A True Tennessee Vol

John Patrick Newman, expressing his displeasure over the Tennessee Vols' late season basketball loss to Vanderbilt.

Welcome to the Hotel California

On the eve of our fourth night at Baptist Hospital, a line from the famous Eagles' song, Hotel California, captures our mood - "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

That's not completely accurate, because we elected to stay at the hospital a fourth night. John Patrick has lost a little weight since he was born, which is not unusual. However, the slight weight loss combined with the fact he was circumcised this morning (which makes changing diapers a little more difficult) led us to decide to go home tomorrow, as opposed to today. Our pediatrician told us it was our call. Plus, several friends had advised us to stay in the hospital as long as our health insurance would allow. So, here we are.

Jude and I were talking and laughing this afternoon, when I made note of the fact that by day four, a hospital stay feels kind of like a prolonged visit to a casino in Las Vegas. You have no idea what time it is, what the temperature is outside or what the weather is like. You start to recognize different hospital staff members, as they rotate on and off their shifts from day to day, just like the black jack dealers, bartenders and maids in a Las Vegas casino. You never see a newspaper or watch CNN, so you completely lose track of current events. Also, you're staying in one room which, after the fourth day, starts to feel smaller and smaller. Really, the similarities are striking.

Breast feeding is still a challenge, but Jude and John Patrick are making great progress. Staying here an extra night has given us the opportunity to continue to avail ourselves of the resources Baptist Hospital has to assist new mothers learning to breast feed. Paula Appleby, a lactation consultant, has been particularly generous with her time and has helped us a great deal. We're so appreciative of her efforts.

This morning, our pediatrician, Dr. Godfrey at Green Hills Pediatric Associates (whom we love, by the way) aptly compared breast feeding to learning to ballroom dance. At first, it feels really awkward, is somewhat frustrating and isn't much to look at. However, after a little practice, you and your partner find a little rhythm, it looks and feels more natural and is a beautiful thing. I think he's right.

The Baby Whisperer

Last night, a little past midnight, a nurse from the nursery brought John Patrick to our room, per our instructions, so he could breast feed. We heard the knock on our door, wearily got up and prepared to try to breast feed him. When the nurse rolled him into the room in the bassinet, he was really wailing, probably angry at having been aroused from a deep sleep. His face was red as a beet and his eyes were scrunched up, as he cried.

I lifted him out of the bassinet, kicking and screaming, and handed him to Jude. As I thought to myself, "this is not going to go well," I witnessed an amazing transformation in his mood. Jude held him close and very quietly, started talking to him, reassuring him. We only had one light on, so the room was dim, and I smiled as I watched my wife comfort our son. Almost immediately, he stopped crying and squirming, became really quiet and just looked up at her. It was a beautiful, transcendent moment and, I think, probably a sign of things to come.

In a text message she sent me last night, before Jude and I went to sleep, a friend of mine - Lisa Kirkham - summed up perfectly how I feel about the experience of child birth. She said, "having a baby is like falling in love again. It's such a great feeling." I couldn't have said it better myself.

The Day After

Neither Jude nor I got much sleep last night. First, our nursery nurse, Robin, brought John Patrick to us from the nursery about 2 a.m. He was fussy, crying a bit, but we were able to calm him down and get him back to sleep. Then, our nurse or a tech came in to check on Jude every hour after that, at 3 a.m., 4 a.m. and 5 a.m. Fortunately (for me, anyway), I was able to roll over and ignore most of what was going on, although I wasn't able to sleep soundly. We did sleep in until about 8:00 a.m., which was nice.

After I got up and showered, I went to the nursery and retrieved John Patrick, then brought him back to our room. He stayed with us throughout the day, alternating between sleeping, crying and trying to breast feed. Believe it or not, I'm turning into a professional diaper changer. Jude's still very sore, obviously, from the C-section, so it makes more sense for me to change all of the diapers. Actually, I've enjoyed it.

We got to spend some more time with Jude parents, her brother and his fiance, Megan. James and Megan flew in from New York City, which was really nice. James seems quite taken with being an uncle, a feeling to which I can certainly relate. My sister, Alice, stopped by, as well, and delivered two dozen cupcakes I had ordered from Gigi's, a new cupcake store on 21st Avenue (I swear, I'm not making that up - a cupcake store). The cupcakes were a huge hit, especially with the nurses. The number of different flavors is astounding. We have banana, chocolate malt, birthday cake, strawberry angel food cake, double chocolate, rasberry cocunut and lemon. My mother dropped by this afternoon and delivered us a couple of towels and a blanket for me.

The breast feeding is a challenge, as we expected it would be. Fortunately, a lactation consultant - Paula - stopped by our room twice today to assist us. She was fantastic and with her help and guidance, Jude gained a lot more confidence in her ability to breast feed our son. By this evening, he was latching on her breast and really seemed to be making progress. I'm telling you, it's something to see. After he finished, he practically passed out and was sleeping soundly until we returned him to the nursery about 9:30 p.m.

As a matter of fact, Jude and I returned John Patrick to the nursery together, as she ventured from our room for the first time. We made a couple of laps around the hallway, with Jude pushing the rolling bassinet and leaning on it for support, before arriving at the nursery. Our plan, currently, is for our nursery nurse to bring him to us every three hours (midnight, 3 a.m. and 6 a.m.), so he can breast feed. Sounds like another night without a lot of sleep, which I suspect is going to be the norm for a while.

Hello, my name is . . .

Say hello to John Patrick Newman. As you can see, he's damn glad to meet you.

Miracles Do Happen

Where to begin?

This morning, March 28, 2008, at 11:11 a.m., Jude gave birth to a 7 lb, 13 oz beautiful baby boy. He's perfect in every way. Before you ask, we don't have a name, yet, although we will by tomorrow morning. Actually we have a name, but we're going to sleep on it before we make it official. And no, it's not Hannibal, Myron, Melvin or Phude.

We arrived at Baptist Hospital at 8:15 a.m., this morning, where the first order of business was to get ourselves checked in at the registration desk. About 8:45 a.m., we moved to a waiting room, where we hung out until about 9:30 a.m., when we were moved to a room. There, a melange of hospital personnel shuttled in and out of the room, asking Jude and me a variety of questions, giving her medication, poking and prodding Jude (taking blood, starting an IV, etc.) and generally preparing her for surgery.

Around 10:00 a.m. or so, the nurse anesthetist and a tech came to get Jude. They rolled the bed, or gurney, she was on down the hall, with me trailing close behind. As we made the long walk toward the operating room, I began to feel a little nervous for the first time all morning. It was nothing bad, though, just a few butterflies in my stomach. When we arrived at the double doors that opened to the hall where the operating room was, Jude and I parted ways, as I had to wait while they placed the epidural and prepped her for surgery.

I sat, alone, in a chair, for 20 to 30 minutes. For me, it was much more difficult not being with Jude than it would have been to watch them stick the needle in her spine and place the epidural. I knew she was in good hands, but I felt helpless, not being there with her. Silently, I said a prayer for her and for the baby. I checked my watch several times, but time seemed to stand still. Finally, our ob/gyn, Roseann Maikis, M.D., walked around the corner, on her way to the operating room, and greeted me warmly. She smiled, asked me if I was ready to be a daddy and told me she would send for me in a few minutes. I can't tell you how fortunate we are to have such a fantastic doctor.

Five or ten minutes later, I heard a noise, the double doors swooshed open, and a nurse told me to follow her. I stood up, put on my surgical cap and mask and followed her down the hall to the operating room, not really knowing what to expect. When I walked into the operating room, there was a bustle of activity. There were several people present, all in "scrubs," and all very busy. The nurse escorted me to a chair positioned at Jude's head and I sat down, my camera in my lap. I held Jude's hand, leaned close to her and told her I loved her. Her face was a mask of intensity and concentration, as she prepared herself, mentally, for surgery. She didn't look scared at all, just very, very focused.

There was a cloth draped over Jude about chest level, so neither she nor I could see, directly, what Dr. Maikis was doing. Dr. Maikis was positioned on Jude's left, while another doctor or a nurse was on Jude's right. The nurse anesthetist was at Jude's feet, while the anesthesiologist moved around a good bit, even leaving the room a couple of times. Another nurse was just above Jude's head, with me. Jude was conscious the whole time and able to talk, though she didn't say much. Everyone had a job to do and everyone was doing their job. It was very efficient.

As the beginning of the procedure, I must admit I was startled by the fact that the doctor or nurses assisting Dr. Maikis were engaged in a very spirited conversation about her new puppy. If I had closed my eyes, I would have sworn the conversation was taking place in a restaurant, over a bottle of wine. I felt like I had walked on to the set of "M*A*S*H," as Hawkeye and Trapper John cracked, wise with Frank while all three doctors performed life saving surgeries on wounded soldiers. Part of me was reassured by the matter of fact way in the hospital personnel in the operating room were talking and working, but part of me wanted to shout or yell at them to talk about the surgery, the practice of medicine in general or some other subject of a serious nature. Soon enough, though, I could tell we had arrived at a critical part of the surgery, as the banter between them ceased and conversation was limited to requests by Dr. Maikis for surgical instruments (retractor, suction, etc.) or comments about the procedure itself.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Maikis told Jude she had been able to make a nice incision, the same size as the baby's head. The nurse told me to get my camera ready, which I did. I let go of Jude's hand and stood up, just as we heard the sound of a baby crying. Not so much crying, as really, really wailing, like he was mad as hell at the world he had just been forced to enter. I looked across the cloth draped over Jude's chest and, for the first time, got a glimpse of our son. As I snapped a photograph of Dr. Maikis and one of the nurses holding him up, tears filled my eyes. I looked at Jude, who was also crying, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, and told her he was perfect. I hugged her and we cried a little together, overcome with emotion.

The nurse put our son in a warmer, cleaned him up, then placed him on Jude's chest. I snapped a few photographs as Jude took a good, long look at our son. He was crying, loudly, and I told Jude our son was going to be a loudmouth, just like his daddy. She smiled and nodded her head, and continued to stare at him. After a couple of minutes, the nurse put him back in the warmer, swaddled him in a blanket and handed him to me. I followed her down out of the operating room, down several halls and toward the nursery. I was terrified I was going to fall or otherwise drop him on the floor. After arriving at the nursery, I probably took a hundred photographs of our son as yet another nurse weighed him, checked his vital signs, gave him a couple of shots, gave him his first bath and shampooed his hair. Later, when they brought Jude to recovery, the nurse wheeled him in to see his mother - my beautiful, strong and amazing wife.

It's almost midnight, now, and Jude and our son are doing fine. Everyone is healthy. We kept him in the room until about 10 p.m., then I took him back to the nursery for the night. Jude is exhausted and has been napping off and on. In addition to Jude's parents, her brother, James, and my mother, Alice and Dell Walker and my sister, Tracy, stopped by to see us tonight.

The whole experience, especially seeing our son for the first time, was incredibly emotional. I need some time before I can really process what happened today and begin to understand what it all means. I do know, though, that God was with us today and blessed us with this beautiful child. I've never seen a miracle before, on this earth, but I'm pretty sure I saw one today.

A Heartfelt Thanks

Jude is upstairs, hopefully asleep, and I am headed there myself. It's past midnight and there's no sound but the hum of my laptop and a train blowing its horn, off in the distance.

I have been truly amazed, the last couple of days, by the number of people - friends, family, co-workers, colleagues and clients - who have spoken to me, telephoned me, emailed me or texted me, just to wish Jude and me well and to let me know we're in their thoughts and prayers. To quote what a client at Renewal House once told Jude after a meaningful conversation, "my heart is full."

The support and friendship so many have shown us the past nine months means everything to me. Thank you all.