So I think I might give up TV for a while. Right now I’m watching a replay of the Nadal/Murry “dream-quarter” of the Australian Open. And while I really do enjoy a good tennis match, I’m watching TV, again. Whether it’s this show or that show or this “reality” competition or some other sporting event, here I sit, watching it on TV. These guys are out there trying to win the damn Australian Open, and I’m paying someone else so I can sit and watch’em do it. I’d like to turn this 42” plasma into a mirror so I could sit and stare at myself staring at something for hours on end. I’m sorry but I know far too much about the life and times of people in Salem (Yes, thats Days of our Lives Salem) to justify watching another second of television. Enough of this high-def hypnosis.

Think about Federer? What it must feel like to be an athlete at the pinnacle of that sport. The freedom of movement their bodies must have. Agile and precise. The sheer central nervous system processing power. The dedication it must have taken to develop such a synergy of mind and body.

I’ve tasted that. I’ve even seen it up close. (And I have a Nick Bollettieri Reserved Parking space sign to prove it.) Now, I basically live my life in a 90 degree angle. Sometimes on wheels, sometimes prone in bed, sometimes staggering unbalanced up a flight of stairs and sometimes hanging over a treadmill struggling to steer this broken vehicle down the infinite road to nowhere.

Focus.

I envy the focus of these athletes that achieve greatness. I envy the focus of anyone that can resolve the infinite possibilities that life presents us with and zero in on one point of success or accomplishment. Those who put the time in, work and who can chisel away at something for years sculpting their own destiny.  Those who manifest. I would like to have that focus. Alas, no matter how much I stare, the TV will not provide it. What does it take to be really good at something anyway. Can we all be “Federer good” at one thing? I’ve heard say there is a 10,000 hour rule. 10,000 hours huh? Ok, lets get started. What am I gunna do now?

But I’m interested in so much. Care Code, exercise, technical analysis of the stock market, software development, video editing, chaos, writing and the list goes on.
There is so much I want to do and learn about and the worst part is feeling like I have shortened the time I have to do it in with this injury. If not from lack of motion and being sedentary then from wear and tear on a body with poor circulation and various other “complications”.  Some muscle groups on and hyperactive and some off, already dead. It’s kinda like being torn apart from within. Not to be so graphic or morbid but sometimes the words just fit. It’s funny, I can write the most horrible things with a smile on my face when I feel that I have accurately expressed myself.

Focus. How can I lead a fast paced, go get’em, kick ass and take names lifestyle when everything takes me 3, 4 or 10 times longer to accomplish. I get up, go to the bathroom, take a shower, get dressed and hours have gone by and now I’m exhausted because I’ve basically been fighting my own body to accomplish these mundane things that most people can do without thinking or much effort. How can I achieve any velocity or momentum in my life when it is literally riddled with speed bumps?  I have a family now and along with it, tremendous pressure to provide for them. Sure Mandy will continue working, but I know she would rather be with Emilie and that going back to work will tear a little piece of her heart out. Having Emilie is the best thing that has ever happened to us, but it’s also a reminder of how much this injury will continue to effect our lives. But, so will my daughter. Can I use her as a lens to help focus my life? Lead by example right?

Wow. As I was writing this Nadal just retired with a knee injury. I hope he’s ok.

Gotta go, after that the TV is gettin shut off..

I’ve been meaning to post an update for days, but sometimes I like to let things build up before I write about them. Not in a suspenseful way, more a vomitus, think before you speak exercise. Marinate, metabolize the moment.  Also, it’s not often that I find myself wanting to say so much, and at the same time, be at a complete and utter loss of words. Sometimes life comes at me so quickly there’s no time to digest and express. Just handle it, write some things down and move forward.  Hopefully I can return to it later and make sense of it, whatever it was. Two times in my life so far it has changed fundamentally and dramatically.

One was not expected and one was indeed carefully engineered.  If you’re reading this blog, chances are you know about the former. Let me tell you about the latter. The birth of my daughter.

Emilie’s Birth Story:
December 26, 2009. Mandy and I had to get up early that morning. We had errands to run. We needed to stop by the Leesburg fire department to have our child car seat installations inspected and we needed to stop by the Birthing Inn to fill out some pre-registration paperwork…just in case.  By 12:30 we had accomplished both and with a great deal of satisfaction we headed off to one of our favorite restaurants to share a light lunch and celebrate being completely prepared for the birth of our first baby. Green tea, water with lemon, a Caesar salad and a bowl of crab bisque.  Satisfied and now satiated we headed home to relax, watch a movie and wait. Although months in the making, now that our due date had come and gone (December 25th) Mandy now felt to me like a ticking time bomb of life…

Back on the ranch (Nina Ct) I was setting up “The Hangover” in the DVD player and Mandy was walking Marley in the brisk winter afternoon.  She came in from her stroll and promptly made haste for the bathroom.  I remember it vividly as she walked through the line of site of the DVD remote while I was navigating the menu only to return several minutes later and declare that something funny had happened on her walk. A flow of some sort.  Nothing too substantial but enough to change, so she did. Then we settled in for the movie but had Tom put our hospital bag in the van, just in case…

Play. Opening credits and again Mandy is off to the powder room.

“Rob its green; I think you better call the midwives.”

At 3:47pm I began timing contractions using the Contraction Master iPhone app.  From the beginning they averaged about a minute in duration and were about five minutes apart.  We were in the car now heading to the Birthing Inn. Sure enough they wanted us to come in because it was green, but we were convinced they would turn us right around and politely ask us to come back when Mandy was actually in labor.  The next hour was a blur, but I can almost recall it in slow motion. Our hypno-birthing classes were in the same building so I had made this trip about six times so far but here I was making it for the first time. During the ride the intensity of the contractions had increased, but when we got there we decided to bring just one small bag in since we would surely be turning right back around. People had been talking about how funny “The Hangover” is for days.  I remember feeling a little frustrated that I probably wouldn’t get to watch it, then laughing at myself.  I still haven’t seen it.

As we entered the labor ward we met a lovely Indian woman whose daughter had just given birth to her first child after about 26 hours of labor. I’m sorry, I think you misspoke. Twenty-Six hours? She looked tired, but she was a new Grandmother and her tears betrayed her excitement. We chatted for a moment and then we were whisked off to an assessment room.

Swab.

“I’ll be right back” Chimed the nurse.  Mandy and I had but a moment to look at each other apprehensively before the nurse returned to inform us that Mandy was indeed in labor and that we were being admitted, post haste. The issue was green. There was meconium in the water which could possibly complicate things and in the worst case, become very dangerous.

Here the story bifurcates.  I mean I’ll do my best to explain what the birth experience was like for me, but you’re really only getting half the narrative.  One day hopefully Mandy will write her version down and complete the picture.

Mandy was in a gown now with a wireless fetal monitor transmitting bits of labor data to a computer across the room. I requested a crash course in diagnostics. Our truly wonderful midwife Paula had arrived and was digitally accessing the situation.  With deft interphalangeal articulations of hand she quickly determined that Mandy was 4cm dilated. The contractions continued to increase in intensity, but this increase was not accompanied by louder moaning or shouting.  This was not a Hollywood birth. Although periodically she was visibly uncomfortable, Mandy remained calm and relaxed and very aware.  At about 6pm she was 6cm. Progressing quickly, but becoming very uncomfortable. She decided to get in the tub. This was apparently a very good idea.  Shortly after she got in the hot bath our doula arrived and began some soft massage, got her ice chips, cool rags and helped with positioning. Life saver Kristina, thanks.  This time in the tub I think helped Mandy deal with the pain so she could continue to relax and let her body do its thing. By 8 though she was ready to move out of the tub and back into the bed. Paula took another “look” and with encouragement told us that Mandy was now 9cm, 100% effaced.  Mandy said she felt ready to push, so with Paula in the ready position, Kristina holding one leg, and a second nurse McKenzie holding the other, the pushing began.  I remained at the head of the bed, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, encouraging when I could, remaining silent and just holding a hand or stroking her hair when I thought that was a better tact. Mandy’s mother sat across the room, video camera at the ready.

What I remember most about the next two hours is the jazz hands that Mandy would make preceding every contraction. Ok. Ok. Ok. Here it comes….Jazz hands……now puuuuush! Was she really dancing while she was in labor? This went on for about an hour. Paula then informed us that our baby was sunny side up, which basically means that the widest most inflexible part of the skull would be exiting first. Hi mom, can you feel me now? The option of an epidural was offered because there was a risk of Mandy exhausting herself from pushing with no progress, but Mandy declined. The dancing and pushing resumed.  You go Mad-Dog.

At 10:16pm I saw my daughters face for the first time.  I happened to be standing at the time so I got a good look. Most people will tell you that babies are not pretty when they are born. Not mine. She was gorgeous. A little grey-scale, but perfect. I didn’t know she was a she at the time, most of her was still in Mandy, so it was kind of a gorgeous androgyny, but she/he was still gorgeous. 30 seconds later and slip (Mandy insert more accurate adverb here), out came the rest of her.

Clamp. Clamp. Daddy, would you like to cut the cord?  Picture a somewhat boney, very shaky and unsure hand wielding surgical scissors inches away from a newborn child. I’m laughing as I write it, you might as well laugh as you picture it. Half-assed Snip.  Snip.  I released an audible sigh of relief and fell back into my chair exhausted.  All this watching Mandy work for six and a half hours had taken a toll;

I’m swollen with pride as I write about the experience.  Except for a little baby poop and culinary metaphor, it went down exactly as Mandy and I had intended.

It’s fresh enough in my mind that I still feel a little strange writing about it yet at the same time I feel an instant comfort and familiarity in fatherhood.  I’ve been writing in the living room, listening to music and Emilie is crying in the bedroom.  Both are beautiful sounds to me. Poor Mandy is in the bedroom with Emilie, probably in tears because her baby is crying and she doesn’t know why, already worried sick about doing right by her, giving her the safest environment and being a good mother.  Is this the blessing and the curse of parenthood?  One paralyzed with hope and the other with fear? Not that I don’t worry about being a good father or about providing my daughter with every opportunity and keeping her safe.  But right now Mandy and I are having two completely different experiences. To be sure our experiences diverged dramatically as she began growing a human inside her nine and a half months ago, but only over the last week and a half have I really started to feel bad about it.  She’s up and breast feeding every two hours, some times less. When we are in the same room, occasionally I’ll look over and Mandy will be asleep with Emilie latched on literally sucking the life out of her.  Don’t get me wrong, I think breast feeding is a beautiful thing (don’t take that the wrong way either), and sometimes I’m jealous of their connection. But this is so much more physically exhausting and in turn emotionally draining for Mandy than it is for me.  Hang in there baby, it will get easier I promise.

Two weeks in, here’s what I’ve been able to gather:

Mandy, once again, has knocked it out the park.

I’ve satisfied the prime directive and she’s adorable.

A spinal cord injury will make you feel like the same person in a new body. A body that doesn’t behave like it should.  Physically disconnected from the human experience. Having a child has made me feel like a new person in the same body. Literally reborn, with a greater understanding of what it means to be human.

These past two weeks are nothing compared to what the next two weeks will be, and that’s what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life.