Double Happiness, Part I

What words can possibly describe the experience of a new birth? My wife mentioned to me recently a saying (she couldn't remember the source) which went something like this: "People who don't believe in God usually haven't attended a birth." It is a miraculous experience. To try to document such an event with mundane descriptions seems almost to belittle it. But even a few years can dull the memory of the experience, so it's best to get it written down while it's fresh in my mind.

Easter Monday began quietly. Although Marli had been having sporadic contractions throughout the weekend, we felt that it was reasonable to invite my parents over to visit - both wanted to spend some time with Daigoro. We were having a relaxed visit, chatting with my parents and playing with Daigoro.

After Daigoro went down for his afternoon nap, my mother settled into some knitting while my father decided to take some time to get to know my musical tastes by listening to shuffled songs on my iPod. After 3:00 PM, my wife called me from the bedroom and quietly informed me that "it looks like we're having a baby today." Her water had broken not too long before. In fact, she had been chatting with my parents just a half an hour earlier when the stronger contractions had begun, and she intentionally concealed her discomfort in order to not get my parents overly excited just in case things didn't progress. I went out to tell my parents, who were delighted by the news. We had planned a home birth with midwives, so we had a lot to do.

We started making preparations. Daigoro woke up not too long afterward, so we bundled him up so that my father could take him to my parents-in-law's house. My wife prefers more privacy when she's in labour, so there was some urgency in getting my father and my son out of the house that I didn't communicate well initially. My mother had volunteered to provide support during the birth with hosting and other duties not directly associated with birthing. After they were safely on their way, the midwives arrived shortly after 4 PM.

My wife has had medical training, so she had recognized a potential problem - there was meconium in the ammniotic fluid (I'll hold off on describing exactly what meconium is for the squeamish - if you want to know, look it up). This can cause several complications if the baby has aspirated any of it, so as part of the protocol they would need to call the paramedics so that they could intubate if necessary. The alternative was to go to the hospital. After a consult and a few more checks, the midwives and my wife decided that it would be safer for all concerned to go to the hospital.

I felt disappointed - we had planned on a home birth for many months - but safety had to come first. I grabbed the hospital bag my wife had prepared as well as a bag with my own personal items and prepared to go to the hospital while the midwives checked my wife one more time. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) her cervical dilation had increased from 5 cm to 7 cm in the short time that it had taken us to make the decision to leave (less than 10 minutes). The baby wanted to be born soon, so we shifted gears once again, dropping the bags and preparing to call the paramedics as we got closer to transition (the transition from strong contractions to the final stages of pushing - the last few centimetres of cervical dilation). At this point it was almost 5:15.

Things were progressing quickly. Marli's contractions were strong and spaced less than five minutes apart. I was told to stop timing the contractions as we got close to 5:30, and the paramedics were called. Firefighters arrived within five minutes (briefed quickly by one of the midwives on the precautionary nature of their presence) and paramedics shortly thereafter. Marli by this point was quite close and the pressure was strong and difficult for her. She prefers neither to be touched nor talked to when in pain, so I stood by, ready to assist, but mostly silent, especially during contractions. The paramedics (and the firefighters) wanted to be in the room, but they were respectful of the midwives instructions and remained outside. I was told later by my mother that two of the younger firefighters were somewhat unnerved by Marli's "vocalizations" and left to sit in the truck outside.

Marli hates to labour on her back, but unfortunately her discomfort made it difficult to get her to adopt a new position. Words of encouragement and rational explanations didn't quite seem to cut it; Marli said afterward, "it was like the cooperative part of me just shut off." The students were quiet and attentive, taking fetal heartrates at the correct times - the heartbeat was strong and steady as I heard it - rapid squishy thumps sloshing out of the Doppler like someone operating a plunger in a slushy machine.

Soon it came time to start pushing, around quarter to six, and we had to "help" Marli adopt a slightly different position on her side, with two people on the upper leg, another on the lower and two more "in the slot" (to use a somewhat appropriate military/hockey term). It was obviously uncomfortable for her, but it was pretty necessary as far as I understand.

To prospective natural childbirth coaches: the period immediately prior to transition seems to take forever; be prepared for this. To be with your wife/lover/friend/daughter (whatever your relation to the mother) in quite severe pain is difficult - there's not a whole lot you can do. People endure pain in quite different ways, of course. Marli vocalized quite loudly - not panicked screaming, but certainly sharp and urgent. She describes the worst of the pain as feeling like your pelvis is being pulled apart, which of course is pretty much what's happening. It's hard to relate to this kind of pain when you're male - the only thing I can think of is that if you can imagine the worst joint lock you've ever been in, but continuously for a long period without relief. Translate this pain to your groin and pelvis area. Now, add to this pain the worst sensation of being "blocked up" you can possibly imagine. Now amp that combined pain up a few notches and throw in whatever cramp and muscle pain that you usually get from taking any uncomfortable squatting or sitting position for more than a few minutes.

Yeah. Ouch. That's one of many reasons why I'd never begrudge a woman the decision to not have a drug-free birth experience.

I could see the pain and effort in her eyes and face, but I could also see the strength. She wasn't panicking. I love my wife.

Marli was pushing in earnest now. There was a sense of urgency in the room, but also a quiet professionalism that I had to admire. A few unpleasant details I'll leave out of this narrative, but suffice it to say that birth is a messy experience; fortunately Marli had expertly prepared the bed to prevent staining almost a week before. Just before six the head was starting to show - the midwives quickly checked the cord and cleared it from being in a dangerous position (wrapped once, loosely), a minor complication but one that I was thankful for experienced midwives to deal with it. It seemed to take somewhat longer than normal for the crowning to finish. As seconds ticked into minutes, the situation became a little more serious, if not critical. The midwives worked their magic, using a combination of manipulating the baby and mama's legs (not without protest) to get the necessary room. The head crowned just after 6 PM, but there was also a short period where we were unable to get the rest of the shoulders and body through. With some effort, our son emerged at 6:04 PM on Easter Monday into the waiting hands of his father. I held him for a moment before placing him on his mother's stomach while the midwives quickly cut the cord.

My new son was a pale grey-pink and somewhat floppy as he was whisked out of the room to the kitchen table we had set up as a potential resuscitation table. The paramedics stood ready to intubate, but as soon as they began to suction, he coughed and began to cry.

I had remained in the room with Marli. She was already apologizing to the midwives for being "uncooperative" during the birth. I quickly ducked out to find out our son's status. Seeing the midwives already towel-cleaning a crying newborn, I knew that I would be able to tell Marli our son was going to be OK.

One of the paramedics looked over at me and asked, "How's daddy?" My wife often observes that with all the focus on the mother and child, fathers are often overlooked during a birth. With all of the emotion of the minor complications (potential aspiration of meconium, awkward cord position, prolonged period to crown and deliver the shoulders) I felt that I had to maintain a calm exterior. Now that need for composure was gone, I found myself suddenly brimming up with tears of joy, "Fine," I said roughly, "I'm fine, thanks."

I returned to the room to update my wife. A minute or so later, after the midwives had a chance to clean up the baby and do a few checks, they returned our son to us. Already he was a much healthier pink, crying and looking about with dark, almond-shaped eyes.

While the midwives worked around us and in the adjacent room with the much-appreciated aid of my mother, filling out paperwork and generally cleaning up, Marli and I enjoyed a brief quiet moment with our newborn son.

(to be continued in "Double Happiness, Part II)