Friday, September 4, 2009

Twinnage

I know that I wrote there might be delays in updating the blog but I now see that was a bit naïve. In my defense, I wrote that in what I now call the Days of Silence, which my brother calls “that hilarious time when you used to say how cool it would be to have kids.” As you may have surmised, we are now the proud, exuberant, and exhausted parents of twin girls. Here’s the synopsis.


We arrived at the hospital on Thursday evening at 6. I discovered a self-serve Pepsi machine and immediately reverted to my eleven year old self, who often fantasized about having unfettered access to the soft drink machine in the little league snack shop. Within half an hour I was wired. We settled into our ten-by-ten hospitality suite and Amy was hooked up to a complex system of wires and electrodes designed to monitor the fetal heart rates. The downside to this sophisticated system is that every time Amy moved (or took a deep breath) one of the electrodes fell off and the machine started beeping crazily and the nurses came running in. They gave me this look like “can’t you stop her from breathing for even twenty minutes?” I gave them this look like “I can’t concentrate on my Sudoku with all this commotion.” Amy babbled something about babies.

I went to get more Pepsi and as I was coming out of the kitchenette I heard a sound from one of the rooms; a bloodcurdling shrieking and hissing that sounded like twenty cats being bathed in ice water. It occurred to me that someone was being murdered on the maternity ward. Realizing that I might be called on to testify as an eyewitness, I tried to remember everything I could about my wife’s research. The next shriek coincided with my recollection that eyewitnesses are pretty useless and my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I ran for our room. As I neared our room, however, I came to the slow but unnerving realization that my wife would be in the Twenty Cat state very soon. Once again, my fight or flight instinct kicked in and I headed for the exit. As I pounded on the exit doors, I came to the realization that the maternity ward is a locked unit. You are probably thinking “that’d be because they’re trying to keep bad people out.” You’re thinking that because you haven’t been on a maternity ward.

Imagine 36 hours of this. Random screaming. Pepsi. Beeping. Sudoku.

And then imagine this.




Lily Alice and Tessa Mae Douglass, born August 29 weighing in at an impressive 6.11 and 7.4.

This is a picture of a man who has no idea what is about to happen to his life.


I have to say that most of the medical staff was amazing. Kind, compassionate, helpful, warm – all the stuff they had in the brochure. I don’t want to be maudlin or sentimental, but there was often hugging involved. Most of the time, I think these people just felt sorry for us. They would look at us and then look at the twins and then realize what we were in for and get all misty eyed and choked up, the same way you do when you’re watching Terms of Endearment or The Wrath of Khan when Spock is talking to Kirk at the end.

But there are always exceptions. For us, the exceptions were Doctor Bowel and Nurse Racheted-Up. Dr. Bowel was a tall, thin resident with a thick accent and a perpetual look of thoughtful confusion, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he was, in fact, confused. He would come in and ask several apparently random questions and then, two minutes later, he would come back and ask another two random questions. His favorite question was “Any bowel movements? Any gas?” He asked this four times a day and every time he seemed disappointed when Amy said no. “No bowel movements?” he would reiterate, poking her in the belly. I have a few hypotheses about this behavior. The first possibility is that pain in the abdomen was one of twenty symptoms he knew. The second is that bowel was one of twenty words he knew. Doctor Bowel also had an unfortunate tendency to ask these questions at inopportune times, such as Amy’s first attempt at breast feeding or Lily’s first attempt at hitting that fifth octave. He would stand in the middle of the room observing events and trying to get his nerve up for one more bowel inquiry.

But at least Doctor Bowel was calm. Nurse Racheted Up had a strung out look that said “Hey! I just raided the pharmacy of Ritalin and drank a two liter of Mountain Dew and now I’m ready to be your nurse. Hey! Who wants a Percoset?” She made unusual comments for a nurse, like “I’m not very good at this,” as she was attempting to help Amy breast feed. Or, “I keep losing everything. My pen, my pad. And did I already give you your medication.” She regarded the twins anxiously, as if they might ask her for something she wasn’t ready to provide. Our favorite question had to be “would you like me to watch the twins in my office so you can get some rest?”

Um, where did I put those twins …