Version Aversion

Today, we attempted a thing called "version." For several weeks now I have thought the procedure was called "aversion" (which is how I was feeling toward the whole thing), but I was wrong. I had also made the mistake of asking Lia if I had to be there. She didn't answer, which means "yes" or "only if you want to live" or "it's your fault I'm in this mess in the first place" - one of those.

And I know I wasn't the one going through the thing, but honestly the hardest part was the wait. We waited so much we were waiting to wait. It was awful. By ten in the morning I had restless body syndrome, and I was starving. To make matters worse, I had packed some granola bars. They were sitting there, staring up at me from my backpack. The problem was Lia hadn't eaten all day. I had eaten a big breakfast, drank three cups of coffee, and was munching gum. I had no right to eat in front of her. Ultimately, the only purpose the granola bars served (and I had been so proud of myself to think of packing them) was to remind Lia and I how hungry we were.

Then came the version. So they goop up Lia. The whole bottle...spread out like a tic-tac-toe board gone ballistic. Then they give Lia this shot. Or wait, they give her the shot and then goop her up, I can't remember. But the shot is to stop the baby from popping out. (It works. The baby is still stuck.) The only side effect is that it made Lia feel like she had just chugged a venti from Starbucks on an empty stomach. I never heard Lia talk so fast. Back to the "a"version. They had two doctors on her. One "lifting" the babe off Lia's pelvis while the other using her hands like a jai alai stick (mallet? I don't know). They got the kid sideways (transverse in doctor lingo), but as they guided him around the final bend he jumped back to square one. So they tried a second time but the kid's heart rate started going wonky (decel in doctor lingo). So they gave up.

I guess it is back to square one for us, too. We'll schedule a C-section for a week and a half from now. The poor kid must have inherited his daddy's hind quarters. The heaviest part always points down. All in all, we're fine. The babe is fine. Stuck but fine. Lia is fine. Sore but fine. We're both a bit disappointed. But we are also at peace that we did the right thing. It was worth a shot. What can you do? When you're kid's stuck, he's stuck.