This is one thing that scares me about Nationalized Healthcare

Canada’s ObamaCare Precedent

Basic premise – The care in nationalized healthcare is rationed and Canadians can have extremely long wait times for procedures that are needed now.  Cancer doesn’t stop for governmental buearcarcy or so I hear.  That previous sentence was an extreme case of hyperbole.  It would be nice to hear more statistics.

Disclaimer:  WSJ is owned by the same dude that owns Foxnews just so you know where the bias could be.

Disclaimer (2):  Republicans and Democrats all want one thing – more power.  I’m rapidly descending in to the “You are all idiots camp.”  These days it is more of a pick your poison choice and hope it doesn’t kill you.


Hereby is a post where I wax poetic about absolutely nothing interesting or relevant…

1.  Why in the hell do I show up to work?  I can do everything I need to do at home and get an extra hour of sleep (or 3 if it is a slow day).  At this point I spend about 3-4 hours a day just doing administrative stuff (filling out forms, etc.) just to get things put in production.

2.  My workplace also deems it necessary that I tell someone that I’ve had my blood pressure checked monthly.  I don’t have to report any numbers or have any evidence.  I just have to say I’ve done it.  I had my blood pressure taken a week or so ago – 118/72.  I’m obviously not in the demographic that needs it taken monthly.  Most likely my death will be caused by the f*@king aneurysm I get when I try not to strangle the idiotic person telling me I need to report the fact that I got a blood pressure check not my high blood pressure.

3.  I could list work idiocy all day it seems.  Our department has a goal to do 5 hours of community service a month or something like that.  I’ll just say unless I get caught doing something illegal (see wut I did thar) then I’m not community service.

4.  My mom is still batshit insane.

Going back to work is blah…

Just as an aside, my birthday was Monday – May 25th.  Today when I got to work a bunch of Director level managers sent me (automated) emails wishing me a Happy Birthday.

If the people at the Director level of my company have nothing better to do then to write little automated birthday email scripts then I’d like to have their jobs or I believe we could do a little downsizing…

Through some unfound Herculean force of will, I was actually able to be nice to my co-workers this morning.  But nobody decide to poke me with the proverbial stick either, they were (stupidly) happy to see me back.  I was trying to be well-behaved but I’m glad people aren’t wanting to talk to me though.

So Ally didn’t let me fully go through with my plan of having Lucas all night but I did take the early, early morning shift from 4:30ish (I really have to clue) to 8:30 am then I headed off to work.  About 5:30 am, he decided he was hungry and then I fed him a couple of ounces.  After burping him and changing the diaper, he started doing the fussy, funky chicken dance and I gave him another ounce of food.  Burped him again, and then he did the less spastic version of the dance (which I guess means, I’m still hungry but I don’t need too much more) and gave him whatever was left at the bottom of the bottle.

After that I swaddled him fairly tightly (no Hulkamania with busting his arms out) and told him that I’d never even consider buying him a car if he didn’t fall asleep.  Turned the swing to the  “OH MY GOD, HOLD ON!” setting and he went to sleep.  I fairly certain the (empty) threat worked and Lucas wanted a car.

He woke up about 7:45ish after that so then we did the whole thing over again – diaper change, feeding, funky chicken (while grimicing) dance, little more food, and then satisfied.  Of course, it was about 8:30 or so before I got all this completed.  I swaddled him up and laid him in the pack ‘n play near Ally upstairs and got ready for work.

Kissed Ally and Abby (in that order, Ally doesn’t like dog slobber).  And waved bye to Baby Lucas (as to not disturb sleepage).  Now I’m in the cubicle farm slaving away to bring you this blog post (oops, I probably should be fixing David’s crappy code right now).

Liquid projection, commonly known as vomiting…

There is a good thing to note – babies don’t mind eating until they literally can’t hold anymore.  We have been feeding Lucas a combination of formula and breastmilk which he has been dutifully feeding 10 times a day.  Now, this is supposed to be normal.  He cries, he gets a bottle and he doesn’t cry anymore.  Fairly simple equation.

Well this is wrong.  Most of the time the simplest solution is the answer to the problem but not in this case.  I figured he just didn’t like particular formula we were giving him.  Much like a fat person at the Golden Corral, Lucas was in hog heaven at the all you can eat buffet.  The problem being is that he doesn’t have an off switch.  Of course, I imagine those fat bastards at the Golden Corral don’t have one either otherwise they wouldn’t stuff themselves and waddle (or scooter) home.

I called Dr. Kola (our pediatrician) because Lucas had vomitted twice (vomitting is different than spitting up, spitting up is like leaking – vomiting, well that is more hitting my shoe from two feet away).  After asking some questions and stuff; he said I should stop stuffing steak and potatoes down his gullet.  Essentially, feed him an ounce, burp him, let him think about it and then if wants more then give him more.  So far that has worked fine.  He has eaten less but I haven’t had to dodge any liquid either.

It would have been nice if someone attached an owner’s manual to his foot when he squirted out…

Holy %&#$! is that a head?!

I think I last left off at the point where the nurse says that Ally is ready to push.

But first, I have fairly decent hearing.  Ally does not.  In fact, I’d hazard to say that Ally has terrible hearing and could have a cannon go off by her head and she’d just go, “Huh?”  I distinctly heard two women who must have been going the au’ natural.  From the screaming, my Sherlock Holmesian powers of deductive reasoning said that they were having so much fun that they just couldn’t contain themselves and needed to share it with the WHOLE hallway.  The only thing I can say for women who decide to go the natural childbirth route with breathing and/or other types of pain coping mechanisms:  You’d best know what in the hell you are doing.  Just sayin’.  You better be really sure and confident of how much pain you can tolerate.  It boils down to this, if you have any doubt about your ability to manage the pain then go the chemical route – whether it be epidural or narcotics given through IV.  I, for sure, wouldn’t look down upon anyone who decided to use pain medication.  Folks, we have the technology – no reason not to use it.

Now, I said earlier this is where you get your game-face on and stuff starts to get serious.  From the books that I’ve read and older Grandpa age folks I’ve spoken with, this is uncharted territories for fathers.  In the old days ™, you got to sit outside the room, chain-smoke (as nobody knew it was bad for your then), and wait.  You didn’t have to watch as the kid dropped to different stations, asked to hold a leg, and start yelling (and by yelling I mean encourage but she didn’t need a lot of motivation to get the baby out, just mostly reassurance that in fact he was exiting the plush accommodations promptly) at your wife to push.  Oh and last but not least, the area in which you thought was a recreational, fun-time area gets rezoned in to an industrial area with machinery to expel an approximately 8 lbs mini-human looking thing.  This can be disconcerting and unnerving to the faint of heart.

I’ll give you the low-down on the pushing part with a lady who had the epidural.  Nurse and Doctor take a look at the Contraction Monitor O’Doom and say here comes a contraction, get ready to push.  Then push – count to 10, take a deep breath, push – count to 10, take a deep breath and relax.

This went on for awhile and my adrenline was flowing, so much so that I had to make a conscious effort to relax my shoulders and back.  An observation on the pushing bit – it is a total 2 steps forward, 1 step back thing.  Once Ally had pushed enough so you could see Lucas’ head, everytime she pushed he’d slide out a bit further and then slide back in a slight bit.  Good thing Mom couldn’t see what was going on otherwise it would have been an exercise in frustration.  I didn’t say anything but I was thinking, “Damnit, stop yourself from sliding backwards otherwise we’ll be here all day.”  I do realize that newborns aren’t going to have any control over that but it didn’t stop me from thinking that.

The only part that was a little scary/worrisome was the fact that everytime Ally was pushing Lucas’ heart rate dropped.  Normally, it was around 130-150 beats per minute.  That is a good strong heart rate but whenever Ally had a contraction and pushed the heart rate would dip to 75-100.  Now, when watching the monitor (which had a running graph of his heart rate) and noticing a massive dip becomes worrisome.  I just put on my poker face and said everything was cool to Ally while the nurse just got the doctor to watch over the rest of the labor.

Now I do have to say this is the part if you are squeamish that you might want to tune out.  I’ll put it in white font and you can highlight it if you wish to read it.

Does the word episiotomy mean anything to you?  If it does then you’ll have an idea of what is coming up next.  If not then behold a wonder of childbirth that is glossed over in most books.

It is a surgical incision made to the vagina to enlarge it during birth.  Usually done as to make a cleaner cut instead of letting the perineum (the taint for you non-doctor types) tear during childbirth.  Now the damn crazy thing was there was absolutely no warning when the doctor did this.  Dr. Little was focused on getting the baby out because even though she didn’t state this at the time, I believe that she was a little concerned about getting Lucas out of the birth canal because his heart rate was fluctuating so much.

You might think that the incision is done carefully with a scalpel or yadda, yadda.  Nah, it is surgical scissors (no idea what the real name for those are, surgical chop-chops?).  Dr. Little went snip, snip (I almost went in to graphic detail about the snip, snip but decided against it.  That shit is burned in my brain and no amount of steel wool and bleach is getting it out of there.) and tada, now Lucas had a bit easier time getting out.

Squeamish part over.

I think Ally had to push maybe once or twice more and **POOF** Lucas came in to this world already trying to kill himself.  He had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and the damn thing in a square knot.

Obviously, he should be a pirate.  He can already tie down a sail.

Dad's view of le birthage

First, let us discuss one pet peeve that I have.  If you are one of those people that would say to me your life will never be the same after the baby is born or if you have already decided that I was freaking out for nine-months then please punch yourself in the face.  Twice.

I had ninth months to come to grips with having a baby and while, yes, I didn’t know what exactly to expect.  I had a pretty decent idea from the classes we (Ally and I) attended, books that I read, and all my co-workers who decided to give me unsolicited advice.   Also, if you actually know me then you’ll understand I won’t flip my shit unless it is an actual emergency.  I’ve never been one to panic.  I leave that (as well as being supremely organized to Ally).

Moving on…

Let’s see.  It was approximately 3:30 am on Friday, 5/8 and Ally is waking me up and asking me fairly important questions.  I’m fairly certain that the questions were about contractions and if she was really having them, how close they were, and whether or not we should go to the hospital.   I remember saying something like time the contractions and then call the doctor.  Repeatedly.  Finally, she listened to me and amazingly called the Doctor and left a message.  The amazing thing to me is about 5 minutes later (maybe less) the Doc called back.  This totally caught me off-guard.  I expected the doctor to call back about 5 years later when Lucas was heading to kindergarten.

Ally gets the instructions from the Doctor and follows them.  I think one was take a bath and if the contractions keep coming then come to the hospital.  To her credit, she made it 30 minutes of the total hour that the Doctor asked.  After leaving the bath, Ally picked me up and threw me out of bed (I went splat against the wall).  You’d be surprised how strong a woman who is contracting is.  In reality, I’m fairly sure I woke up when she got out of the bathroom and she said we are going to the hospital.  I wisely acquiesced with this request and did not protest.  Who says mens don’t get wiser the older they get.

We then spent some time getting everything packed up (everything was together, it just needed to be officially closed up) and loaded up the Tribeca and started towards the hospital.  The best thing was the fact we left the house approximately 5:30 am.  If we’d left later then we might have gotten caught in Metro Atlanta traffic which would have really sucked the big one.  Always nice to miss out on the traffic.

Now we arrived at the hospital without fanfare or any associated catastrophes.  We knew where to go and what to do so we headed to the downstairs registration desk (assuming it was after-hours but we assumed wrong) and was told to go to the 3rd floor and check-in.  Ally signed in and then we were told to go wait in the waiting room.  I have to say that Ally wasn’t exactly thrilled with waiting but what can you do.  Bureaucracy is everywhere…

So for some reason it took 2 people to check us in.  One person to punch things in to the computer and another to handle the paperwork.  There wasn’t a bunch of paperwork or a lot of punching the computer.  I was baffled but decided against pointing this out.  Also, this is the first clue that Dad is no longer considered important (I knew I wasn’t important before but this really hammers it home).  You are summarily ignored unless you can provide information or Mom’s information (id, insurance card).  Otherwise, you sign nothing and just sit there with your thumb in your butt until everything is complete.  So, if you are an emo retard who needs constant stroking and to have everything be about you then you’d best find someone else to accompany your wife through birth.  (Good thing Lauren is female otherwise she’d have trouble accepting this role…)

Next thing, we head in to the triage area where they take your vital signs and start doing womanly exam stuff.  Normally, I get kicked out of the room when this happens but not this time.  Without going in to any graphic detail, some nurse that was about my height (6′ 2″) and out-weighing me by 340983094 lbs (that could be a slight exaggeration) starts the pelvic exam.  I thought (to myself)  shouldn’t nurses with hands like a man be banned from giving those types of exams.  I’m just saying. The other nurses that was tweaking the equipment had small hands and would have been a great candidate to do that exam.  I just wanted to say, “Doncha think with your massive boxer mitts that you aren’t the best person for this type of exam.”  After that was over the Doctor (Dr. Little) came in and gave another pelvic exam (wtf, can’t you take the nurses word for it?) and said to Ally, “You are gonna have a baby today.”  I was mostly relieved that I didn’t have to drive back home.

Next, we got moved to a birthing room on the 3rd floor (P305, I think).  But before we got moved, Ally requested an epidural before we left triage.  I imagine she’d requested it before we left the house if that was possible.

I think we waited about 30 minutes to 40 minutes before the anesthesiologist got to the room.  This was a horrifying experience for Ally and she wanted to stop before it was all the way in.  I think the biggest issue was the fact that she couldn’t round her back and bend like the anesthesiologist wanted her too.  The idea is to roll or curl your back like a cat stretching, the catch is that a pregnant lady has a hard time rounding her back because THERE IS A GODDAMN BABY IN THE WAY!  Anyway, after a loooong 15 minutes the dude worked his magic and got the needle and catheter placed.  He had to run to another room for a little bit before he was able to fully hook it up but put in enough medicine so that Ally would be comfortable (for about 4 hours he said).  He came back to hook up the self-administration machine and then all was right with the world.

This was our time to regroup.  We alerted the media (our friends and family) through email and text messages.   I unloaded the car in one trip (took me three to load it) while only dropping the camcorder once (DON’T TELL ALLY).  Then we decided to make it like a cat and nap?  That was lame but yeah, we decided to rest.  Ally really needed it as she’d been up for 24 hours straight at this point and all things considered was still in good spirits but definitely tired.  I took a short nap and then decided to look at the fetal monitor and the contraction o’death measurement tool (I’m sure that is the official name).  Once I’d figured out what the deal was with that then I whipped out the laptop and starting messing around.

Everything was going well until Ally decided that she was having some “bottom-pressure” which was the sign that she was ready to push.  Again, Ally isn’t one to start bothering the nurses but I decided to mash the button so if nothing else she could blame me if it decided to be nothing.  I have to say that while Ally knew things were happening and something was up, this being the first pregnancy, she didn’t have a clue what sign meant what at what time.  Earlier, she thought she had contractions but wasn’t sure because she described it as a really bad menstrual cramp.  Well, turns out it was contractions.  Same concept here, she knew something was going wrong or something was up but didn’t have a clue as to what her body was telling her.  Although having the bottom part numb probably didn’t help (BUT I’M SURE THAT CONTRACTIONS/PUSHING/AND POOP WOULD HAVE BEEN A DREAM WITHOUT IT).  We called the nurse and she casually strolls in, roots around in Ally’s nether regions and then casually says (in a southern drawl),  “Honey, you are ready to push.”

My thought – “It’s go time bitches, better get on your game face.”

And for our next installment – “WTF is coming out of my wife and I hope it isn’t like the movie Aliens.”