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Daniel I Russell - Writer of Horror Fiction


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Sunday, November 08, 2009

Blood. Mucus. Amniotic fluid. Urine. The beauty of childbirth!


I asked Tobin if I could blog about him. He had to think about it for a bit...




















This post had to come. Ah, to use hindsight! I'm finding all things writing-wise pretty hard of late, just due to the lack of sleep. You can confirm this with Sherie. I'm such a grouch after a bad night's sleep. But I had a nap over lunch and have my massive clown mug full of coffee, so let's hit this.

A lot of people know the news already, and thank you sooooo much for all the messages left on Facebook (105 likes and 108 comments, not including all the wall comments). It was something really nice for Sherie to read through when she got home. We also want to thank Greg Hall for announcing the news on last week's Funky Werepig radio show.

So what happened? Here's the last few days of this epic saga:

(imagine this next bit in scrolling Superman/Star Wars opening narrative with dramatic music by Harry Manfredini)

THE STORY SO FAR...

After proving all his 'you're shooting blanks' friends wrong, hack shlock writer Dan and his lovely horror poet partner Sherie became pregnant in February 2009. Following a few ups and downs, including 23 week premature labour (tres bad) and labour in week 35, we find the family still pregnant and bored one hot and sunny Australian afternoon...

With me so far? This was Halloween by the way. Many people, me included, believed that fate had ordained our child to be born on All Hallows Eve, what with our horror history. This was almost the case.

My other job, the one that pays more bills (have you bought any of my books? Then it's your fault. I hope you feel good about yourself ;0) ) is teaching at Bridgetown High School. Nice place with only about 150 kids. No knives or windscreens smashed yet, which is always a plus. And they always seem to have freshly baked goods for free in the staffroom. Yeah, on that score every kid can be handed a katana and choice of semiautomatic and I'd still go in. Our eldest two kids at 5 and 4 sometimes get a bit emotional when they see me in my suit and tie and know I'm going to the high school, so we thought it would be good for them to visit the place when it was closed at the weekend, have a nosey around and see where daddy works.

The school has a dirt road that runs from the bottom of the school drive to the edge of the library, and this was the first place I drove up on my first day. Anyone who knows Bridgetown knows of the hills. Lost of hills. Lots of steep, high hills. Like Wales. Anyway, I wanted to show Sherie this bumpy road that I climbed up in a dodgy old Nissan Patrol 4x4. The road had been regravelled (is that even a legit word?) and we walked down.

You know that moment when the ground starts to slide away beneath your feet and you try to regain your footing but, deep inside, you know you're going down and there's nothing you can do about it?

I fell forwards, ducked into a roll and ended up someways down the hill, a little scratched and bruised. The kids were very concerned. Sherie was very amused and wanted me to do it again to film it with her camera phone. Ahem. Judgement reserved on that little gem. I was just glad that the young couple from the school we saw wandering around didn't see it, and the incident didn't enter the student grapevine:

"For the last time, face the front!"

"Okay, Sir. Jeez. Don't fall down a hill over or anything..."

*Shudders*

Could Sherie's hysterical laughter have been the start of it all?

At bedtime that night (we were tired so didn't even watch a horror film on Halloween. Yes, and I call myself a horror writer) Sherie visited the bathroom and noticed a trickle of fluid from where it shouldn't be (not her arse. Sicko). But don't waters gush when they break? We left it and the same thing happened in the morning. I took her to the hospital and our super doctor (remember from the last post, he won't rape you) did a few tests. Waters had broken...albeit slowly. Baby's head was so deep in the cervix, it was effectively plugging in the amniotic fluid. Now was the race against time. Waters had broken at approximately 9pm the night before, and the doc said that after 24 hours the risk of infection is high. He wanted bub out by 9pm. It was now lunchtime.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Only kidding. Think I can remember this shit after another week?

A nurse stole my chocolate cake with custard while we were in ultrasound. I'm not going into detail on this. It...it still hurts.

There were no contractions, so nothing to push baby out. Hmm, a worry. Sherie was induced, which involves hooking her up to a drip of stuff called Syntocinon (SYNTOCINON! How we love thee! Think I'm going to get a bag of it and frame it on the wall). The drug contracts the uterus, and she was given 1ml per hour and this was gradual increased to 5ml per hour. Sherie went into contractions, but they were bearable. In fact the midwives were gobsmacked that she was dealing with the pain so well (we have video footage of her laughing her way through a contraction. I shit you not) and they were worried that she might not be human. But then...close to 11pm...they started to ease off! This was 35 weeks all over again!

While we walked laps around the hospital to try and get something going, our doc was stressing. The C word (not THAT C word. I mean the C section word) was in his head, and this required a trip up to Bunbury in an ambulance. With nothing much happening, he spoke to the docs up there, who (thankfully) advised we stay in Manjimup and crank up the Synto. Sherie was then put on 6ml...and the 12ml! As they were about to up the dose to a whopping great 24ml an hour...the fun began.

All joking aside (what, me? Yes.) you've got your men that start bar fights in Manji on a Friday night. You have men who work a grueling 10 hour shift in the mill. You got guys into weight lifting and martial arts. Pussys. The lot of 'em. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can prepare you for the sight of your loved one in full blown, last half hour labour. Whenever I write a torture scene in a novel, this is what I'll be thinking of. She's one tough cookie.

Sherie, my beautiful, determined angel, has been through labour 3 times with this baby and even at the end game, didn't have any pain relief. She just clenched her teeth and pushed. And roared. There was lots of roaring. Reminded me of the 'there is no Dana, only Zool' scene from Ghostbusters, but obviously there was no floating three feet over the bed nonsense.

Dr T (before he was qualified, he wouldn't get on no plane, sucka) was called and 17 minutes later, he was at the business end, ready to catch like he was backstop at the world series.

"Three more pushes and baby will be here," he says.

"Three?" screams Sherie in bewilderment.

"Yes, three," says I. He'd said it quite clearly.

Sherie pushed and I was busy holding her hand and doing the whole breathing thing (the asthmatic fish one). I saw something out the corner of my eye...and there was baby in the Dr T's hands. Sherie didn't need the other two pushes. Uterus of steel, that one.

Tobin Ian Russell. Son of Harlequin and Torana. Born 2nd November 2009 at 2.03am. 4lb 12.

Room looked like an abattoir and smelled like one too. Birth is not pretty. They checked him out and he was great (though bawling his head off) in fact, both doc and midwife gave him a rating of 10/10. The first baby at Manji to receive such a rating. Top of the class already!

I held him while Sherie showered and got cleaned up. Photo were taken and we retired back to the hospital room. Surprisingly comfy beds for new dads.

The rest, as they say, is history that's not as interesting as the history retold here. Jeez, that's a long saying.

Everyone is home and doing fine. Tobin is a night baby (whoohoo! ...sigh) so sleep is now a commodity. I can change nappies like the Ferrari pit team changes tyres. The bodily fluids are still flowing, which leads to stories about bodily fluids (including one about a woman in Bridgetown who uses breast milk for everything. DON'T eat the cookies). Things are gradually settling, and hopefully, The Forgotten can get finished soon. I know a few people are waiting for the completed manuscript.

That's it. Thanks for reading through. It's probably the best story I've had the pleasure to tell. It's all down hill from here, writing wise anyway. Next week will be more writing orientated, I promise.

Oh, and baby Tobin has a thing about piss. He saves it until we change him. He managed to get his big sister in the mouth this week and tried to get me today, the little terror! More urination updates coming soon...

Posted by Daniel I. Russell :: 12:32 pm :: 1 comments

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