I usually feel very little when a celebrity or musician passes away. But something about MCA aka Adam Yauch's recent death hit home with me. Perhaps this is why...
There was some sort of skate demo happening at my elementary school one weekend in what must have been 1986. What I remember more than the skating was the various punk and rap that was blasting to compliment the 80's skateboard shredding. It was so different than anything I had heard at that early age of 8 or 9; I thought music stopped at Hall & Oates and Michael Jackson. I clearly remember one song that stood out in particular because the obnoxious vocals kept repeating the word "girls" over a funky xylophone and drum beat. I had never heard anything like it (and still haven't) and I wanted to know more. MTV actually focused on music at that time (imagine that!) and informed me that the Beastie Boys were about to be huge. Huge in popularity as well as a huge influence on my passion for music. My older brother and I bought "License to Ill" with chore money and the doors to punk, hiphop, and even metal (Led Zeppelin & Slayer riffs appear on that album) were opened. In retrospect, this might have been the most influential album for us musically...at least one of them.
Despite all that, I sort of lost interest in the Beastie Boys when "Paul's Boutique" came out (but learned to love that album later). It wasn't until 1992 that they caught my attention once again. "Check Your Head" showed maturity and a reconnection to their punk rock roots; they even played their own instruments on that record. I was hooked all over again. I bought the "Check Your Head" album cover t-shirt at Rasputin's and wore it until it had holes in it. In '94 I saw them at Lollapalooza and in '95 at the Oakland Coliseum Arena (Bad Brains opened!), and in those same years they released the acclaimed "Ill Communications" and the hardcore punk EP "Aglio e Olio". Their music became an integral part of my high school soundtrack and some of their songs were the first I'd ever learned on guitar.
MCA always seemed like the mellowest, most mature Beastie Boy, especially since he turned Buddhist and incorporated it into his music. Monks were even sampled on the song "Bodisattva Vow". That album, "Ill Communication" was somewhat of a turning point for him. Sure his lyrics continued to diss whack MCs, but he rapped much less about partying and more about peace & love. One of my favorite lines of his is from "Sure Shot" in which he says, "I want to say a little something that's long overdue/that disrespect to women has got to be through/to all the mothers and the sisters and the wives and friends/I want to offer my love and respect til the end." It was also around that time that he helped open our eyes to the troubles of Tibet and became one of the organizers of the Tibetan Freedom Concert held in 1996. I was lucky enough to attend that concert in Golden Gate Park, and the experience inspired my Religious Studies final project in college a few months later. Not only did MCA make great music, he raised awareness and millions of dollars for his Milarepa Fund.
After high school, I didn't listen to The Beasties as much, but they were always a part of my life. MCA's movie distribution company is responsible for two of my favorite documentaries of the past few years, "Exit Through the Gift Shop" and "The Other F Word". And the Beastie Boys' latest instrumental album, "The Mix Up", still comes up on my iTunes playlist titled "Work". But most importantly the voice, lyrics, bass lines, & beats of MCA and the Beastie Boys are ingrained in my memory and immortalized on my iPod. Thank you, Adam Yauch for 30 years of great music, videos, movies, and activism. You will be missed.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Review - Refused, The Hives, The Bronx @ The Warfield - 4/18/2012
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| Photo by scottyfp |
My favorite current punk band, The Bronx, opened the night with ferocity, blasting through a short (too short) set with their 10 years worth of vigorous punk rock n roll – even playing a new one about a rabbit. Hardcore. It was refreshing to see the proper Bronx destroy since lately it seemed that their mariachi version had taken over. Singer Matt Caughthran was in good spirits as usual, jumping into the crowd for a little mosh and scream, of which I had a great view in my lower balcony seat. Down in the pit, he just seemed like another enthusiastic mosher, and from the crowd surfing he was doing during Refused’s set, that’s exactly what he is: a fan. The band moved around more than I remember, and you could tell they were genuinely stoked to be a part of such a special night. What a perfectly kick ass way to open the show.
And the ass kicking continued with the next act, Sweden’s
own, The Hives. Decked out in top hat
tuxedos, the band played hit after hit from their 20 year catalogue of rock n
roll. Singer Howlin’ Pete’s “holier than
thou” comedic banter is at times hilarious, at times annoying. But all in all, The Hives are a fun fun band
to watch. Pete told the crowd that back
in the 90’s, “Before Christ”, they used to play shows with Refused back in
Sweden. Even though I prefer The Bronx’s
music over The Hives, they still put on a lively, entertaining set and were a
great fit as support for their Swedish comrades.
As soon as The Hives left the stage, an “ominous drone”
(thanks for that, Jake) took over the house PA.
The creepy ambiance continued as the curtains closed, and kept on
droning as those red curtains reopened about 15 minutes later, to reveal a giant black
screen. Droning continues. Lights slowly get brighter and brighter,
illuminating the screen that now clearly reads, REFUSED in large capital
letters. The light shines through the
word with the power of the sun, brightness that is almost blinding. The drone stops and a voice says, “Worms of
the Senses. Faculties of the Skull.” Then the screen/curtain falls and Refused are unveiled, exploding into the announced song with Dennis Lyxzen screaming the first lines, “I’ve got a bone to pick with
capitalism/ and a few to break!” I’ve never
seen a crowd so excited. I’m not so sure
I’ve ever been so excited. It’s been 14
years, and they are back in full force.
So much energy, so well played.
They sounded just about perfect. I
felt like I was a part of something special, something historic – and so did
Dennis Lyxzen who told the crowd how surreal this all was. And it was.
The set ended with an encore that included crowd favorite, “New
Noise” which brought the floor into such a frenzy that no one was left standing still, and very few were left seated in the balcony. The ocean of fans below looked more like a
violent sea storm, one giant mosh pit. I
could feel the overhang of the balcony bounce which was both disconcerting and
thrilling at the same time. The band
closed with “Tannhauser/Derive” which asks, “So where do we go from here?” Good question, Refused. I truly hope the answer has something to do
with Lyxzen’s final statement to “stay wild, stay fucking hungry.” Please take your own advise, Dennis. Keep this band alive, keep touring. Because Refused are still an incredible live act
that everyone should witness.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The A’s Giants Fan
Growing up in the Bay Area in the later half of the 1980s was an exciting thing. Both the A’s and Giants were star laden champions who caused the earth to shake before Battle of the Bay’s World Series Game 3. Living in the East Bay, my family naturally preferred the A’s, but we were never Giants haters, until of course they played each other. In fact, I considered the Giants my favorite NL team. I collected memorabilia from both teams– from baseball cards to Starting Lineup action figures (McGwire’s is still on display in my classroom, but Jeffrey Leonard has mysteriously disappeared). I still have a Giants porcelain bobble-head on my desk at home, its head super-glued back together from dropping it years ago. I’ve always had both A’s and Giants hats, but never the silly split Bay Bridge Series one.
But when Barry Bonds joined the Giants, I stopped following that team. That was right after the Strike and around the time I left for college, so I wasn’t too interesting in baseball anyway. After I graduated, the A’s started winning, and I eventually made my way back to the East Bay. They made the playoffs five times in the 2000s and I was living in Oakland for one of them. They were a new and exciting team of prospects, really fun to watch.
On the other side of the bay, the Giants started winning too. However, I could never truly like them with Barry Bonds on the team. Jeff Kent didn’t help either. When Barry Zito started losing games for the A’s (especially the 2003 ALDS game 5 that I attended) and when he was later picked up by the Giants for a ridiculous 144 million dollars, I went through a “wishing death upon the Giants” phase. Even though the new stadium was spectacular, the SF Barrys were just an unlikeable team. So at that point, I was strictly an A’s fan.
Then the 2009 season happened. Bonds wasn’t invited back and pitching became the Giants’ focus. The A’s also tried something new – spending money and trading for some big names. Matt Holliday and the other new additions brought excitement and a hopeful feeling back to Oakland. But as the season went on, the A’s weren’t winning and the excitement quickly died…especially when they traded what seemed like half of their players midseason, Holliday included. And they kept on losing. I felt that the A’s had betrayed their fans and their city, completely giving up on the season, as if they wanted to move out of Oakland.
Meanwhile, a new and improved Giants team was winning, so I started watching – and they were fun to watch. They had likeable players in Timmy and Pablo, and it was great to have the “UUUU- RIBE” chant back. However, I could never get over my disdain for Zito. I would root for him to lose, while hoping the team made the playoffs. I was a conflicted fan when he took the mound. Needless to say, the Giants didn’t make it, but Zito actually finished very strongly.
The 2010 season rolled around and the A’s had a new roster of young talented pitchers, but absolutely no offense. It was obviously a rebuilding year while they awaited their future location – wherever that may be. In late May, I went to AT&T Park with some tight bros to watch the Giants destroy the Arizona D-Bags. A kid named Buster Posey was pulled up from the minors to play first base that day. He went 3 for 4, drove in a few runs, helping them to win by like 12 runs. That day, I witnessed a turning point for the Giants and I was hooked.
In August I bought my first flat screen HD TV (which couldn’t have been better timing) and I’ve been watching more baseball than I have in years; it just looks so gosh dang perty. Anyway, the A’s were struggling and it seemed impossible to win the AL west at that point. And there was something about this Giants team with their individual comeback stories and their eccentric personalities that has created a Bad News Bears, incredibly likeable team chemistry. Despite all this, I still had it in for Zito, especially when he choked at the end of the season.
I will say that I am proud of the A’s for finishing .500 and 2nd in the AL west during a rebuilding year. However, I was especially elated when the Giants won their division on the very last day of the season… and even more stoked to find out that Zito wasn’t added to the playoff roster. I love it when Bay Area teams make the postseason. I love the feeling in the air. Seeing the home colors everywhere, discussing baseball with strangers, watching the day games with my students in between classes. I feel bad for anyone who isn’t a fan. I’m not a bandwagon hater, I’m a bandwagon welcomer, and I don’t understand the A’s fans who won’t support the Giants right now. The bottom line is that I love baseball, I love the Bay Area, and I love this postseason Sans Zito team. So GO GIANTS! BEAT THE RANGERS! Texas sucks anyway.
And of course, go 2011 Oakland A’s.
But when Barry Bonds joined the Giants, I stopped following that team. That was right after the Strike and around the time I left for college, so I wasn’t too interesting in baseball anyway. After I graduated, the A’s started winning, and I eventually made my way back to the East Bay. They made the playoffs five times in the 2000s and I was living in Oakland for one of them. They were a new and exciting team of prospects, really fun to watch.
On the other side of the bay, the Giants started winning too. However, I could never truly like them with Barry Bonds on the team. Jeff Kent didn’t help either. When Barry Zito started losing games for the A’s (especially the 2003 ALDS game 5 that I attended) and when he was later picked up by the Giants for a ridiculous 144 million dollars, I went through a “wishing death upon the Giants” phase. Even though the new stadium was spectacular, the SF Barrys were just an unlikeable team. So at that point, I was strictly an A’s fan.
Then the 2009 season happened. Bonds wasn’t invited back and pitching became the Giants’ focus. The A’s also tried something new – spending money and trading for some big names. Matt Holliday and the other new additions brought excitement and a hopeful feeling back to Oakland. But as the season went on, the A’s weren’t winning and the excitement quickly died…especially when they traded what seemed like half of their players midseason, Holliday included. And they kept on losing. I felt that the A’s had betrayed their fans and their city, completely giving up on the season, as if they wanted to move out of Oakland.
Meanwhile, a new and improved Giants team was winning, so I started watching – and they were fun to watch. They had likeable players in Timmy and Pablo, and it was great to have the “UUUU- RIBE” chant back. However, I could never get over my disdain for Zito. I would root for him to lose, while hoping the team made the playoffs. I was a conflicted fan when he took the mound. Needless to say, the Giants didn’t make it, but Zito actually finished very strongly.
The 2010 season rolled around and the A’s had a new roster of young talented pitchers, but absolutely no offense. It was obviously a rebuilding year while they awaited their future location – wherever that may be. In late May, I went to AT&T Park with some tight bros to watch the Giants destroy the Arizona D-Bags. A kid named Buster Posey was pulled up from the minors to play first base that day. He went 3 for 4, drove in a few runs, helping them to win by like 12 runs. That day, I witnessed a turning point for the Giants and I was hooked.
In August I bought my first flat screen HD TV (which couldn’t have been better timing) and I’ve been watching more baseball than I have in years; it just looks so gosh dang perty. Anyway, the A’s were struggling and it seemed impossible to win the AL west at that point. And there was something about this Giants team with their individual comeback stories and their eccentric personalities that has created a Bad News Bears, incredibly likeable team chemistry. Despite all this, I still had it in for Zito, especially when he choked at the end of the season.
I will say that I am proud of the A’s for finishing .500 and 2nd in the AL west during a rebuilding year. However, I was especially elated when the Giants won their division on the very last day of the season… and even more stoked to find out that Zito wasn’t added to the playoff roster. I love it when Bay Area teams make the postseason. I love the feeling in the air. Seeing the home colors everywhere, discussing baseball with strangers, watching the day games with my students in between classes. I feel bad for anyone who isn’t a fan. I’m not a bandwagon hater, I’m a bandwagon welcomer, and I don’t understand the A’s fans who won’t support the Giants right now. The bottom line is that I love baseball, I love the Bay Area, and I love this postseason Sans Zito team. So GO GIANTS! BEAT THE RANGERS! Texas sucks anyway.
And of course, go 2011 Oakland A’s.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
And the Lifting Was Heavy (or For 50 Bucks and a Black Eye)
This is the story I read at the beginning of each class on Monday along with a slide show visual and the black eye to prove it.
Preface: Now I could tell you some cool story about how I got my black eye. How I stood up to somebody who bad-mouthed my wife, how I tackled a bank robber and saved the day, how I’m secretly a professional MMA fighter on the weekends. Or like Tiger and how his wife chased him down with a golf club while crashing his Escalade. But that’s just not me. So this is a story about the way teacher types get black eyes.
I woke up Saturday with ambition. I was going to spackle all the nail holes in the baseboards and door frames that have been taunting me for over a month. I was going to sand them, I was going paint them, and I was going to feel accomplished. Well, little did I know, my wife, Kelly, had different plans for me.
As I started filling the holes, Kelly took our 14 month old, Charlie, to his Lola’s house across town. Just as I applied the last bit of spackle with purpose and conviction, my wife called.
“So my mom has just enough left over synthetic grass to fill our courtyard. I think we should do it today!”
“Uhhhhhhh…” I tried to get out of it, but she was right. Damn it, she’s always right. Charlie keeps tripping over the uneven concrete blocks and bricks back there. The fake grass was free, would even out the courtyard and brighten it up a bit.
I knew it was the best thing to do, but I knew I’d be the one doing all the heavy lifting.
And the lifting was heavy.
Each concrete block was 2 ½ by 2 ½ feet, 3 inches thick, and weighed easily over a hundred pounds, maybe even 200. I used a crowbar to pry each one out, He-Manned them to a standing position, and then rolled them to the apple tree in the middle of the courtyard and leaned them there. There were hundreds of bricks to pile up too.
When I was just about finished, I needed to move a large planter pot which had a metal decorative butterfly poked in its soil. I had used the majority of my strength on the block and bricks, so at this point, I was literally shaking.
And this pot was heavy.
As I attempted to drag it with crowbar in my other hand, the decorative butterfly got caught on the crowbar which catapulted the evil butterfly right into the corner of my eye.
When I get hurt, I get quiet and try to find an isolated place to collect myself. I walked right past Kelly (who didn’t see what happened), into the house, straight into the bathroom. My eye was bleeding a little and was pink and puffy. The first thing I thought about was, “Great, now I have to explain this to my students.” Sick.
At that point, I finally took a break and Kelly’s advice to ask the buff 20 year old next door neighbor if he wanted to make 20 bucks by hand-carting the blocks out of the courtyard. Thankfully he was home and willing to help.
The next day, we put in the fake grass (and a truck load of sand underneath) with little problem. I could hardly move I was so sore. I was mostly on Charlie duty in the afternoon, but I screwed that up too. I turned my back on him for about five seconds and then, “WHAAAAAAAAH-AAAH-AAAAH!” I turned around to see him face down on the driveway. He had tripped over his toy fire truck and scraped his little nose. Blood and everything. He and I decided it was time to take a long break and watch the Giants’ playoff game. Just a couple of busted up Greenwoods relaxing on the couch after a long weekend of labor.
He fell asleep in my arms as my wife put the finishing touches on the “grass”. When Charlie woke up, the Giants had won and the yard was finished.
We played out there until dinner time and Charlie didn’t trip once. It was a complete success and it only cost 50 bucks and a black eye.
Check it out!
Preface: Now I could tell you some cool story about how I got my black eye. How I stood up to somebody who bad-mouthed my wife, how I tackled a bank robber and saved the day, how I’m secretly a professional MMA fighter on the weekends. Or like Tiger and how his wife chased him down with a golf club while crashing his Escalade. But that’s just not me. So this is a story about the way teacher types get black eyes.
I woke up Saturday with ambition. I was going to spackle all the nail holes in the baseboards and door frames that have been taunting me for over a month. I was going to sand them, I was going paint them, and I was going to feel accomplished. Well, little did I know, my wife, Kelly, had different plans for me.
As I started filling the holes, Kelly took our 14 month old, Charlie, to his Lola’s house across town. Just as I applied the last bit of spackle with purpose and conviction, my wife called.
“So my mom has just enough left over synthetic grass to fill our courtyard. I think we should do it today!”
“Uhhhhhhh…” I tried to get out of it, but she was right. Damn it, she’s always right. Charlie keeps tripping over the uneven concrete blocks and bricks back there. The fake grass was free, would even out the courtyard and brighten it up a bit.
I knew it was the best thing to do, but I knew I’d be the one doing all the heavy lifting.
And the lifting was heavy.
Each concrete block was 2 ½ by 2 ½ feet, 3 inches thick, and weighed easily over a hundred pounds, maybe even 200. I used a crowbar to pry each one out, He-Manned them to a standing position, and then rolled them to the apple tree in the middle of the courtyard and leaned them there. There were hundreds of bricks to pile up too.
When I was just about finished, I needed to move a large planter pot which had a metal decorative butterfly poked in its soil. I had used the majority of my strength on the block and bricks, so at this point, I was literally shaking.
And this pot was heavy.
As I attempted to drag it with crowbar in my other hand, the decorative butterfly got caught on the crowbar which catapulted the evil butterfly right into the corner of my eye.
When I get hurt, I get quiet and try to find an isolated place to collect myself. I walked right past Kelly (who didn’t see what happened), into the house, straight into the bathroom. My eye was bleeding a little and was pink and puffy. The first thing I thought about was, “Great, now I have to explain this to my students.” Sick.
At that point, I finally took a break and Kelly’s advice to ask the buff 20 year old next door neighbor if he wanted to make 20 bucks by hand-carting the blocks out of the courtyard. Thankfully he was home and willing to help.
The next day, we put in the fake grass (and a truck load of sand underneath) with little problem. I could hardly move I was so sore. I was mostly on Charlie duty in the afternoon, but I screwed that up too. I turned my back on him for about five seconds and then, “WHAAAAAAAAH-AAAH-AAAAH!” I turned around to see him face down on the driveway. He had tripped over his toy fire truck and scraped his little nose. Blood and everything. He and I decided it was time to take a long break and watch the Giants’ playoff game. Just a couple of busted up Greenwoods relaxing on the couch after a long weekend of labor.
He fell asleep in my arms as my wife put the finishing touches on the “grass”. When Charlie woke up, the Giants had won and the yard was finished.
We played out there until dinner time and Charlie didn’t trip once. It was a complete success and it only cost 50 bucks and a black eye.
Check it out!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Birth (Part 2)
Wow, I haven't blogged in a while. I found this in the "edit post" section. It's the rough draft of "The Birth". At this point I don't think I'll ever finish it, so I might as well post what I have. Enjoy!
5 Hour Energy Drink + 4.5 hours of sleep + the birthday sixpack + the intensity of labor = not good.
When I came back from the cafeteria, Kelly was ready to push. The nurse kept saying that we'd better wait, but when she checked, Kelly was fully dialated. The pushing process is the craziest thing I have ever witnessed. Off and on for two hours, Kelly looked like a red incredible Hulk. The moments in between contractions epitomized silence, each one its own calm before a storm. During the second hour, I would stare at the monitors while feeling the energy drink crash approaching, sometimes putting my head down for a short rest. And then Kelly's "Ooooooohhhhhh!" Followed by my, "Okay Kelly, you can do this..."
We could see barely see Charlie's head after about an hour and a half of pushing. This was about the time when the doctor came in to deliver. She was awful. She looked like Kathy Bates from Misery and couldn't have cared less about what she was doing. She was casually telling stories to the nurses and would pause so she could indifferently say to Kelly, "okay, push through it." She then kept persuading us to let her do a vacuum/forceps extraction. Kelly told me later that she hated that doctor which probably had a lot to do with why Charlie wasn't ready to come out with her delivering. Kelly decided to take a break at about 5am and luckily Dr. Kathy Bates' 10 hour shift had ended.
A new doctor came in with our nurse to tell me we basically had 3 options: vacuum, c-section, or pitocin. Kelly couldn't hear them because of the contractions, but she kept asking for another dose of the IV pain medication. Everyone in the room seemed to think pitocin was the best option, but convincing Kelly was the hard part. It was too late for pain meds, so I told her, "the only way to make the pain go away is to get this baby out" and that pitocin was the best way to make that happen. The doctor needed to get Kelly's consent, but Kelly wouldn't talk to her. As the doctor was walking away to check on another patient, Kelly finally blurted out, "Okay, let's do the pitocin" and I yelled, "did you hear that? She said 'okay'!" The nurse then prepared the IV for three drops of pitocin.
The amount of energy, stress, and excitement that goes into coaching a birth is obviously nothing compared to the pain and stress that mothers go through, but it's still pretty exhausting. The energy drink crash hit me hard and I needed a break. Possibly some food. On my way to the cafeteria, I went to the bathroom and actually started gagging. I needed to puke, but nothing would come up. For a second, I thought I was going to pass out in there. There were times throughout the labor I would tell myself things like, "be strong, that's your job, etc, etc" and do something like splash water on my face. This was definitely one of those times. I might have even slapped myself and played Rocky's theme in my head. On my tenth wind, I flushed the toilet and headed back to the delivery room.
On my way, I stopped in the waiting room to check in with my family. My dad was the only one there at the time because my brother and his wife were sleeping in their car. Everyone else was either walking around or in the room. I then saw my mother-in-law who had brought me a fruit salad from the cafe, which I was pretty excited about. I went back in the room with plans to eat, but as soon as I sat down Kelly said, "I'm ready," so I shot right up and got into coaching stance. The pitocin worked. Fast.
At 7am a new shift came on, but our nurse (who we really started to like) wasn't getting off until 7:30am. Our favorite nurse from the day before was also there, along with a midwife that Kelly knew from high school. In the middle of one her contraction breaks, Kelly was able to get out, "Hi, Pam. I went to school with your sons." So the vibe was really good; we couldn't have asked for a better crew - much much better than the cast of Misery. Pam the midwife was a superhero who had all the right moves and knew all the right things to say to get the baby out. No vacuum necessary. When I saw Charlie's forehead, my voice changed. I was crying so hard, I don't think my coaching was decipherable.
The rest of it is difficult to describe and I think it can only really be completely understood by those who have been there before. You hear the cliches about how amazing it is to fall in love with your newborn as soon as you meet him or her, but it's true. It is miraculously true. And the amount of strain and pain my wife went through is mind boggling. Kelly is my new hero.
To be continued???
5 Hour Energy Drink + 4.5 hours of sleep + the birthday sixpack + the intensity of labor = not good.
When I came back from the cafeteria, Kelly was ready to push. The nurse kept saying that we'd better wait, but when she checked, Kelly was fully dialated. The pushing process is the craziest thing I have ever witnessed. Off and on for two hours, Kelly looked like a red incredible Hulk. The moments in between contractions epitomized silence, each one its own calm before a storm. During the second hour, I would stare at the monitors while feeling the energy drink crash approaching, sometimes putting my head down for a short rest. And then Kelly's "Ooooooohhhhhh!" Followed by my, "Okay Kelly, you can do this..."
We could see barely see Charlie's head after about an hour and a half of pushing. This was about the time when the doctor came in to deliver. She was awful. She looked like Kathy Bates from Misery and couldn't have cared less about what she was doing. She was casually telling stories to the nurses and would pause so she could indifferently say to Kelly, "okay, push through it." She then kept persuading us to let her do a vacuum/forceps extraction. Kelly told me later that she hated that doctor which probably had a lot to do with why Charlie wasn't ready to come out with her delivering. Kelly decided to take a break at about 5am and luckily Dr. Kathy Bates' 10 hour shift had ended.
A new doctor came in with our nurse to tell me we basically had 3 options: vacuum, c-section, or pitocin. Kelly couldn't hear them because of the contractions, but she kept asking for another dose of the IV pain medication. Everyone in the room seemed to think pitocin was the best option, but convincing Kelly was the hard part. It was too late for pain meds, so I told her, "the only way to make the pain go away is to get this baby out" and that pitocin was the best way to make that happen. The doctor needed to get Kelly's consent, but Kelly wouldn't talk to her. As the doctor was walking away to check on another patient, Kelly finally blurted out, "Okay, let's do the pitocin" and I yelled, "did you hear that? She said 'okay'!" The nurse then prepared the IV for three drops of pitocin.
The amount of energy, stress, and excitement that goes into coaching a birth is obviously nothing compared to the pain and stress that mothers go through, but it's still pretty exhausting. The energy drink crash hit me hard and I needed a break. Possibly some food. On my way to the cafeteria, I went to the bathroom and actually started gagging. I needed to puke, but nothing would come up. For a second, I thought I was going to pass out in there. There were times throughout the labor I would tell myself things like, "be strong, that's your job, etc, etc" and do something like splash water on my face. This was definitely one of those times. I might have even slapped myself and played Rocky's theme in my head. On my tenth wind, I flushed the toilet and headed back to the delivery room.
On my way, I stopped in the waiting room to check in with my family. My dad was the only one there at the time because my brother and his wife were sleeping in their car. Everyone else was either walking around or in the room. I then saw my mother-in-law who had brought me a fruit salad from the cafe, which I was pretty excited about. I went back in the room with plans to eat, but as soon as I sat down Kelly said, "I'm ready," so I shot right up and got into coaching stance. The pitocin worked. Fast.
At 7am a new shift came on, but our nurse (who we really started to like) wasn't getting off until 7:30am. Our favorite nurse from the day before was also there, along with a midwife that Kelly knew from high school. In the middle of one her contraction breaks, Kelly was able to get out, "Hi, Pam. I went to school with your sons." So the vibe was really good; we couldn't have asked for a better crew - much much better than the cast of Misery. Pam the midwife was a superhero who had all the right moves and knew all the right things to say to get the baby out. No vacuum necessary. When I saw Charlie's forehead, my voice changed. I was crying so hard, I don't think my coaching was decipherable.
The rest of it is difficult to describe and I think it can only really be completely understood by those who have been there before. You hear the cliches about how amazing it is to fall in love with your newborn as soon as you meet him or her, but it's true. It is miraculously true. And the amount of strain and pain my wife went through is mind boggling. Kelly is my new hero.
To be continued???
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Fastfoward...Baby Makin' 10: The Birth!
My brother and his wife came over on July 13th in order to celebrate our birthdays. His is on the 9th, mine's on the 14th. He had sent me a text message earlier in the day saying something about wanting a nephew for his gift. Since the due date wasn't for another ten days, I wrote back, "I need another week before that happens. Let's just buy each other six packs instead."
This was also the day before our tee time at 12:30pm in Yountville with my dad. My parents were actually coming at 10am on the 14th for a birthday breakfast that Kelly was planning on making before we boys left for golf. That night, brother and I stayed up til 1:00am, enjoying our birthday six-packs.
At 5:30am, Kelly's water broke.
Since I'm Mr. Disbelief, I jumped up and got on the computer, Google-searching "how do you know when your water has broken?" while asking Kelly questions like, "are you sure, are you really sure?" She called the advice nurse, explained what happened, and was told to get her things together. We were totally going to have to cancel birthday golf.
We got to Vallejo Kaiser (aka Thugs in Scrubs) at 7am and it was confirmed that Kelly's water had definitely broken. She wasn't dialated yet, so we were told to take a walk until a room opened up for us. This was the beginning of what would become the world record for the most text messages in five days. Anyway, we walked for an hour, then got a room which was really nice and spacious; kinda like a hotel suite with hospital technology everywhere. Once we were settled, the family started showing up. My parents brought birthday gifts for me and brother, which was really thoughtful.
Everyone was hoping that Charlie would be born on my birthday, especially after the midwife started talking about pitocin, which induces labor. But Kelly told her that she wanted to go as natural as possible, so they promised to hold off as long as they could. Despite this, bets were made about the time of birthday, the latest being 10:30pm. I think I even guessed 7pm at that point.
At 2pm the contractions really started kicking in. We walked a lot of laps around the courtyard and Emergency (which at times looked like an E-40 video shoot...maybe it was!), stopping every few minutes because a contraction was coming. They didn't start getting bad until 4 or 5. This is when everyone had to be quiet during and shortly after each contraction, and this is when the they were making her cry a little bit. But you could tell they were still fairly tolerable because the contractions would end, and then she'd perk up and say something like, "so are we going to the cafeteria now?"
At 7pm she was 4 centimeters and was told that that would increase 1cm per hour (10cm is full dialation). Do the math; the baby wanted his own birthday. Shortly afterward we were moved to a larger room which is where the pain became unbearable and the exhaustion began. The nurse told Kelly that she wasn't getting enough fluid even though she was downing bottle after bottle of water. They hooked her up to an IV at this point and told her to stay in the room. About 11pm the contractions were so bad that she couldn't talk nor move, except to grab my hand or the side bars of the bed. There was a great deal of heavy breathing and moaning, then silence.
At midnight, she finally demanded pain relief, which the nurse administered through the IV. It was to last for two hours and it kicked in almost immediately. It was a relief for me too because the 4.5 hours of sleep I got the night before was starting to hurt. I dozed off for a couple minutes, then went for a walk. Our families took over the waiting room and I could see that brother was feeling the same way. We went to the cafeteria to get those 5 hour energy drinks, which was a baaaad idea.
To be continued...
This was also the day before our tee time at 12:30pm in Yountville with my dad. My parents were actually coming at 10am on the 14th for a birthday breakfast that Kelly was planning on making before we boys left for golf. That night, brother and I stayed up til 1:00am, enjoying our birthday six-packs.
At 5:30am, Kelly's water broke.
Since I'm Mr. Disbelief, I jumped up and got on the computer, Google-searching "how do you know when your water has broken?" while asking Kelly questions like, "are you sure, are you really sure?" She called the advice nurse, explained what happened, and was told to get her things together. We were totally going to have to cancel birthday golf.
We got to Vallejo Kaiser (aka Thugs in Scrubs) at 7am and it was confirmed that Kelly's water had definitely broken. She wasn't dialated yet, so we were told to take a walk until a room opened up for us. This was the beginning of what would become the world record for the most text messages in five days. Anyway, we walked for an hour, then got a room which was really nice and spacious; kinda like a hotel suite with hospital technology everywhere. Once we were settled, the family started showing up. My parents brought birthday gifts for me and brother, which was really thoughtful.
Everyone was hoping that Charlie would be born on my birthday, especially after the midwife started talking about pitocin, which induces labor. But Kelly told her that she wanted to go as natural as possible, so they promised to hold off as long as they could. Despite this, bets were made about the time of birthday, the latest being 10:30pm. I think I even guessed 7pm at that point.
At 2pm the contractions really started kicking in. We walked a lot of laps around the courtyard and Emergency (which at times looked like an E-40 video shoot...maybe it was!), stopping every few minutes because a contraction was coming. They didn't start getting bad until 4 or 5. This is when everyone had to be quiet during and shortly after each contraction, and this is when the they were making her cry a little bit. But you could tell they were still fairly tolerable because the contractions would end, and then she'd perk up and say something like, "so are we going to the cafeteria now?"
At 7pm she was 4 centimeters and was told that that would increase 1cm per hour (10cm is full dialation). Do the math; the baby wanted his own birthday. Shortly afterward we were moved to a larger room which is where the pain became unbearable and the exhaustion began. The nurse told Kelly that she wasn't getting enough fluid even though she was downing bottle after bottle of water. They hooked her up to an IV at this point and told her to stay in the room. About 11pm the contractions were so bad that she couldn't talk nor move, except to grab my hand or the side bars of the bed. There was a great deal of heavy breathing and moaning, then silence.
At midnight, she finally demanded pain relief, which the nurse administered through the IV. It was to last for two hours and it kicked in almost immediately. It was a relief for me too because the 4.5 hours of sleep I got the night before was starting to hurt. I dozed off for a couple minutes, then went for a walk. Our families took over the waiting room and I could see that brother was feeling the same way. We went to the cafeteria to get those 5 hour energy drinks, which was a baaaad idea.
To be continued...
Monday, July 6, 2009
Baby Makin' 2: Keeping It Secret
I always thought it would take more effort to make a child, especially from the stories we've heard about couples who've struggled. We got lucky, pardon the pun, during our first round of baby makin'. So yeah, I was happy, but it was also a bit shocking. Like everything involving a pregnancy, it was both surreal and real, all at the same time.
Soon to be grandmas lose their minds at the news. Keeping that news secret is very difficult for them, but they did a pretty good job holding back...I think. Kelly and I decided, mostly because I'm paranoid about the baby's health, that we would wait until the first doctor's appointment before we made any sort of public announcement about the pregnancy. It was even difficult for me, not because I was dying to tell someone, but because I'm a guy and guys aren't very good at this sort of thing.
Around week 6, I had a Thanksgiving gig with a number of old friends on the bill. The show was an hour away from our house, starting at 4pm and ending at 2am, so Kelly decided to stay home because she was feeling a little morning sickness (pregnancy is the best excuse ever for husbands too, by the way). My friend's wife was pregnant too, but wasn't feeling that sick, so she troopered up and decided to hangout for the entire 10 hour show. She was showing off the 9 week sonogram picture, which displayed a perfect image - head, nose, arms, legs were all visable - it looked like a baby. While looking at this picture, I almost slipped.
"So you must have had your first appointment if you're 9 weeks, huh? So how do you feel?"
"Good...wait, how do you know when the first appointment is supposed to be?"
"Uh, I just know these things."
"Is Kelly pregnant?"
"Oh, no, no. I just know."
I'm a terrible liar. After a couple of drinks and an okay from my wife via text message, I told two of my long time friends (guys I've known since elementary school). After that night the discussion at home became "who do we tell and who do we wait to tell?" Enough people knew at that point and we kept it quiet until that first appointment. I just wanted to hear a doctor say that everything looked okay before we told the world.
When the news became official, my dad told me that Mom couldn't contain herself and had to tell her brothers and sisters. Like I said, soon to be grandmas lose their minds with the news. And there must be a new trend concerning grandparent names. Growing up I had a Grandma G and a Grandma P. Now, there seems to be a negative connotation attached to the word, "grand". So my parents and in-laws came up with their own knicknames so as not to seem old, apparently. Poppa, Lola, Pappy, Tutu, and Pop...actually, much better than Grandma and Grandpa.
Coming soon...My first trip to the OBGYN!
Soon to be grandmas lose their minds at the news. Keeping that news secret is very difficult for them, but they did a pretty good job holding back...I think. Kelly and I decided, mostly because I'm paranoid about the baby's health, that we would wait until the first doctor's appointment before we made any sort of public announcement about the pregnancy. It was even difficult for me, not because I was dying to tell someone, but because I'm a guy and guys aren't very good at this sort of thing.
Around week 6, I had a Thanksgiving gig with a number of old friends on the bill. The show was an hour away from our house, starting at 4pm and ending at 2am, so Kelly decided to stay home because she was feeling a little morning sickness (pregnancy is the best excuse ever for husbands too, by the way). My friend's wife was pregnant too, but wasn't feeling that sick, so she troopered up and decided to hangout for the entire 10 hour show. She was showing off the 9 week sonogram picture, which displayed a perfect image - head, nose, arms, legs were all visable - it looked like a baby. While looking at this picture, I almost slipped.
"So you must have had your first appointment if you're 9 weeks, huh? So how do you feel?"
"Good...wait, how do you know when the first appointment is supposed to be?"
"Uh, I just know these things."
"Is Kelly pregnant?"
"Oh, no, no. I just know."
I'm a terrible liar. After a couple of drinks and an okay from my wife via text message, I told two of my long time friends (guys I've known since elementary school). After that night the discussion at home became "who do we tell and who do we wait to tell?" Enough people knew at that point and we kept it quiet until that first appointment. I just wanted to hear a doctor say that everything looked okay before we told the world.
When the news became official, my dad told me that Mom couldn't contain herself and had to tell her brothers and sisters. Like I said, soon to be grandmas lose their minds with the news. And there must be a new trend concerning grandparent names. Growing up I had a Grandma G and a Grandma P. Now, there seems to be a negative connotation attached to the word, "grand". So my parents and in-laws came up with their own knicknames so as not to seem old, apparently. Poppa, Lola, Pappy, Tutu, and Pop...actually, much better than Grandma and Grandpa.
Coming soon...My first trip to the OBGYN!
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