MAGNIFICENT - A GIFT

"All right.  Roll from the bed onto the table."
"Do what?  Onto where?"
"Come on.  You can do it!"
"I can't feel anything at all from my chest down to my feet and you're telling me to move?"
I lift my head and glance down at the body to which I seem to have no connection.  The epidural has severed it into two halves - mind and a big hunk of meat, formerly known as legs and torso.  I touch the disembodied appendages. They even feel like meat - cold, flaccid.  The lack of summer sun and thirty pounds of extra weight add an air of raw chicken flesh to the goosebumps that cover them. Why is it so cold in the operating room?
"Sorry, there's no way I can move from here.  You're going to have to help me."
Two strong nurses make short work of the transfer, straining only slightly under the bulky load. Starched linens snap as they cover my prone body with a tent-like structure, thankfully cutting off our view of it.  The harsh artificial lighting causes me to squint as I glance up at my husband.  A hospital mask hides the lower half of his face which is still, I'm sure, registering fear.  He hates hospitals and when the doctor informed him in no uncertain terms that he WOULD go into the operating room with me, he had paled considerably.  I reach for his hand to comfort him and smile brightly.  I'm not at all afraid.  Everything will be fine. Yes, it's a shame that natural childbirth hadn't worked out for us, but women have cesarean sections all the time and rarely die.  
The sound of scuffling feet behind us herald the entrance of the doctor and his assistants.  They make their way to my lower half and are hidden behind the 'tent'. We hear the movement of a cart and then, "All right.  Let's get this baby born. Thirty-two hours is a long time to wait.  I'm going to make the incision now. You may feel some pressure, but it won't hurt."
"If I feel a thing, it will amaze me, Dr. Patrick."
I look at my husband and our eyes meet.  We are going to see our son, finally! Elation and fear. Are we ready for this?  Even after all of the books and manuals on childbirth and babies, we feel so unprepared.  Ready or not, it's about to happen!  I feel some pressure and then see my husband's eyes widen as a single drop of blood flies through the air and splashes onto his cheek.  He doesn't like blood, either.  I squeeze his hand. His eyes close tightly as he successfully fights the urge to pass out.
The operating table vibrates wildly under me while the linen tent above me undulates rapidly.
"What's going on down there?  Are you trying to kill me?"
The doctor laughs.  "We're just about to deliver your baby.  
A long pause.
"Here he is!"
I wait for the cry, but the room is silent.  Oh, my God, is he alive?  Why isn't he crying?
A nurse runs out of the room carrying a bundle.  Oh, Lord.  Please let him be all right.  I can't speak. Can't ask what is happening; too afraid to hear something dreadful.  Tortuous, long minutes pass. We are both frozen in fear.  Please God, please.  My heart hurts - it's pounding so fast.  Please, please, please.  A CRY! The most wonderful sound ever.  My baby cried!  I cry!
The nurse comes back into the room and places the tightly-wrapped bundle beside me on the operating table. Our son's eyes meet mine.  Such wonder.  A miracle.  A gift from God.  He looks just as we had imagined he would.  Brown eyes, big, crooked nose, little red curls dot his head.  He is MAGNIFICENT.

MAGNIFICENT - A GIFT

The sterility of artificial lighting and the silver sheen of highly-glossed medical instruments...we're in the operating room at St. Joseph's Hospital.
"All right.  Roll from the bed onto the table."
"Do what?  Onto where?"
"Come on.  You can do it!"
"I can't feel anything at all from my chest down to my feet and you're telling me to move?"
I lift my head and glance down at the body to which I seem to have no connection.  The epidural has severed it into two halves - mind and a big hunk of meat, formerly known as legs and torso.  I touch the disembodied appendages. They even feel like meat - cold, flaccid.  The lack of summer sun and thirty pounds of extra weight add an air of raw chicken flesh to the goosebumps that cover them. Why is it so cold in the operating room?
"Sorry, there's no way I can move from here.  You're going to have to help me."
Two strong nurses make short work of the transfer, straining only slightly under the bulky load. Starched linens snap as they cover my prone body with a tent-like structure, thankfully cutting off our view of it.  The glare of the harsh lighting causes me to squint as I glance up at my husband.  A hospital mask hides the lower half of his face which is still, I'm sure, registering fear.  He hates hospitals and when the doctor informed him in no uncertain terms that he WOULD go into the operating room with me, he had paled considerably.  I reach for his hand to comfort him and smile brightly.  I'm not at all afraid.  Everything will be fine. Yes, it's a shame that natural childbirth hadn't worked out for us, but women have cesarean sections all the time and rarely die.  
The sound of scuffling feet behind us herald the entrance of the doctor and his assistants.  They make their way to my lower half and are hidden behind the 'tent'. We hear the movement of a cart and then, "All right.  Let's get this baby born. Thirty-two hours is a long time to wait.  I'm going to make the incision now. You may feel some pressure, but it won't hurt."
"If I feel a thing, it will amaze me, Dr. Patrick."
I look at my husband and our eyes meet.  We are going to see our son, finally! Over the months, we'd speculated about his appearance. J.P. has black hair and dark brown eyes and I, as you know, have blond hair and green eyes.  Large noses can be found on both sides of the family. We laughed as we envisioned our future child's 'looks'.  "His eyes will be brown, because brown is dominant over green, his hair will probably be red, and he'll have a big nose for sure." 
Elation and fear. Are we ready for this?  Even after all of the books and manuals on childbirth and babies, we feel so unprepared.  Ready or not, it's about to happen!  I feel some pressure and then see my husband's eyes widen as a single drop of blood flies through the air and splashes onto his cheek.  He doesn't like blood, either.  I squeeze his hand. His eyes close tightly as he successfully fights the urge to pass out.
The operating table vibrates wildly under me while the linen tent above me undulates rapidly.
"What's going on down there?  Are you trying to kill me?"
The doctor laughs.  "We're just about to deliver your baby.  
A long pause.
"Here he is!"
I wait for the cry, but the room is silent.  Oh, my God, is he alive?  Why isn't he crying?
A nurse runs out of the room carrying a bundle.  Oh, Lord.  Please let him be all right.  I can't speak. Can't ask what is happening; too afraid to hear something dreadful.  Tortuous, long minutes pass. We are both frozen in fear.  Please God, please.  My heart hurts - it's pounding so fast.  Please, please, please.  A CRY! The most wonderful sound ever.  My baby cried!  I cry!
The nurse comes back into the room and places the tightly-wrapped bundle beside me on the operating table. Our son's eyes meet mine.  Such wonder.  A miracle.  A gift from God.  He looks just as we had imagined he would.  Brown eyes, big, crooked nose, little red curls dot his head.  He is MAGNIFICENT.