Here we go! Part Two

You know the scenes in some movies when time slows down during a spectacular, sometimes life-changing event? It usually happens in the middle of a hectic situation like a chase scene when someone leaps from a roof, or a romantic bit when two people fall in love simply by looking into each other's eyes. Well that didn't happen here.

The scene during Olive's birth seemed to speed up.

I remember I was vocalizing everything I could think of to keep the tears from streaming down Tricia's face. I was watching the arms of the doctors and nurses work feverishly to finish the surgery successfully. I was listening to the spitting and hissing sounds of the medical tools. Like a pulse I was feeling the grip of Tricia's hand loosen, then tighten, then loosen, then tighten again.

Everything was happening so fast. All of a sudden the cry of a baby filled the room. I jerked my head in its direction. I saw giant hands pulling a tiny person from the belly of my wife.

All of a sudden the nurses had my baby on a table in the far corner of the room.

Crying still filled the room. I was ushered in its direction. There she was. I finally knew for sure that my child was a girl. Olive was laying there writhing in discomfort, punching and kicking the air. Olive was pissed off.

I was asked if I wanted to cut a piece of the umbilical cord. I shook my head and was handed fancy surgical scissors. The nurses pointed to the area where I was to cut. I placed the scissors on the exact spot and squeezed. I squeezed like a man... a man that has never used scissors. That first cut was surprisingly weak. I had to reset and try again. That experience made me feel like I ruined the cut.

"Did I do it right?" I asked jokingly, but embarrassingly as well.

The nurse said, "You did fine, Dad."

Dad. Daddy. Daddio? Nah, Dad would do. I couldn't believe it. The nurses had swaddled Olive up and gave her back to me so that I could introduce her to Tricia. The tears in Tricia's eyes carried a different weight. These were happy tears. Olive was beautiful just like her mother.

I felt so lucky.

Then I was rushed out of the operating room so that the doctors could finish the surgery. I didn't get to see Tricia again for a few hours.

I was led to the nursery where I spent a lot of time watching Olive slowly take in her surroundings. I talked to her. I held her hands. I touched her toes.

In our parenting classes we were told that skin-to-skin contact with the mother was very important for the newborn to develop a bond. We were also told that in the case of a C-section the father should step in and request skin-to-skin time since the mother wouldn't be allowed to.

So I did. Tricia's mom, my mom, Tricia's grandmother and Tricia's brother must have thought I'd gone crazy when I removed my shirt. I was behind the glass in the nursery while they were out in the hall. We couldn't talk to each other so I decided to play the part. I started flexing like a competitive weight lifter. Now they really thought I was crazy.

The nurse led me to a chair and handed Olive to me. I placed her naked body on my chest and wrapped the flaps of my flannel around her back and then placed a blanket on top. She fell asleep.

We sat there for almost 30 minutes. I knew it was going to end, because the nurse was finishing up with another newborn. That's when I felt it. Olive farted.

Then my stomach got warm.

"... um... nurse? I think she just peed on me."

The nurse looked confused. "Really?" she said.

When she helped me remove the blanket and pull Olive away I realized I was mistaken. It wasn't pee. The nurse admitted she had forgot to put a diaper on her.

That's OK, I believe Olive and I bonded that day.

Later, we finally got to see Tricia. Olive fell asleep on her chest and the family stayed for a little while. Then everyone was gone. Just the three of us occupied the room. Me and my family. The feeling was great and the challenge had started. I had been waiting for this moment and I felt ready.


Life will be good.

Here we go! Part One

Mondays had become just another day of wrapping up loose ends and anticipating the birth of our baby girl. In the morning on Monday, May 9 Dish and I decided to go for a walk in El Dorado park.

We talked to each other about Olive. She was due May 1 and the waiting had begun taking a mental toll. We were ready to meet our daughter.

Later that same day we were dropping off a few items at our storage facility and just before Dish jumped into the truck to leave she shot me a confused stare.

"I think my water just broke," she said.

What!? We were just talking about this earlier. I couldn't believe it was actually happening now.

We raced home to gather a few things and bolted for the hospital. After waiting so long for this moment something didn't seem right. This experience was missing a main feature.

Pain. Where was the agonizing pain Dish was supposed to be feeling?

She was calm. She was cool. She was simply experiencing a "trickling" feeling.

No pain, huh?

That's when we should have known this delivery wasn't going to be normal.

We arrived at the hospital around noon. The nurse checked the fluid to confirm that Dish's water broke. It had, so the rest of the day was spent waiting for dilation. Dish's measurement was 1cm at noon. The goal is 10 cm within 24 hours.

She stayed at 1cm through out the night.

The professionals say there's a risk of infection if you haven't given birth within 24 hours of your water breaking. Since Dish wasn't progressing throughout the night the nurses started intervening. First came the misoprostol – a pill meant to help induce labor. Progression was elusive even after a few doses.

Next up was the dreaded pitocin. That whipped up a whirlwind of discomfort and pain. The contractions  were killing Dish, but her cervix still wouldn't progress.

The pain became unbearable. That's when she asked for the drugs. First morphine then the epidural.

This was not part of our plan. Everything positive we envisioned for this delivery became a simple fantasy. Reality was much more evil.

The doctor rolled in around 7 a.m. on May 10. We had a sleepless night. While he was preparing to check the progression Dish's nurse tried to raise her bed. She realized the bed was too far against the wall. So, she pulled the bed out and then checked one of the plugs.

BOOM!!!

A giant electric spark killed every machine monitoring Dish and the baby. I stepped back in shock and asked the nurse if she was OK. After confirming she was she quickly began ordering someone to go prep another room, because we needed to roll Dish's bed out and hook everything up to new machines.

As we began rolling the bed away, we ripped another plug out of the wall. I was trying to help by pushing the bed with one hand and holding the drip bag pole with the other. I noticed that the plug ripped from the wall was connected to the side rail of the bed. I began unraveling. The nurse grabbed the piece I unraveled and pulled the rest of the cord out.

Everything was happening so fast that I don't think she realized she pulled too hard. The plug came whipping around the side rail and whacked Dish across her forehead.

What the hell!

"Are you OK, Dish?" I asked. The nurse began apologizing profusely and we began rolling the bed out of the room again. As we were about to exit I was yanked back because the pole I was rolling out didn't fit under the doorway. Dish had to grab her IV because it was almost pulled from her hand.

I couldn't believe what was happening. Everything was going wrong.

Then there was a brief argument in the hallway regarding what room we were going to use.

Crap. What a scene.

Finally we were in the new room. That entire situation lasted only about 5 minutes. I was exhausted, upset and scared for Dish.

The epidural came next.

I had to wait outside for what seemed like an hour. I could barely stand. I didn't want to sit on the floor and I didn't want to leave. So I toughed it out. I think I heard Dish scream. I fought back tears.

After a while I found myself resting on a cot in her room. The drugs had kicked in. Dish was able to sleep.

The last check from the doctor revealed a bit of progression, but not enough. She stopped at 4 cm. The 24-hour period had passed and that's when we received the news. Dish was getting a C-section.

Emotions flooded our mind. The only thing I could do was talk and try my best to help Dish through this time. The main goal was coming home with a healthy baby added to our team.

They prepped her and rolled her to the operating room. I had to stay behind and get dressed in blue garb. Someone came and got me after the doctor was prepared. I could hear the tools buzzing. I saw a splatter of blood on the doctor's face mask. I noticed tears streaming down Dish's face. I needed to keep her mind off the situation. I started talking about Washington. I told her about all the things we were going to  do with our baby girl. We're going to experience so much. We're going to be so happy.

I'm not sure if it helped much since the anesthesia wasn't numbing her right side completely, but it was the only thing I could do.

Then I heard a baby cry.

-To be continued-

A Look Back at 2010 - FAIL.

Things are different.

I've been away from this blog for a while and I think

 it's time to return. This photo was part of the last post I was 

working on back in Dec. I wanted to create a similar entry to

 the Ringing in a New Year post for 2009, but I never finished it.

I went back and looked for the photos of 2010 recently,

but I didn't file them with dates. Now the photos are mixed up and 

I'm unable to differentiate the photos from the months.

So, I only have Jan. 2010.

Oh well... I'll have to do a better job for 2011.

For the last five months Dish and I have been preparing

for Olive's arrival. We've purchased a bunch of necessary 

baby items with the help from family and friends. 

We've taken parenting classes. 

We've been visiting the baby doctor twice a week.

We've been talking. We've been planning.

Are we ready?

Hell yes.

Baby Synco

Dear Kidney Bean,

             You're about to enter a tough world. I'm sorry for that. I've been blaming my parent's generation and their parent's generation for the state of things, but blame doesn't solve anything. To tell you the truth, I'm not doing enough to change the world either, but now that I know you're on the way I promise to try harder.

             I know one thing is certain. You'll be loved.

Love,

Your dad.

The Synco-Vaught Merger

In my mind marriage had always been some weird
ritualistic step in life that came to an end – a depressing lifestyle rife
with adultery and cocaine. 

I knew I was wrong when Tricia said, "yes."

The cycle ends here. 

That's right. 

Hooray.

Discgolfer Magazine

A few months ago I was reading an issue of discgolfer magazine...
I'm one of those dudes that like to throw Frisbees – and read about it.

While reading, an article idea came to mind. I had been watching 

a lot of disc golf videos on YouTube and I noticed only a 

few channels exhibited quality footage. I decided I was qualified 

enough to write a sort of "how to" article in the hopes 

that more quality disc golf videos would 

begin showing up on the Internet.

I wrote up a query. I contacted the editor.

I waited.

A few weeks later, after a round at El Dorado disc golf course, I

received the call. The editor said he liked my idea and after

working out some details I went home and started working.

I turned in my final draft a few weeks later and then

I waited again.

Another couple of weeks passed and then I received it. 

The new summer issue of the magazine arrived with my two-page 

spread splashed all over page 54 and 55.

Normally I would post the text, but I'm sure it wouldn't be interesting
to most of the folks that check this blog.
So, if you want to read it then I'll let you check out the
magazine next time I see you.

Unless, I don't know you – then you'll never see my issue.
I guess you'll have to find your own. Sorry about that.

The Long-Zinn Merger

Enough talk about this wedding. Let's talk about this picture.

People say I can blend in almost anywhere, but Rob is the true chameleon.

I may be able to walk among Hawaiians, but there's no way I can pull off Axel Rose or a hillbilly hitching. When Rob shows up, Rob fits in.

You'll never see him being pushed out of frame.

The backyard Country wedding was short and fun. I believe it may have been one of the shortest ceremonies of all time. It basically went like this:

Brother tells everyone to silence their phones

"Here Comes the Bride" begins

Jeremy in full relevant wedding attire struts out

We all watch his niece, the flower girl, run away and retreat back inside the house

Keri and her brother elegantly appear

Everyone "oohs" and "aahs"

The happy couple joins hands

The officiant explains he has already taken too long

The officiant says, "do you?" and "do you?"

They both say yes

Rings

He pronounces them man and wife

The newlyweds bail

Everyone is stunned – until they realize the tacos are ready

Everyone races for the food

The drinking commences

That's it. It was all party after that. 

Well... party and a session of speeches when the Longs returned from getting their photographs taken at the park across the street.

I think this union was meant to happen.

Here are some more pictures from the rest of the day. Most taken by the Dish.

Moving On

I never wanted to be that guy – the guy that looked back on his life and wondered what could have been. I consciously tried to avoid that very thing. It was like I knew something and I was trying to correct it before everything terrible happened.

But I am that guy.

I'm that guy right now.

A 15-year cycle just ceased to exist. That cycle is college. I've been slithering in to and out of college for so many years... and now I don't ever have to go back.

What a feeling... but I can't help wondering where I would be now if I would have finished when I was supposed to.

My first major back in 1995 was graphic design, so I'd probably be an uninspiring artist fighting the advances in technology.

I guess the outcome isn't terrible at all.

At the end of every semester I would sit and thumb through my old notebooks checking to see if I should keep something before stuffing the recycle bin.

Since this is the last time I will have to do it I will share some of the random notes (and doodles) I scrawled down while in class.

Don't kill – need them for labor.

Truths are invented.

Indigenous Resistance.

400 words to describe cattle among the Nuer.

You can be outraged.

Humor: Think small.

                                      


Hmm... I know I did a lot of thinking about disc golf, but monocles? I must have been feeling quite pompous that day.

Now that college is over I guess I should start looking for a job.

I may need to clean up a bit first though.

I haven't posted a new entry in a while, so I'm going to do some back tracking and write about some past events.

The departure of the District Weekly from my life felt like a sucker punch. I remember reading the first issue on the Gondola Getaway dock back in 2007. The publication seemed similar to what I was looking for in a job/internship.

Unfortunately, the horror stories of print media I'd been listening to for years hit home.

It was fun while it lasted, District – or at least fun up to the point when you couldn't pay for the last two projects I completed.

Lastly, Dish beat the crap out of her nursing program.

I'm extremely proud of her overcoming the daily battles with somewhat dubious professors. Soon she'll be a bona fide nurse – and I hear she doesn't mind looking at weird skin conditions or ligament/joint pains – so ask away!

*chuckle, chuckle

A bunch of time has returned to my daily life – maybe too much actually. So, shocking this blog back to life shouldn't be much of a problem. Next topic: Jeremy is a husband.

Searching for Synco

I found something interesting online while Googling "Synco."

This brief came from a 1902 article in the Reading Eagle newspaper out of Pennsylvania.

Here's a link:

http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1955&dat=19021219&id=jb4hAAAAIBAJ&sjid=4JwFAAAAIBAJ&pg=4400,3001860

Letter to Editor in the Daily Pilot

I recently sent in a letter to the editor of the Daily Pilot. I'm not sure if it was published in the printed version, but I'll check for it today.

http://www.dailypilot.com/articles/2010/02/21/opinion/dpt-mailbag021710.txt

WBC Video

Video of the

Westboro Baptist Church

protest is up on the District's

Web site. Yeck it, dude.

The Reason of an Obsession

Everything happens for a reason, right? We've all heard it.

Is it true?

Maybe, because why in the world would there be a meaning behind

my obsession for a little Mexican toy.

Here's a link to the post I wrote a while ago about the Balero.

My involvement with the Balero lead me to discover a few

things I would have never known about had I not

taken freaky to another level.

I learned that Wild Bill was better than I could ever be.

I learned that there was such thing as a Balero Association,

and I learned that a Balero can bring joy

to a room full of winos.

I also learned that many other countries have a similar toy.

One of these countries is Japan, home of the Kendama.

Here's where I find reason.

On Valentines Day the Dish and I attended the L.A. Times Travel Show

at the L.A. Convention Center.

There were booths galore, people from all over the world vying for anyone's attention.

There were raffles and e-mail lists, a zip line and a lady enveloped in fake, colorful feathers.

Huell Howser was there. The kid that sailed the world solo was there.

He was there, she was there, they were there and it was there.

The Kendama was there.

When I saw it I stopped firmly in my tracks, which was difficult

considering how many people were tailgating.

If you weren't paying attention you could have had a

face full of strange hair at any moment.

This place was packed, like the hallway of a movie

theatre when the credits roll.

The Japanese man playing with the Kendama

noticed my interest and handed one to me.

He said if I get the ball onto the cup three

times in a row I would win.

Win what? I didn't know. I didn't care.

I was stuck in my mind thinking that everything made sense.

I remembered that day in Mexico.

I remembered how the Balero seemed so difficult.

I remembered thinking how I needed to practice

before my friend Jeremy became a master.

I practiced everyday. I made strange, lonely videos.

I worked on tricks like it was a skateboard and I was fifteen.

The clarifying moment had arrived, and I noticed it.

All the practice, all those nights showing off and

drinking wine, it was for this moment.

The red ball dangled near my knees. I pulled up.

The ball landed on the cup, but not smoothly.

I had to convince it to stay, like I had done so many times before.

I quickly countered the erratic movement

and forced the ball to stay on the cup.

The guy was amazed. He said so, but it sounded more like a gasp.

He removed the ball and said, "Two more times."

The final two attempts were far from dramatic. I had locked on.

I knew this toy better than most of the folks

pacing the enormous room.

The man almost looked grateful when he said I could keep the Kendama, my prize.

His smile stretched from ear to ear.

His colleagues too, they seemed impressed that

an American could walk up,

take hold of a foreign toy and kick its ass.

I could have explained my story, but why ruin the mystery?

14th Street Skate Park

When you're not dodging

tornadoes in Long Beach

check out my new video on

the District's

Web site.

Ringing in a new year... I should buy a bell

I spent the first half of the last day of 2009 staring at the ceiling from my bed. I'm usually guilt ridden if I stay in bed for too long, but the last few days of a year always seem to be a perfect time for reflection, a calm before a new year's storm. Here are some photos representing the last twelve months.

I'm looking forward to 2010. If all goes according to plan, this new year will be full of delayed progression.