A second group that I would like to launch as a result of this book is the International Fraternity of C-section Fathers (IFCF). We really need to pull together as men to support one another through this ridiculous experience.
Let me get one thing straight: the point of the IFCF would be to support the center of the experience, the mothers. I am in no way trying to steal their thunder here. What women go through in order to bring a child into this world is absolutely incredible.
All this being said, however, I think we have reached a place in our society where c-sections have become sort of routine. They happen so often now that no one even bats an eye. This is great from a medical standpoint because they have a high success rate.
This is exceptionally BAD as a first time father because NO ONE prepares you for the absolute craziness that you are about to witness. No one fills you in on exactly how much you will be needed over the event and the week and a half that follow.
Why doesn’t anyone talk about this? I was flabbergasted to know this after what I experienced. “Oh, your wife is having a c-section? Cool, good luck.”
GOOD LUCK?! COOL?!
Dude, these things are a big deal. I’m just sayin’…
There are two critical elements that need to be made a public record for they are foundational to the existence of the IFCF. The first is to dispel some of the popular myths that are out there about it. The second is to discuss the “New Dad Run” that occurs during the process.
First, let me dispel some myths about the c-section for any new couple that has yet to experience it first hand. Here are a few of the most popular:
1. It is a “Routine” Procedure: Such a ridiculously stupid concept–it’s anything but routine. A 10 inch incision across the entire stomach piercing all levels of flesh until the doctors reach the inside? Just stop it… Nothing routine about it at all…
2. It Ends with a Baby: Uh, no… It pretty much STARTS with a baby. The baby comes early–very, very, early–then you need to stick around as the hardest part of the surgery happens. This feels like an eternity.
3. The Dad is a Cheerleader: You will simultaneously care for two people at once, they just also happen to be the two most important people in your life (unless of course you have other children at home that are equally important). If your only job was to “cheer” they would give you pompoms and a skirt and allow you to stand out in the hallway. This is much more involved and the care you will need to provide will continue for the next several weeks or so. (Yes, I realize that being a father is a lifelong commitment, I just mean the post-surgical care).
4. You Can Watch the Whole Thing: The medical staff will ask often ask you if you want to “look over the curtain” that they place at your wife’s midsection while they perform the surgery. I cannot stress this enough: DO NOT LOOK OVER THE CURTAIN. My brother in law somehow did this and so have a few other dudes that I have spoken with. It is a remarkably terrible idea. If I had any last lingering desire to see an extremely large open incision I would have stayed with my decision to be a pre-med bio major in college. I could not hack it then, and I sure as hell cannot hack it now. Focus instead on your wife’s eyes. Tell her she’s doing great, that she looks fantastic, and advocate on her behalf for whatever she feels she needs.
Back to the curtain…
It seems so counter-intuitive to us “non-doctors” when you see the doctors over that thing. (If you stay seated, you can see the doctors’ from above the shoulders). If you could remove the instruments and the surroundings and just focus on the doctors’ body language and voices, you might think you were witnessing some people looking at sales figures. Or maybe discussing the merits of adding a new account to the company’s portfolio. Our surgeon had her hair pulled back, make-up on, just another regular day at the office. I literally have no frame of reference for this-which I mean as the highest compliment possible.
My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, I was trying to look into my wife’s eyes and reassure her everything was ok. The “other side of the curtain” was cool, calm, and collected. “Just the 9am sales meeting, no excitement here.” It’s incredible… And also surreal…
Now, onto the “New Dad Run” and its importance…
The new dad run starts just after the amazing moment of when you see your child for the first time. I remember so vividly the first time that I saw my children. Talk about an out of body experience.
You finally get to see the beautiful little person, then the medical team takes him/her away to be cleaned up in another room. With my children the first time I really saw them was in the recovery area. We had a crying contest and I won. Us Gomes boys are extremely competitive by nature so I was not about to concede to my newborn this early in life.
And I’m not talking about the cute, tear down the cheek, dramatic cry you see in the movies. This was the straight up ugly cry. The heaving, sobbing and blubbering reserved generally for funerals and break ups. Only happy… I just kept repeating, “I can’t believe that’s my child…” followed occasionally by, “she/he’s so beautiful.”
As I mentioned before, baby comes in about 5-6 minutes after you get back there, then the next 40 minutes are spent as the doctors take on the remarkably challenging job of cleaning up and closing out.
With my son, it was made all the more humorous, in retrospect, by the fact that the two medical professionals (nurses, doctors, I don’t know) that were cleaning him off were foreign women with two very thick, and totally different accents. One sounded Russian and one was Asian. They were talking to each other, then to my son, then back to me, almost fluidly, without pausing in between sentences or subject changes. Because we were all wearing full surgical scrubs, hairnets, and face masks it was nearly impossible to discern what communication was happening and to whom it was directed, other than some quickly fleeting eye contact through surgical goggles. It did not matter to me, nor did I try to understand. Besides, they were both completely blurred and smeared by the sheer volume of tears in my eyes.
Let the running begin…
The good thing about this process is that the run in the surgical wing is a bit of a warm up, because you are just running down the hall from your kid and back to your wife. Down to check on baby then back to check on mom. Later you have to go up and down flights of stairs.
The fact that it is a warm up has little to do with physical fitness. Even if you are demonstrably out of shape, the distance is manageable. The true challenge comes in running with a full set of surgical scrubs on. Let’s just say New Balance did not sponsor the little booties that you slide on over your shoes. Those buggers are slick. It was all I could do not to completely lay out, yard sale style, on the floor. That would have been sweet. Not to mention the rest of the outfit is not made from anything resembling athletic material that “breathes” to allow peak performance. That stuff is hot as hell. You will be sweating like a grizzly bear in a sauna–and you will probably smell worse, too, considering you will have most likely been at the hospital for a day or two at this point.
So it continues for some time: baby, mom, baby, mom, baby, mom… Eventually, you actually get the chance to take baby TO mom so that they can see each other. Which is totally remarkable. Just remember, when you show your baby to mom she will be HEAVILY drugged. So if you are looking for that Kodak moment where mom sees baby for the first time, temper your expectations. Unless your personal Kodak moment involves your wife’s pupils dilated and slurred speech–then this moment will be perfect for you. But for the rest of us, it is a bit odd. She will be loopier than roadie at a Phish concert.
Don’t get me wrong my wife and I both cried during both children–it is amazing. But she will admit fully to being heavily sedated.
Finally… FINALLY! They finish the surgery, take mom to recovery, and take your little baby to the nursery. That’s good, because mom is done and can also recover. The challenge is that the length of the dad run now gets a lot longer. Now it’s down a floor to the nursery, then back up to the recovery room for mom.
I feel that the dad run starts on that very first day and really continues throughout the rest of our children’s lives. As fathers we are always running to be with our kids and to care for them. Early on, it is for doctor’s appointments, to help them walk, and to crawl. Over the years it moves to athletic fields and courts, or to dance studios and theaters. Simultaneously we partnering with and supporting their mothers. Instead the hallway becomes from our bedroom to theirs if one of the kids is having a bad dream, or it could be down for a college visit.