2010: A Hospital Odyssey

Part 1: A Prelude to Chaos

We knew going into it that we were in for some serious hospital time in the coming months. After all, Nancy was pregnant, and the only thing more certain in pregnancy than regular doctor visits are wild, unpredictable mood swings. Little did we know, however, just how very much time and energy we’d be spending in those labyrinthine, white-washed hallways and exceptionally uncomfortable beds. What we were expecting to be a relative straightforward in-and-out delivery, would ultimately span months (and months’ paychecks) post-delivery. Months spent in the most curious, surreal, and frustrating of circumstances: a naïve Montana boy trying to navigate the impenetrable bureaucracy and maddening inefficiency of the Chinese medical system. This ongoing twilight zone is what I’m attempting to document here, for your entertainment, and the remaining vestiges of my own sanity.

We were in the final stretch of pregnancy (stomach pun intended)… when those monthly visits have shifted down to one every two weeks, and then to weekly. Nancy (and therefore, I) had wanted a natural delivery. This desire was as cosmetic as any other reason. She wasn’t sure what kind of incision they might use, and feared she might never be able to wear a bikini should they decide to give her the ol’ vertical cut. Add to that the natural inclination to want to avoid unnecessary cutting of any kind and, well, it was an easy decision to agree with.

The ultrasound technicians, however, alerted us to a potential hiccup in that plan. Now before I go further, let me explain that we weren’t able to see any pictures of the ultrasounds. No pictures, no motion, no nothing since about week 12. The reason was they were legally required to withhold the gender of the fetus to the parents. The rationale? One of those kooky side effects of a one-child policy in a gender-preferenced society. If you only get one shot at a son, for instance, you may be less than thrilled to learned your bun in the oven’s a girl… and you just might decide to start over. Though far less common nowadays – at least among the urban middle and upper classes (who can often afford the tax on a 2nd child) – it is still a very real concern… especially for the hundreds of millions of working class families for whom the cost of an abortion is far lower than paying the tax for a second flip of the gender coin.

Of course, that doesn’t really stop too many from finding out. Though doctors and hospitals face steep penalties – such as being fired and fined – for revealing the gender to the parents… there are plenty who still do. Some “black market” doctors are more than willing to “let it slip” for the right price. Or, in my case, the holder of the right passport. That’s, right, the president of the maternity ward, and one of the chief delivery surgeons at our hospital was willing to tell me (in a hushed voice, just to add to the air of illegality… in spite of the fact we were alone in his office at the time) the gender, because…well… I wasn’t Chinese. I wasn’t one of the people they were worried about doing something nutballish. Though I have to imagine the fact that ours was a boy also had something to do with it.

Anyway, as I was saying, the ultrasound technicians commented to Nancy (I wasn’t allowed in the room… or any of the testing rooms) that the baby was “big,” “not small,” and had “very long legs.” Our doctor, after dutifully taking a cursory glace over the data, confirmed that indeed we had a “big baby.” This didn’t really come as a shock to either of us. We’d been watching her belly button pop and her stomach expand past its stretching point. Long ribbons of purple scar tissue now made a kind of pinstripe pattern up and down Nancy’s poor stomach. We made the appropriate sound of interest and this “new” revelation. After all, I figured, we were paying an extra 300 yuan per visit to see this guy… we should at least pretend like we were getting something out of it, other than a slightly shorter line, and waiting rooms that didn’t double as janitor’s storage closets.

The conversation we’d figured was going to be brought up at some point… was brought up: an elective C-section. Though the baby wasn’t considered to be “too big” to try natural delivery yet, he was considered borderline. Additionally, her uterus had produced an overabundance of amniotic fluid, which was causing Nancy do swell even further. Nancy, however, stood firm. She wanted a natural birth, unless it was truly necessary to have it be otherwise. Solemnly, the doctor nodded his head. I looked closely, but couldn’t find any dollar signs in his eyes. Clearly, he’d been in this game longer than we had, and knew how to hide any disappointment he might have had. After all, it was only the 3rd quarter, and one never knows what might happen in the 4th.

That 9th-inning game changer manifested itself as the umbilical cord wrapping itself around the baby’s neck a few weeks before the due date. Though it remained loose, and after a few days unwrapped on its own (as is often the case), a big enough of a fuss was made, and enough worry was stirred up to cause us to be the ones to reintroduce the possibility of a Caesarean. By this point, Nancy was over it. The romance of pregnancy was not only gone… it had changed its phone number and email with no forwarding address. The bump in her stomach had gone from a butterfly flutter, to rampaging xenomorph ready to burst out of her chest before being hunted down by Sigourney Weaver. She wanted it O-U-T.

The solution would be twofold. First and foremost: a definite deadline. Baby’s appointed due date, as it were, had flown by. Apparently no one had given him the memo. So we decided to set a firm, but loving, eviction date. If he didn’t come out by the end of August, we were going in after him.

The second step was long, daily walks… hoping Caelan would take a note from Newton’s apple if we did enough laps around the park. Alas, gravity was booked solid at the time, and couldn’t fit us in. It would be a c-section, a 6 hours wait, and the most uncomfortable bed ever to grace this green earth that would finally see baby Caelan out of the womb and into our arms.

Stay tuned for part 2… same bat time, same bat blog.


(CS) TAW Out.

LYRIC HERE