UPDATE?

So much time has passed since the last time I sat before the keyboard to recording the happenings in my life that I find myself making one excuse after another to continue to draw myself away. Now that I have that first sentence recorded, hopefully the rest will go a little easier. A lot has happened in the past eleven months, the primary event being the birth of our second son Colton Luke. Additionally, Rhiannon has begun teaching at a different school, I have changed jobs not once but twice, and my last, dear, remaining grandmother passed away. So its been a year of more ups than downs, which is good, but it has also been a year with little free time, and what time I found was spent sloshing through streams or floating around in the saltwater.

The driving force bringing back to this forum is the disservice that I feel I have done for little Colt. The first year of Landon’s life was recorded with some regularity in this journal, and yet as Colt’s 11th month birthday rolls around I have yet to type one sentence about his wonderful life. Recently I have used this journal as a reference to compare Landon’s development with that of Colt, each time thinking that I should record the more recent updates in our lives as well. Always I left disappointed with my diligence toward this task. So that is where I will begin this entry, with no idea exactly where I will end up.

In the month prior to Colt’s birth Rhiannon was experiencing intermittent bouts of extreme pain associated with pre-labor. Her checkups showed very slight progress, but the general tone from the doctor was to come back when something really significant happens. Several times we were just a few steps from the car ride to the hospital. Although it was a stressful situation for myself, I must assert that more than anything else it made me glad that the female bears the burden of child birth and not the male version in our species - I know I couldn’t take the stress and pain associated with child birth. The actual estimated date for Colt’s arrival was March 17th, however on the cold Saturday morning of March 11th we awoke from another restless night filled with Rhiannon’s labor pains and decided that we had reached a breaking point and that today would be the day we actually crossed the threshold into the maternity wing of the hospital. So after breakfast, we packed the car up, dropped Landon off at his grandparent Sharp’s house and proceeded to St. Joseph’s with the goal of welcoming our new son. The night before it had snowed on our local mountains, the air was crisp and alive, it occurred to me what a perfect day to begin a life on this planet.

We arrived at the hospital right around 9:00am and they checked us right in, no questions asked, no quick inspection to ensure Rhiannon’s progress in labor, just the standard, “sign right here, and follow me to you room.” It made me wonder why we hadn’t done this week’s earlier and circumvented so much of Rhiannon’s distress. Shortly thereafter our nurse introduced herself, after a year’s time I have regretfully forgotten her name, but she was a very happy, middle-aged woman who had worked at the hospital for the past 25 years. She had the same post-sixties, flower child, hippy mentality that my mom so often exudes. She had a familiar smile and was very attentive to Rhiannon which was most important. She started administering pitosin to accelerate Rhiannon’s labor, and by shortly after lunch Rhiannon’s epidural was injected. The morning was proceeding very smoothly, unfortunately that was soon to change.

Around 2:00pm we were introduced to the doctor who would be dragging Colt into the daylight. Regrettably, Dr. Fiorentino, Rhiannon’s obstetrician, would be unavailable to help her through the last leg of her pregnancy marathon. We were disappointed, after 9 months of regular visits (not to mention Landon’s pregnancy and delivery) a strong relationship and comfort level evolves with your particular doctor, it’s a little disorientating not have him guide you across the finish line. Dr. Ackerman was a young, red haired doctor from Spain with heavy framed glasses and an even heavier Spanish accent, and a decidedly non-American personality. He radiated energy, and lacked several of the filters that so often encumber our overly political correct society. At one point he joked about Rhiannon’s age, saying she was far too young to be having a baby, later he said something about her baby weight.

Shortly after exchanging further pleasantries Dr. Ackerman checked Rhiannon’s progress and determined it was time to break her water to speed the labor along. I should recall that Rhiannon was carrying extremely low during her pregnancy, and was also extending a very full belly. The consensus was that she was carrying a large amount of amniotic fluid and that was the cause of the extra protrusion. So, not shockingly, when Dr. Ackerman proceeded to rupture Rhiannon’s amniotic sack the ensuing flood of water was reminiscent of the blow out a stream might experience after a winter’s run off finally reaches its banks. The only problem was, the surge of water also dragged along with it a portion of the umbilical cord, causing a dire situation wherein if not attended to immediately the cold ambient air would cause the blood vessels in the cord to constrict, preventing the flow of any oxygen to the baby.

Dr. Ackerman thrust the cord, and his hand, back into Rhiannon and held it there, while also jumping onto the frame of her bed and shouting that the nurses needed to wheel her into the surgery room for an emergency C-section. Rhiannon burst into terrified tears during the commotion, prompting a sincere exchange where Dr. Ackerman looked like he was going to tear up as well because of Rhiannon’s distress, begging her, “Please don’t cry,” it was a touchingly tender exchange. I was utterly at a loss for words, my supportive attempts to assure Rhiannon that everything was going to be okay seemed hollow at best. And then to accelerate everything to a new level of panic, as I tried to follow the gurney as it wheeled down the hall with Dr. Ackerman surfing on its frame still with one hand wedged up against Colts’ head, a nurse abruptly blocked my way, informing me in a cold tone that I would have to wait in an adjacent room. Rhiannon’s tears returned at this news and my world went spinning.

They shunted me down to an empty delivery room across the hall from the surgery room and left me alone, saying that someone would return with more news. I called both of our parents and updated them with the news, my parents had yet to arrive at the hospital, and Rhiannon’s parents were just arriving. Through a choked up throat I again gave hollow assertions that everything was going to be okay.

A few minutes passed and a nurse entered the room complete with a jumpsuit, funny hat and socks for me to wear over my shoes. She informed me that the situation had bettered, the cord and baby were still within Rhiannon, and that she was doing well. They were going to keep her in the surgery room until Colt was actually delivered as a precaution. She also said that none of the nurses, in their combined experiences stretching back over 25 years, had ever seen a prolapsed umbilical cord resolve itself, the outcome was always a C-section – except this time. Apparently Colt’s big head was wedged in such a way that Dr. Ackerman was able to slip the cord back up behind it.

The surgery room was far different than the comfort filled confines of a normal delivery room. The soft pastels and flowers were replaced by cold blue tile stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling, which I realized was probably for easy cleaning – yuck. A myriad of robot-like machines beeped and flickered. Rhiannon looked obviously uncomfortable at best, lying on her side as her labor slowly progressed. Remember too that she was still anesthetized from the chest down thanks to her epidural; she was essentially immobile and obviously still shaken. It felt incredible to hold her trembling hand.

I trudged down to the waiting room in my surgery room gear, and informed the now filled house, which included Andrea, and Rhiannon’s grandparents Alonzo as they had also arrived to join my parents, and Rhiannon’s parents, and a room warming Landon, that they would need to continue waiting, but that all were doing well after the brief trauma. I don’t think Landon knew what to do about my funny hat and shoes.

Finally by 6:00pm Dr. Ackerman gave the signal that it was time to begin pushing Colt out into the world. So Rhiannon pushed, and she pushed harder, and harder, and no baby came out. Dr. Ackerman joked that she wasn’t pushing hard enough, comparing her to a senior citizen at one point. This left Rhiannon devastated, and I was convinced by the white spots that were popping up on her red face that if she pushed much harder her head would explode like a champagne cork. After over an hour of debilitating pushing Colton Luke’s head began to appear. He came out looking straight up at the world, and not in the normal face down position that most babies emerge in. And as we expected he was a big baby. So couple this with the “sunny-side up” birth position and Dr. Ackerman was noticeably impressed that Rhiannon was able to complete such an event, shaking his head again and again, muttering how someone so little could produce something so large and in such a difficult delivery position. He apologized in his heavy accent for saying she wasn’t trying, obviously pushing a baby this big out, in such a painful pose, was not what he anticipated when he was poking fun at her lack of effort.

Colton Luke weighed in at 9 pounds 6 ounces and measured 20 inches long. He was shorter and stockier than his older brother had been. He emerged with same heart tingling wail that is impossible to recant. There is no feeling like being introduced to your son for the first time, and after such an obstacle filled day, seeing his pink little arms and legs flailing against there first exposure to cold, and air was definitely tear evoking. After marveling at him and his mother I slipped out to tell Landon and his posse that he had a new baby brother, a concept I am sure he was nowhere near ready to comprehend or accept. Rhiannon and Colt were wheeled back into our original delivery room which seemed to emerge from ancient history, the day had persisted for what seemed like a month.

Shortly thereafter the cavalry was ushered in, flash bulbs exploded, oohs and ahhs were exchanged, and then everyone was hustled out, it was late, close to 9:00pm, over 12 hours since we first entered the hospital. We were anxious to get to our recovery room and enjoy some peace and quiet getting to know our new family member. We even stole a few hours of sleep.

Our stay at the hospital was extended by an extra day because of concern that Colt may have picked up a bacterial infection. It was tough to be away from home for a total of three days and nights – we missed Landon, and his incremental visits during every day were not nearly enough. On one visit I gave him a pair of toy trains that I explained to him was a gift from his brother Colt. The trains were brothers too I continued, and Landon seemed to grasp a little bit the idea of brotherhood, and if nothing else seemed to like the idea that his new brother might, on occasion shower him with gifts. By the end of our stay we were ready to get home and begin our new life as a bigger and ever changing family.

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A few short weeks after Colt’s arrival, my last remaining grandparent, Harriet, took ill. My mom called to inform me that she was taking her to the hospital, an occurrence that had become more and more frequent over the past year. For whatever reason, I informed her that I was on my way down to San Diego to help, some how I guess knowing that this might be the last time she made the trip to the hospital. It was around 8:00pm. I reached the hospital and found my parents t the foot of the emergency room bed. Justin arrived shortly thereafter.

Upon my arrival, grandmom was coherent and interacting in some conversations, though obviously struggling, and in a good deal of pain. The memory that I will hold onto from that night will be holding her hand and telling her about her newest great grandson, whom she had yet to meet. She smiled, and squeezed my hand and asked that I tell him that she loved him, she also wanted me to deliver a kiss for him. It was one of those emotional scenes that remain when everything else blurs away. The rest of the night involved an increase in pain medication that rendered her in and out of consciousness. By the dawn hours of the following day she passed away. Rhiannon arrived with her great grandsons only a few hours later. A meeting between Colt and Harriet would have to wait for another arena.

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As if additions and subtractions to the life cycle weren’t enough during this time, I finally received a job offer that would take me away from Hubbs-Sea World and into the environmental consulting field as an environmental planner. It was a welcome and long awaited change, although the actual timing could have coincided with a little less hectic point in my life. I left behind an important program at Hubbs, and a job where a few of the perks involved weeks at Catalina and lobster diving across the street. Unfortunately those perks didn’t outweigh the negatives which included a work place with little room for growth and a job that primarily involved transporting fish throughout the Southern California freeway system in a rusty old pile of crap that sooner or later I am convinced would have rendered my end on this planet in a snarled traffic collision with little seabass flopping on the freeway gasping for air around me.

Pacific Municipal Consultants welcomed me aboard with little experience in planning, with the hope that my scientific background could help bridge the gap. I am indebted to them in the risk they took with me.

My new office was located in Torrance, 50 miles of congested freeway away from our home in Rancho Santa Margarita. In order to escape the gridlock that awaited me on my commute, we decided it was time to sell the pick up truck and get a more environmentally responsible car that would also allow for transport in the less crowded carpool lanes, even with only one person in the car. We purchased a Honda Civic Hybrid and after some initial trepidation about not having a truck for the first time in the past 13 years I have learned to really enjoy and appreciate my new ride.

The job at PMC allowed me to work at home two days a week which provided an incredible chance to spend time with my two quickly developing sons. By the end of the summer, Friday’s became Daddy and the Dude’s Day, where the boys would stay home with me for the day instead of going to day care, and we would head out on all sorts of different adventures. We spent time going to Irvine Park and riding on the railroad, having picnics, and visiting Yoyo the bear at the zoo. We went to the aquarium, and the beach and a number of other places throughout the county. What initially started out as a day where I would be filled with terror at the overwhelming possibility of watching two young children, and the myriad of bad things that could happen, quickly evolved into my favorite day of the week.

Regrettably the same freedom that allowed for my Friday’s with the boys was also the downfall of my time at PMC. I took my position as an environmental planner hoping to gain insight into a new profession and to develop new skills that would prove invaluable as my career path continued to be blazed. At PMC however most of my days were spent in an office that could hold 30 people comfortably with only myself and one other coworker present other than our boss. The workload was non existent. I would struggle to make it through the days I went into office without losing my mind from boredom. I spent way too much time thinking about fly fishing and managing my fantasy football teams. The tedium and lack of development couldn’t outweigh the freedoms that I experienced the rest of the week; especially since I was attempting to jump start a new career while the sands in the hour glass of my life continued to fall. I contend that this would have been the perfect just out of college with no responsibilities gig. I became stressed about the future implications of this job environment – I didn’t want to spend several years at PMC and have nothing to show for it on my resume, and with no other skills hanging from my belt. I was stressed about having two little mouths to provide for, a mortgage payment, and the prospect of getting older. I even contemplated returning to Hubbs at one point for less money only with the hope that my career might benefit, which in hindsight was a ridiculous stretch and only mirrored how desperate I was becoming.

Luckily, one day while I was wasting away the hours at the office surfing the internet I stumbled across an interesting opportunity. I was looking through a few state regulatory agency sites, and ended up on the site for the California Coastal Commission. It had a link to “employment opportunities”, which I followed and was interested to learn that there was a position open in the Long Beach office for a Coastal Program Analyst. The job description sounded interesting. So I filled out an application and sent it and my resume to San Francisco. This was in late September. A week later the Human Resources office for the CCC called and asked if I wanted my application forwarded to the test taking office. Sure? I replied. In my abbreviated research for the position I had neglected to notice the application procedures for the position. It’s the kind of bone head maneuver I execute with remarkable consistence. The challenges seemed innumerous. Passing a written test that was offered only once annually was required; coincidentally that test was scheduled for 2006 in October, only a few weeks away. A second oral exam awaited those that succeeded on the first test, followed by a state ranking of all applicants by their respective scores, followed by district interviews, followed by an offer for employment if one was really, really lucky.

Unfortunately the written and oral tests did not cover material that could be crammed for in a few short weeks, so with low expectations I proceeded. After several long and nervous months I somehow I managed to cross the hurdles in place and landed firmly on the tenth floor of the Arco Building in Long Beach with a view south to Dana Point, west to Catalina, and with a position as a Coastal Analyst for the CCC. My first day on the job was January 3rd, 2007, quite a memorable start to the new year. The position is far more competitive than I originally understood when I started the application process, which was fortuitous because I probably wouldn’t have even attempted to apply if I had realized that I would be one of hundreds vying for the position. Things have ended very well in the sense that I am now in a position where I will gain valuable experience in environmental planning, working for an agency whose mandate is to “protect California’s coastal resources”, a responsibility I am honored to try and uphold, and furthermore it means that at times I will be able to take my background in marine science off the shelf, dust it off, and put it to good use.

Life is an interesting path. A year ago I would never imagined that I would have changed employment twice and ended up far ahead of where I started off. I would have never guessed that having a second son goes farther than just doubling the joy in one’s life, the smiles and fatigue compound exponentially. The whole bit about the light at the end of the tunnel coming from the headlight on a train isn’t always true I guess. So that’s the update of the largest events of 2006, soon I hope to catch up on where the boys are presently, and hopefully continue to keep these updates a little more frequent…we’ll see.