Archive of ‘birth. What Killed Gary Coleman’ category

Whatchu Talkin’ Bout Colleen

.
Span­dex is my friend

For­give me read­ers, mom, it has been about nine months since my last confession.…err.…blog post. I have absolute­ly no rea­son for not post­ing oth­er than the pure unadul­ter­at­ed lazi­ness that comes from cool­er weath­er and mater­ni­ty leg­gings. I swear to God, the sec­ond those suck­ers go on for the first time, it is like my body turns from semi-func­tion­al moth­er of two to sloth.  All I want to do is watch Hon­ey Boo Boo, pure­ly to make myself feel bet­ter about my own life, and eat peanut but­ter straight from a jar. Plus, the thought of hav­ing to get out the wire­less key­board for my iPad, or God for­bid grab a lap­top, has proven too much as of late.

My preg­nan­cy has been easy, like insane­ly easy, to the point that I for­get I am even preg­nant until I am set­ting off auto­mat­ic hand dry­ers in the bath­room with a quick move of my ever-grow­ing bel­ly. I have been pret­ty even tem­pered, aside from a few emo­tion­al out­bursts that nor­mal­ly revolve around boy bands and the face that I real­ly wish the world still thought over­alls and flow­er hats were OK. Oth­er than that, it is smooth sail­ing.

I am look­ing for­ward to actu­al­ly giv­ing birth. I don’t know my baby’s gen­der, yes inten­tion­al­ly, so that moment is espe­cial­ly excit­ing. I am one mil­lion per­cent ter­ri­fied of being sliced in half and from the moment that I peed on that stick, all three times, I have remind­ed every­one around me; includ­ing, but not lim­it­ed to, my hus­band, moth­er, doc­tor, nurs­es, extend­ed fam­i­ly and occa­sion­al cus­to­di­an at Wal­mart, that I will not be hav­ing a c-sec­tion. Giv­ing birth is the only time in my life that I have ever been even remote­ly ath­let­ic, so I feel this is my time to shine. That is, of course, as long as no one dies along the way. Wait, what, WTF did she say?

Per­haps that is a bold state­ment, but please, let me explain. I have this thing, about, well, black celebri­ties dying on pret­ty sig­nif­i­cant days in my life. Like the time Nate Dog died the night before my birth­day and forc­ing a 24-hour con­tin­u­ous loop of Reg­u­late. Or, the trag­ic day that I lost my best friend and companion,the beau­ti­ful blue lux­u­ry sedan that was with me for sev­en years. As if my Mer­cury Sable dying weren’t enough for me to take, Sher­man Hem­s­ley moved on up to his deluxe apart­ment in the sky the same day. But the day my sweet Hand­some #2 came into this world, well that one takes the cake.

There is noth­ing quite like the bond between a girl and her lux­u­ry sedan

I was extreme­ly enor­mous toward the end of my preg­nan­cy, think Macy’s Thanks­giv­ing Day Parade bal­loon, and eager to get the baby out. I was due on Memo­ri­al Day and opt­ed for an ear­ly induc­tion. I had a baby already, via an induc­tion, and every­thing was per­fect­ly fine, aside from the meco­ni­um that caused the new­born to be rushed to ICU and the quick seda­tion of an over­wrought first-time mom, I was knocked out and don’t remem­ber much. I wasn’t in too much pain the first go around, opt­ing for an epidu­ral and I expect­ed my sec­ond birth to go the same way

One last Diet Coke, so many less calo­ries that way

I arrived at the hos­pi­tal, checked in, got hooked up to the pitocin, got the epidu­ral mov­ing and began the Thomas-fam­i­ly tra­di­tion of the birth view­ing of Nation­al Lam­poons Vacation.….No, not one bit of me is kid­ding. If you are real­ly doubt­ing my affin­i­ty to the Griswalds, please see exhibit A. The Thomas Fam­i­ly Christ­mas card. I quick­ly real­ized that this expe­ri­ence was not going to be the smooth sail­ing that I was expect­ing.

Exhibit A.….Pure Awe­some­ness

Once the epidu­ral was in, I was told that I could have more med­i­cine, if I real­ly felt that I need­ed it, but not to push the but­ton with­out first con­tact­ing the nurs­es. Easy enough, I thought. I quick­ly real­ized that the pain was com­ing fast and strong and it wasn’t less­en­ing, at all. After con­tact­ing the nurs­es three times ask­ing for more med­i­cine, I was given the go ahead to push it as much as I want­ed. That should have been the first clue.

I have seen child­birth as depict­ed by Hol­ly­wood hun­dreds of times. It is always dra­mat­ic, sweaty and loud, but I had always called bull­shit on that.I had a baby, that doesn’t hap­pen. Well, as mat­ter of fact, it does when your epidu­ral fails. WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After lis­ten­ing to me writhing in pain for what seemed like hours, OK, prob­a­bly 20 min­utes, my dar­ling hus­band, my com­pan­ion, my sup­port sys­tem, the one who would get me through the next few dif­fi­cult hours, sat up from his makeshift bed and exclaimed,

Coll! Please be qui­et, I am try­ing to get some sleep.”

As God is my wit­ness, he said it.…And the only rea­son that he made it to see the birth of his son is because I was in so much pain I couldn’t move, or I would have killed him right there. Cer­tain­ly this moron had lost his f&*$%ng mind!

I want my mom. I want my mom. I need my mom,” I sobbed.

Here. Do you want your phone to call her,” the moron said, straight faced as he tried to hand me my phone.

When I didn’t respond because I was try­ing to tele­ki­net­i­cal­ly kill him, he real­ized that he bet­ter make the call. He was able to rouse my moth­er from a dead sleep at 3 am and get her to the hos­pi­tal. As we wait­ed for her arrival, there was a staff change and I was given the choice to have a sec­ond epidu­ral, or a cesare­an. Clear­ly, the­se peo­ple didn’t read the, “No way are you cut­ting me, but I would be hap­py to cut you” look on my face. I opt­ed for the drugs and we were on our way.

I quick­ly began to become numb and felt remark­ably bet­ter. My mom arrived and for a few min­utes every­thing was A-OK. And then it all when down the drain. I start­ed to freeze and asked for sev­er­al blan­kets. Scott and my mom were watch­ing some news pro­gram fea­tur­ing a black man and wom­an being inter­viewed. I peered from the com­fort of the bed and began to say over and over, “My God. Gary Cole­man looks like shit.”

At first, they thought it was fun­ny, or that I was kid­ding, but quick­ly real­ized that some­thing had gone wrong. In an effort to spare you the long, bor­ing details, they brought in the STAT team for fear that I was hav­ing a stroke. It turns out, that is was just a bit too much med­ica­tion, and I was just fine after a few more min­utes. The remain­der of my labor was unevent­ful and pain­less, aside from the part where the baby got stuck and I was instruct­ed to lay on my side and go to my, “qui­et place.” Hon­est to God?!!!??! I am any­thing but qui­et, but the trick worked and I was soon hold­ing my dar­ling 9.4lb, 22in Hand­some #2. He was gor­geous, and per­fect and worth every moment.

Hand­some #2

After I had been moved back to my room and put on my make­up and fixed the hor­ri­fy­ing bed head, this time my hair will be much longer in an effort to curb that look, I felt that it was appro­pri­ate for Hand­some #1 to see his mom­ma. My sis­ter-in-law, Lolo, came in with a bal­loon and the big broth­er and announced to the room, “I hate to be the bear­er of bad news on such an excit­ing day, but Gary Cole­man has passed.”

My Sweet Baby Boys
RIP Arnold.…..

Oh.my.God. WTF did she just say? Gary Cole­man is dead? No way. Cer­tain­ly this was a joke. Some sil­ly nurse must have tweet­ed about a real live one in L&D hav­ing visions of the 1970s. I quick­ly grabbed my phone and there it was, right in front of my eyes. May 28, 2010, Gary Cole­man dead at 42. I had a quick moment of silence for lit­tle Arnold Jack­son, lat­er Drum­mond, and vowed that I would instill in my chil­dren the impor­tance of accep­tance and that above all, they must always remem­ber that, “The world don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some.”

Now, I didn’t kill Arnold Jack­son, I don’t think. I mean, not any more than I killed George Jef­fer­son. But if I were JJ Evans, I would be a lit­tle con­cerned that May 27, 2013 might not be so, “Dynomite!”

You might want to sleep with one eye open come May, just say­in’