It’s been said that a woman becomes a mother when she learns that she’s pregnant, and a man becomes a father when he sees his child for the first time. Over the past nine months, I had thought often about what that day would be like. Thus far, it was nowhere close.
After 18 hours of latent labor, a nurse had just drugged my wife. My wife was lying in her NASA-inspired birthing bed, while the only thing separating me from a tile floor with a drain in the middle was a practical joke in the form of a pull out chair. And we were laughing about it.
The doctor had prescribed something called “Rest Therapy.” The nurse had given my wife Morphine and Ambien, and my wife was drifting away. The last thing she said was something about a slice of apple pie with sparkles, and I was alone.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, the room was quietly buzzing. Machines were humming and people in scrubs were speaking in hushed tones. The drugs had worn off, and the labor was most decidedly active. Four centimeters and counting.
Our particular Birthing Center had a hot tub, which my wife had decided we would use. After a certain point, aside from relaxing the mother, hot tubs are good for progressing labor. I was told to bring some trunks with me in case I wanted to join my wife, but I declined. It had become clear that my role was to be present, supportive and, most importantly, out of the way. Bobbing around and up against my wife in what was essentially a piping-hot, bubbling gumbo of pain and misery seemed like a case of one too many cooks.
The hot tub worked as advertised, and when we got back to the room, my wife was at six centimeters; more than halfway to opening the Stargate for our little traveler.
Sadly, for militant supporters of “Natural Childbirth,” this was our last “natural” act. After 27 hours of fighting the good fight, my wife opted for the epidural. I know what you’re thinking; yes, epidurals are expensive, but we had a Groupon.
Like most first-time parents, we wanted to be as “natural” as possible…you know, minus the part where “natural” meant, among other things, having several children because it was common to lose a couple.
I look at it like this: Nature gave us these big, beautiful brains, which eventually gave us Society, Science, and the Slanket®. Our brains also created surgery and medicine, which saved lives and eased pain. To not take advantage of this, our brains’ single greatest achievement, seems to spit in the face of Nature herself. Plus, for a limited time, the Slanket® is less than $30.
There’s a risk to any surgical procedure, as in the case of an epidural. But that risk is mitigated in the hands of a skilled doctor like those of our anesthesiologist. (By the way, no matter how much they try to make it feel like a hotel, tipping is frowned upon in the Birthing Center.)
With my wife’s pain beaten back once more, we fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes, my wife was gone. Her bed had been surrounded by consoles and tables. She was eight centimeters, and my time had arrived; I was about to count to ten every eight minutes for three-and-a-half hours.
To me, I was her partner. Her personal trainer. The man that gave her the courage to push through. To my wife, my counting probably made her feel like a pro golfer every time some knucklehead yells: “Get in the hole!” But she never let on; she just pushed like a warrior woman.
Then, our baby was born.
I wish I could tell you that I felt something really profound and magical. If I did, I don’t remember. I can tell you that cutting the cord is a lot like cutting a garden hose with a pair of pruning shears. It’s not a quick snip; you have to saw at it a little.
I also remember looking at my daughter for the first time. I was very exhausted and confused, but my eyes welled up, and I said, without any sense of irony whatsoever: “So. What do you want to do now?”
And we’re off…
