late. I came home and impatiently waited for the tell-tale signs of labor.

This is me and you, about two weeks before you were born. I don't know how I walked without toppling over.

But none arrived. 
Six days later I was back at my doctor's office wondering what the hell you were still doing in my stomach and whether you'd ever be gracing us with your presence. I think the nurse was thinking the same thing because when I walked in, she greeted me with: "You haven't had that baby yet???"


(Very astute woman.)


So here it was, Thursday the 9th, two days before my due date. Dr. DeSanto did an exam and it showed utterly no signs of progress. I was dilated only about 1/2 a centimeter. You were stubborn even in the womb.

Next came the ultrasound. The doctor found some calcification of the placenta and a drop in amniotic fluid. The calcification equals dead spots and suggests that it is nearing the end of its usefulness.

He decided we shouldn’t wait any longer, and scheduled me for a medically induced delivery at Scottsdale Shea Hospital on September 10. He told me to go home, get some rest, and wait for the hospital to call and tell us they had a bed available.

So Daddy and I went out to dinner that night and had a very nice meal at Tommy Bahamas restaurant. It was weird - it was just us, but we knew things were about to change in so many ways that we couldn't even begin to imagine. We went home early and packed the car and the hospital bag. The hospital called me at 3:30 a.m. (I had actually just drifted off to sleep and missed the call, but woke up 15 minutes later.)

We arrived about 4:30 a.m., and were situated in our delivery room by 5 a.m. 

I was put on IV fluids and a Pitocin drip to get the labor going.

Things did not start well. The nurse on the duty (whom Daddy quickly began calling “Nurse Ratchett”) blew out two of my veins – one in each arm – trying to hook up the IV. She also conducted what may have been the most painful internal exam I’ve ever had, (I seriously felt violated) and then said she couldn't find my cervix. (Which meant a second person had to do the same exam all over again.)

My contractions started soon after the Pitocin was delivered and they rapidly got stronger and more painful.

But you refused to budge, you stubborn little bugger. And a second exam five hours later showed I had made absolutely no progress.

Fortunately, there was a new nurse who came on duty at 7 a.m. – her name was Anita, and we were lucky to have her. She was wonderful. Grandma and Grandpa were at the hospital too, and everyone was eager to meet you.

But you would make us wait many more hours and give us repeated scares before you took your first breaths.

The problems began around 10 a.m.. As Mommy's labor became more intense, your heart rate would drop significantly with each contraction, and then skyrocket back up again (the doctors think it was because the reduced levels of amniotic fluid and deteriorating placenta were putting too much pressure on the umbilical cord.)

In any event, Anita didn't like what she was seeing and turned down the Pitocin to slow the labor. Mommy was also put on oxygen to help you out a little.

You felt much better. So the doctors turned the Pitocin drip up again to get the labor moving. But then you again started showing signs of distress. So the drugs had to be turned down. This pattern repeated itself over the next several hours. Mommy moaned and got grumpy. Daddy paced the room and checked your heart rate monitor every couple of minutes

The pain was so bad from the labor drugs that by 11 a.m. (six hours after our arrival), I needed an epidural. Unfortunately, I hadn't progressed at all, and was only dilated one centimeter.

Because you repeatedly showed signs of distress and had an erratic heartbeat, the doctors had to keep turning the drugs on and off. I also was only allowed to lay on my right side, because your heart rate would plummet if I rolled onto my back or my left side. 

(And thanks so much for taking it easy on me, by the way.)

By 1 p.m., an unplanned C-section was starting to look like a real possibility. I was very upset, because we didn't want that. But more than anything, I wanted you to be safe and healthy. And the doctors had said that while you were fine for the time being, you couldn't continue like this for too much longer.

And it certainly didn't help that in rooms all around mine, mothers had come in, labored and delivered their children. And here I was, still waiting (very impatiently now) to meet you.

By 5 p.m., you really weren't feeling well. The nurses stopped the drugs and let both of us rest while they called Dr. DeSanto. He determined I needed a C-Section and arrived at the hospital just before 6 p.m. to talk to us and prepare for the surgery. I was still in my bed, lying on my right side, being pumped with fluids and on oxygen. (And I was trying not to be jealous of my sister, your Aunt Kristy, who delivered your cousin in like 42 seconds.)

By 7 p.m., we were in the final stretches of getting ready for your arrival. Mommy was given an additional epidural to numb my entire abdomen as well as drugs via an IV that were supposed to counteract nausea.

Unfortunately, one caused a very bad reaction and mommy went coo coo bananas.

I tried to rip off the fetal monitors and leave the hospital. I told Daddy I was going home. I was panicking and shaking violently. Anita held me down and daddy did his best to calm me.

Once I was a bit more settled, the doctors wheeled my hospital bed into the surgery room. It was now 7:15 p.m. 

Daddy donned a hospital gown, booties and a cap. I was stripped of all clothing and put on a surgical bed, with my arms stretched out at my sides. The room was cold. There was a drape blocking my view of my stomach. My arms shook violently, even though the bed was heated -- a continued reaction to the anti-nausea drug.

I thought that with the epidural I wouldn’t feel anything, but I quickly realized that was not the case. Even after they turned up the drugs, I could feel it when Dr. DeSanto pinched my stomach. When he cut, it felt like a fingernail rubbing across my skin. Not painful, but still pretty freaky.

I heard the doctor say that I would feel a lot of pressure and "some tugging and pulling." And boy did I. It didn't hurt, but it felt really weird and uncomfortable. 

Then, at 7:29 p.m., roughly 15 hours after we arrived, they pulled you into this world. 

You didn't cry right away...they had to do some suctioning on your mouth and nose. But after a few seconds, you let out a bloodcurdling scream, and it was the best, most amazing sound daddy and I had ever heard.

You were tiny - only 6 pounds, 12.5 oz., and 19.5 inches long, but you were healthy and perfect and sported a full head of beautifully curly, blonde hair.

Daddy, who said he didn't want to "see anything" during the birth, temporarily lost his mind. The doctors asked if he wanted to take a picture, and he popped up over the drape with the video camera in hand like he was a Jack in the Box on a spring.

I also recall the doctors repeatedly saying, "Lens cap. Lens cap. Lens cap" and I remember thinking, "Don't they have more important things to do right now than help my husband with his videography skills?"

In any event, thanks to your father, we have this awesome, graphic shot of your birth:

Scott Alexander Rough, about two seconds old...

And a couple more, just a minute or two later:

Mommy and Daddy spent four days in the hospital, and you had tons and tons of visitors. It's hard to believe its been a whole year. Thank you for all the joy you've given us over the past 365 days. I can't wait to see what you have in store for us over the next 12 months!

But for now, here are some more pictures from your very first days on this earth.

Getting you all cleaned up.

Look at that beautiful blonde hair!

Day 3, first family photo!