Dad's Perspective 3

*Disclaimer: If I, as the male, make any reference to discomfort, pain, or otherwise exhaustion, I make it in full realization that my wife experienced one thousand times worse and am in no way making comparisons.

It is safe to say that it wasn’t with just a little trepidation that we went into the birth and delivery of Baby Number 3.  After the trauma that was Eliezer’s birth, it could be better, but it could still be worse.  With Eliezer we were reminded that it wasn’t just getting up to the birth and then you were in the clear, but there is still much danger left to come.  And that is why the decision leading up to Baby Number 3’s birth was so difficult.  The doctor gave us the option of inducing a week early to lessen the risk of this baby being large and potentially having the same issues.  We hemmed and hawed for quite some time.  After all, playing with God’s natural plan can always lead to trouble.  Yet we don’t eschew modern medicine, either, for that is God’s gift as well.

We induced a week early, even though we were still asking ourselves if this was the right thing on the drive to the hospital.  We arrived at 6 a.m. ready to go, but couldn’t start the induction for a couple hours, because of other events in the birth center.  So being put on the back burner meant that we had some time to continue to ponder if we should even be there.

Realizing that with an induction, I would be able to plan out my day a little bit.  When the drugs came by 8 a.m, I determined that I would go get a big breakfast since I didn’t know when I would eat next.  So off I tromped to the cafeteria.  Back by nine, there was little progress.  Interestingly, the nurse that began with us was an OB veteran of 40 years, just like Sarah’s mom.  Unfortunately, she got called off to other tasks.  Her replacement?  The nurse that was with us during Eliezer’s birth!  After refreshing bits of the story, she remembered us, down to which room we were in for that delivery.  She was the nurse that I commented was very talented at being able to jump up and down on Sarah’s belly while typing one handed at the computer. 

This in-between time came in the form of walking.  Lots of it.  Must seat that bobbing baby down into that canal. 

Noon came and went with seeing only small change.  Up until this point I was able to focus on other things, like service planning for church, when I wasn’t the resident IV hanger pusher.  Whether it is because this is baby 3 or because there was little really to do but to sit and wait.  (I did this all with Sarah’s consent, no one curse me out for being uncaring.)   All the while we were conversing about that moment of breaking the water.  You see, after having a difficult birth, this dad began to take a real detailed interest in all the pro’s and con’s and possible complications of every little decision.  Water breaking too early can create an increased risk of a prolapsed cord.  That’s really dangerous.  Stall that action.

At 1 p.m. I went to get a big lunch, because you never know if you’ll get to eat your next meal.  While I was sitting in the cafeteria, I saw the doctor walk by.  I happened to be on the phone with mom-in-law and said, “I better let you go so I can eat, I’m certain he will be breaking her water.”  So I scorfed down my Cuban Pork (Regional West has the best cafeteria food) and speed walked back to the room.

As I entered I asked, “So did he break your water.”  No response.  In her no response I had the answer.  Time to pack all the other stuff away.  Now is the time to focus.  Now is the time to “breathe.”  Slow gentle contractions gave way to normal late stage labor.  I’m glad I had refreshed myself the night before with the breathing techniques from our past two.

Shall I skip ahead?  For surely hard contractions means that you will have significant noticeable progress?  Or not.  Breaking the water at 1 p.m., breathing through what is now the painful, sharp contractions for 3 hours should surely garner you some big progress.  Or not.  Still little progress.  3 at 1 p.m. and 4 at 4 p.m.

I’ve often wondered if it’s possible for staff to realize how deflating it is to not only “mom” but also “dad” when little change is reported.  In some ways dad is helpless.  Being an encourager is difficult when you yourself are discouraged.  Even when mom is growing emotionally and physically weary, you can’t be.  When mom is sitting there frustrated that progress just isn’t happening, so is Dad.  Tears of frustration hurt, and hurt Dad too, because he can’t take it away. 

What took place at 1 p.m. committed us to having this child today.  There was no option of “I can’t do this” or “I need some rest.”  Although there was time for a bath to help relax.  My wife, not me. 

Slightly before 5, Sarah said “Go get the nurse, that contraction felt different.  I have to push”.  With a quick reminder, “Urge to push, blow it away” I traipsed out the door to find the nurse.  With adept communication skills, I relayed the message.  But in all honesty, I was doubtful of any hope.  After all, 45 minutes ago, there was no change.  How could 45 minutes make that big of a difference?

With a quick check, “You’re an 8, I’m going to call the doctor.”  With the tone of a child asking for chocolate cake for breakfast, Sarah asked, “May I have that epidural now?”  “I’m sorry, you won’t make it long enough to get an epidural.” And out the door went nurse.  Leaving me with… a wife ready to push, and about ready to cry from the lack of comfort that the drug peddler could have provided. 

“Blow out the candles, blow blow blow.”  Yes that was the repetitive mantra for half an hour while people came out of the walls to stand and wait.  When the nice staff asks the usual question to help divert attention, “what are you having?” I can do no other than to say, “Well, we hope it is a human.  If not, we are sending it back, I don’t do lizards.”  I can honestly say I’ve never heard an entire labor and delivery room laughing at one time, even the doctor.  Well everyone, minus one.  The one blowing out the candles in her imagination. 

With the screams of a push, I did what should have garnered a slapped face.  I got right in the face of the one agonizing and firmly barked, “Blow.”  And with that, blew.  I apologized later for my breath.

After the half hour of blowing came and went, the doctor said, “Next contraction, push.”  And push she did.  In one, prolonged push, here came baby.  Not without its own complications.  Nuchal cord, clamp, clamp, cut.  “Keep pushing.”

“Is it out?”

“I don’t hear it.”

“No, not again.”

Now, I’m not sure how my response to those three statements came out, but it went something like this, “Relax, it’s only been a few seconds.  Give them time.” 

Well, it was again, but this time over seconds instead of minutes.  A couple pumps of the bag and some blow by oxygen and we had the cries that we wanted to hear.

It was interesting though, that the doctor had to ask after the baby started crying what it was that we actually had.  Just as quickly as all the people arrived, they faded back into the woodwork with a simple “congratulations.” 

I would have to say that with our experiences in childbirth, each one gets more emotional.  Fear and joy counter-play with each other in such a way that sometimes you can’t distinguish them.  That evening sitting and decompressing as Sarah and I usually do, I thought of my friend from seminary who’s wife delivered a stillborn child 2 weeks ago.  That could happen to anyone.  All the things that can happen during childbearing and childbirth. 

This time God granted for us a seemingly healthy beautiful baby girl who got to meet her sister and brother.

I say this in all love, my wife has been clingyer after this childbirth.  And that’s ok.  Staying by the side of the one who just endured a natural process “naturally” isn’t so wrong, and is probably biblical too.  After all, she’s the one you’re united with, not your child.  Besides, the baby is in able hands in the warmer.  I ended up staying the night in the hospital with two simple words, “please stay.” 

I witnessed it with my own ears, and a good thing too, because I probably wouldn’t have believed it.  This child, unlike our others, actually slept!  (That has since faded a bit, but that’s not the focus of this post.)  After sleeping on it, we decided the last nights discussion actually produced a name.  Elia (el-AY-yah) which is Hebrew for Yahweh is God or Yahweh (the Lord) is my God.  To think, this theological name came not from the preacher, but from the wife. 

I haven’t said this in previous “dad’s perspectives” before, but it is true for all of them, I am truly married to an amazing wife who endures the pains of childbirth with great strength and courage.  Our family is truly blessed as she brings that into each day.

All thanks and praise to God!