The Book of Ruth: Chapter 1. A Love Story.

“I don’t have a birth plan”, I constantly said to my OB who is my best friend’s cousin and a friend of ours since...forever. I have always made a big joke about being in love with him to anyone who will listen. It’s the schtickiest piece of my pregnancy story. I’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen about Adam. Sorry, Dr. Garber. I’m only, like,10% serious about my inappropriate affection for him. But the 10% is strong, my friends. I call him my ‘Jewish insurance package’. It’s even funnier because he’s so next level, like he basically dates models... but they’re nurses and good people. I find their contrast with me infinitely hilarious. Why am I talking ad nauseam about how out-of-touch with reality I am when it comes to my baby doctor while I’m very happily married? Well, he’s super awesome, obviously, but more importantly he helped save my baby’s life. And if I wasn’t swooning over him enough before, he’s officially in my forever-swoon book now.

This won’t be the last you hear about Adam, but I have to share with you my favourite Adam bit. It’s probably grounds for sexual harassment somewhere because technically he ‘worked with me’...’on me?’...I dunno, guys. The joke is: I knew he’d be around my vagina one way or another’. I think this is hilarious. Too crass? Probably but we aren’t playing safe when it comes to comedy. Would Chapelle hold back? I don't’ think so, fam.

Sidebar: Thomas, I love you and you’re an excellent sport for listening to me tell this joke to everyone we know. All Thomas ever does is shrug his shoulders and raise his hands in a very Fiddler on the Roof way and say “he’s a good guy, makes sense.”

I needed to start this post off with some humour because the rest of the story is a bit dark, scary, and for me, Thomas, and Brisket, traumatic. But it’s got a great ending so don’t quit halfway through, k?

It’s hard to figure out where to start. I guess it started since... forever. At 19, when Thomas asked if I want to be a mom someday, I said something like “Okay ew, no. Why? And even if I did, which I 100000% do NOT, I think there’s something wrong with my junk.” It was an off-the-cuff comment but I believed it. Turns out, I was right.

Anatomy lesson: (that I don’t know very much about. I will probably get terms wrong and whatnot so...don’t go all Gray’s Anatomy on me. I'm a writer, not a doctor). When you’re born with female reproductive parts your uterus is in two, at first. Over time they fuse together to create 1 uterus. Unless you’re me. Much like all my attempts at progress, my uterus, while fusing, bailed juuuuust at the last minute. It was like “good enough, right?!” So my uterus is heart shaped. There’s a septum that hangs from the top. This septum could explain why I miscarried the day after Thomas’s birthday last year. August 8, 2020. *Spoiler alert* remember that date. It will come back up. But the septum wasn’t getting in the way this time with Ruth. 6 months into my pregnancy they said “you’ll probably have to have a c-section since she’s breech and the septum’s in the way. Your baby is on one side of the heart and your placenta (ewww!) is on the other.” But then, two weeks later, she miraculously flipped. She was head down, crushing it, and preparing for a vag birth.

My pregnancy with Babe Ruth was clipping along well. She was a perfectly normal babe whose progress in-utero was pretty standard. There were no concerns. No one ever said the words ‘high risk’ or ‘abnormal’ because things were very standard. Ultrasounds detected my heart-shaped-septum-filled uterus but it didn’t seem that big and she was doing fine.

When people asked what her due date was I would chirp “October 5th! But I’m hoping she comes a little early on my Birthday September 15th, because I hate my birthday and would rather celebrate hers instead." Fast forward to August 7th, Thomas’s birthday.

We’d had a really great day hanging outside with close family and a couple of friends and had a little covid-friendly BBQ. All day I had felt exhausted by the heat and very run down but chalked it up to the sweltering temperature and running after Brisket because he was in a feisty mood all day. It was really special being around some of our nearest and dearest because it had been so long thanks to Covid. And I have always felt the need to make Thomas’s birthdays as important as he is. We went to bed early and I slept really well.

*trigger warning” This is when things get a bit gore-y so if you’re not into that skip ahead*

I woke up around 8am. Brisket was being a champ and not waking us up as he is wont to do. I went pee then waddled back to bed, excited to get some Insta scrolling in after an exhausting day. As I was lying looking for #FreeBritney updates I felt a sensation that felt like getting my period. My brain shrugged it off. But I went to check and my hand came up bloody. Panicked, I screamed to Thomas startling him out of his reverie. “I’m bleeding!”. “Are you sure?”. “I’m sure and it’s a lot." I waddled to the bathroom and….guys...it was...not good. A shocking amount of blood was gushing out of me. I was disoriented. Scared. Confused and now my least favourite thing: nauseous.

I gagged while Thomas helped me throw sweat pants and a shirt on. He helped me down the stairs. A petrified Brisket sat trembling watching us. Refusing to move.

We got in the car. Texted my angel of a sister and brother in law asking if they could please walk Brisket? He was scared and I didn’t want him home alone. They said of course, and we flew to the hospital. On the way, I called that dreamboat, Adam. Dr. Grrrrrr-ber. And in the calmest voice I’ve ever heard, he said “you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. Go straight to triage. I’ll call to let them know you’re on the way”.

If you haven’t been to a hospital during Covid, first of all, great job! Stay healthy and/or not pregnant, you smart, vaccinated, and sexy person. But if you have, you know you have to get screened before entering. As I stood there scared, bleeding, and trying not to yak, the screener took one look at me and said “you don’t have Covid, right?” I said “nope” and he ran to get me a wheelchair. He was clutch in his understanding that we needed to move quickly. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes.

Thomas ran in, the guy waved him through and we hurried to triage. Then we needed to be screened again. I was feeling worse and worse. As the nice but clueless woman at the front desk asked us necessary but more and more involved Covid screening questions, I began to shudder, vomiting into a garbage can, and moaning. When she asked me if I had “experienced nausea” as I was presently yakking, Thomas blurted out “You tell me!”. Then some nurses ripped me away from the front desk and the kind-of-hilarious questions given what was happening to me.

The rest is honestly a bit of a blur. They put me on an examination table to see if there was a heartbeat. I have never been so scared to not hear something in my life. Thomas, looked on. Nervous. Scared. I’d never seen him like that before. He is always so confident and sure of himself. As we listened, as I lay naked on the examination table we heard a distressed but faint heartbeat. It was getting weaker and weaker as we listened.

Thomas exhaled. I, in my panicked state thought ”Okay she’s safe. They’ll give me something for the bleeding and we can go home. I knew it wasn’t thaaaaat big a deal!”

Then the nurse told me they were preparing me for surgery. I was so confused. It was too soon. The wallpaper isn’t even up in the nursery. We have a shower planned. I’m not mentally prepared to be a mom. Everything is out of order.

I don’t really remember much past this point except for having a catheter shoved into me and the nurse apologizing profusely and empathetically. I told her it was okay! She needed to do what she needed to do. The people in that room spoke to each other with such directness, respect, confidence, and kindness. We should all be so warm with our colleagues. Then the anesthesiologist came in and I don’t know what the fuck he was going on about. As I was drifting off I remember trying to speak to the nurse closest to me. I was intubated but I needed to tell her something. She leaned in and I croaked “I’m so scared”. She looked me dead in the eyes. Kind of like in a movie. She peered into my soul and said “Honey. Your girl’s going to be fine. I promise.” Okay, maybe she said “I knew you were trouble when you walked in”, or “we are never ever ever getting back together”, or “shake it off”. Or maybe Thomas has just been listening to a lot of T Swift lately and that’s where my head goes. But that’s what I remember her saying.

Then I saw a figure in the corner of the room. A doctor who wasn’t doctoring. A doctor who was just there. Because he promised he would be. Because I was so scared he wouldn’t be there for some reason that I mentioned it every appointment. Despite him not being on call, and not needing to be there, Adam showed up. Because he said he would. And because we are in love. Or because he’s just a really solid doctor whose word is his bond. Draw your own conclusions. I know I sure do.

Then it was lights out. If you know me well, I’ve spoken to you about twilight sleep. I have always said that’s what I want if I ever have a baby because I’m terrified of childbirth. They do a really good job of scaring women. I don’t want this blog post to do that. I was, and am still scared because of what we’re presented with and how people say “just wait!”. I do not want to 'just wait' because your 'just wait' is ominous and loaded and hella scary. I have some good news for those of you who are also scared about it, but we can talk about that later once MY EXPERIENCE has been properly expressed. It is my blog, after all.

So, twilight sleep is this thing that people in the medical field talk about with great horror. Things like ‘inhumane’, ‘traumatic’, ‘disassociating’ get thrown around a lot, BUT it sounds good to me! Basically they used to knock women out with ether and they would have a fever dream while doctors ripped their babies out of them with forceps. There’s a GREAT Mad Men episode called The Fog, that features Betty’s twilight sleep experience. I highly recommend it if you’re interested. I still think it seems dope but everyone has agreed it’s super shitty and like, misogynistic. I, ashamedly, think it should at least BE AN OPTION?! What’s progress if we don’t have all the items on the menu? Just sayin’. I would joke about this with my second husband, Dr. Adam Garber, during our dates, I mean appointments.

When I came to, I was talking some nonsense about Brisket and showing pictures of him to the nurses and doctors despite not having my phone on me. I mimed, “this is him after he ate his poop when he was a baby dog!” *scroll*, *scroll*. Then the doctors explained what happened and reassured me Ruth was OKAY. I was still very high, but beyond relieved. I was talking to one of my doctors and she said “you’re funny, eh?”. And I shrugged and said ”I’m pretty high. My material’s much tighter when I’m sober.” Then Adam came in. Reassured me. Explained what happened. I didn’t process any of it. But I remember saying “I’m so glad I didn’t have to be awake for that.” And he said “you got your wish, kind of.” and we laugh and laughed and stared deeply into each other’s eyes. Everyone thought it was supes innapropes and it was, but we didn’t care or regret it one bit. Except I was high so it was probably him being like ….”So I gotta go help all these pregnant women in my clinic upstairs. Peace Gabs!”. We’ll never know. I like my version of events best.

So, I guess I should explain what happened. Everyone has been saying the nicest things like: Ruth couldn’t wait! She wanted to be fashionably early! She was ready to take on the world. But it wasn’t really like that. The fact of the matter is, and the fact of my guilt lies in the reality that she was kicked out of my body. I became inhospitable to her. She did everything she was supposed to. She turned around with a septum in her way for crying out loud. She did everything perfectly. But because of my septum, it was cramped in there and my placenta ended up getting ripped from my uterine wall and everything started filling with blood. Things were very touch and go. She could have not made it. I could have not made it. We owe so much to the staff at the Civic.

If Thomas hadn’t been quick on his feet and gotten me to the hospital as swiftly as he had...well...his rushed thinking was integral. His fatherly instincts and his love for me, saved us.

And instead of being born on my birthday, she was born the day after her father's. August 8th, 2021. The same exact day I miscarried the year before. On Infinity Day. The luckiest day of the year.

There’s a lot more to share and we’re going to keep writing because it’s probably the most therapeutic thing we can do. We’re just waiting till we can bring her home and this will be a good way to fill some of that time. It might also be nice for her to read someday when she knows how to read. Unlike now, geeze get it together, Ruthie girl!

But also, it’s important for us to state the thing we’re left with, other than a little trauma (blood is gross!), is love. When I think of this birth story all that really comes to mind is the kindness and love we were shown all the way down the line. From the dude who admitted us. The nurses who buoyed me. To Brisket who helped me come to, after surgery. To Adam the super doctor. To Thomas, my starter husband and love of my life. To all of you who spent the time reading this, supporting us, sending encouragement, food, house cleaning services, personally cleaning our house, Uber and Door Dash gift cards, diapers, wipes, dog toys, essentials, text chats that saved me from anxiety, and warmth to name a few: thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Consider this the first chapter of our Book of Ruth.