Backstory
Earlier, on Tuesday, Jen spent nine hours enduring small contractions. We both thought Tuesday would be the day, but after a few hours of sleep the contractions were gone. Wednesday, the 6th was our due date, but that came and went without a baby. It’s very rare that babies are born on their due date, but still we both were a bit disappointed not to have her by then. On Thursday, we tried to put the baby’s arrival in the back of our minds. We took Mabel to the vet to receive her yearly check-up and shots. Outside it was nearly 90 degrees, balmy, and we felt too sluggish to do anything. At one in the afternoon Jen had an appointment at the mid-wife’s clinic. All the other women in her group had already given birth, one even brought her baby with her. Jen was of course jealous, but in all fairness they did lump us in with women who had May due dates. That evening we sat down for dinner – salmon cakes, rice, and salad. Jen wasn’t feeling hungry. She was too hot. So, to get out of the heat we went to the mall to buy me a new Brewers cap; an early father’s day present. On the way home from the mall Jen was hungry for custard. Outside of strawberries, frozen custard has been her one craving this whole pregnancy. Finally we returned home, just before the storms started.
Midnight, 12 AM, Friday, June 8th
So, there we are on the couch watching The Wire. Outside our house a thunderstorm raged and tornado like winds howled. Jen says she’s feeling even more pressure and perhaps these are contractions. We decide to watch one more episode of The Wire. By the end of that show Jen’s really in pain. She goes up stairs to straighten her hair and finds that she has to spend most of her time hunched over, working through each contraction. I run around the house, certain that this is ‘it’. I make sure the pets have food and water. That the bags are packed and taken to the car. I repeatedly run back upstairs to help Jen time contractions. Finally, we decide it’s time to call the midwife and head to the hospital.
2 AM
We are in the car and on our way across town to St. Joseph’s Hospital. The storms had dissipated, but eerily most of the southeast side of Milwaukee was without power. The quiet ride to the hospital was only punctuated with small yelps from Jen every time we hit a bump in the road. You never quite realize how bad your city’s roads are until you have to try and drive as smoothly as possible with a pregnant woman sitting next to you.
2:30 AM
We get to the hospital, get moved into an exam room, get Jen on a bed and wait for the nurses to arrive. They ask Jen to get undressed and to put on a gown. I help her do this between contractions. She starts to feel ill and we move to the bathroom. I hold her hair back while she pukes up Caramel Pecan Silk custard, chips and salsa. I think about saying, “Perhaps you should have eaten your dinner and not all that junk food.” Luckily, I think before I speak and just keep my mouth shut. We clean up and work our way back to the bed. Alternating between lying on her side and kneeling works best to relieve the pressure of the contractions, but she still winces with lots of pain.
3:00 AM
The water still hasn’t broken, Jen’s pain is increasing, and the high number of hospital nurses asking questions and checking monitors begins to feel intrusive. It doesn’t help that our child is being very active in the womb. Her moving around, mixed with Jen struggling to find a comfortable position makes the monitoring difficult. Furthermore, the monitor appears to be acting funky tonight. Every nurse that comes in the room comments on the odd whistling noise that the monitor is making. Truly, it is an odd noise. We can hear Ania’s heartbeat, but it sounds like she’s swimming with whales.
A nurse comes in to check Jen’s cervix. We are both assuming that it’s got to be at least 4cm dilated. Nope. It’s only one centimeter and you can feel a wave of disappointment fall over the room. One lousy centimeter! We aren’t supposed to stay in the hospital unless it’s four or more centimeters. Does this mean we have to go home? Even worse, does this mean that Jen’s present pain is going to have to get 4 times more painful? Neither of us wants to think about it. The only person who says anything is the nurse. She tells us that they’ll call the midwife, ask her what to do, until then, they’ll just keep monitoring baby and mommy.
3:30 AM
When the monitor is working, it appears that the baby’s heart is beating just fine. The nurses now wonder why Jen’s contractions are not showing on the monitor. I am looking at Jen and it’s quite apparent that her contractions are strong. When she grabs a hold of my hand, digs her fingernails into my flesh, and cries, “I can’t do this with out drugs. I want an epidural,” I know the pain must be intense. I also know that we’ve trained for this and that repeatedly Jen has told me that my role as a Bradly Method coach is going to be to remind her that she really doesn’t want drugs and that she can labor through this. In our Bradley classes we were taught that Jen will most likely demand drugs during a phase known as transition. This is when the pain is the greatest, but it only lasts thirty minutes to an hour and it means that her body is getting ready to push the baby out. Could this be transition? This early on? But she’s barely dilated. I guess, it’s probably not transition. I really begin to worry that she needs drugs and that I’m just being an asshole for not letting her have them. Is this what it means to be a good coach, being an asshole? I guess it works for Bill Cowher.
Finally, I get Jen to clam down a bit. We try and get up to go to the bathroom, but Jen is tied into all these machines. While waiting for the nurse to arrive, Jen accidentally relieves herself. Moments later, she’s plainly blurts out, “My water broke.” I’m uncertain if this is just more of Jen peeing the bed or the real deal. The nurse confirms that Jen is correct. Her water is broken.
While her contractions continue to grow in strength, Jen is crying less and no longer demanding drugs. Instead, she’s falling into a nice resting pattern. She simulates sleep during the contractions and does her best to ride the wave of pain that comes with each contraction. We had been hoping for a natural child birth, but this does not dissuade their anesthesiologist from pestering Jen with a laundry list of questions, refusing to listen when Jen and I both say, “We know what is available, we want to attempt a natural child birth, and we’ll ask you if we choose to go with any drugs, thank you.” The anesthesiologist even has the gall to leave the room snidely saying, “Well, you know an epidural will prevent you from feeling those awful contractions.” As the coach I feel like benching the anesthesiologist for not sticking with our team’s game plan.
4:00 AM
We get permission to move to a LDR room where we’ll stay for the rest of labor and delivery. Jen hangs off me as we walk down the hall. The nurse and I help get Jen into the new bed. While the nurse hooks up new monitors I run back down the hall to pick up the multiple bags we brought with us to the hospital. As I lumber back down the hall, my arms and shoulders loaded down with bags I get the sense that we packed too much. The look on nurses’ faces as they pass by me simply says, “First-timer!”. Still, I would rather be prepared. Too bad I accidentally left the baby’s diaper bag at home. But, that’s something I won’t realize for a few hours.
4:30 AM
Back in the LDR room Jen is doing her best to rest between contractions. A shift change must have occurred because a new anesthesiologist comes in. He’s a younger, hipper looking dude. He too refuses to listen to me, doesn’t want to see our birth plan, and goes on an on about drugs. Finally, I get a wee bit forceful and firmly tell him to please leave us alone and that we’ll contact him if we change our mind. The whole situation is rather frustrating. Do these folks work on commission? They have all the tact of a used car salesman.
5:00 AM
Melissa, our midwife, comes in. Suddenly the attitude of everyone on the hospital staff changes. Once she arrives everyone backs off and Melissa calmly takes charge. Jen asks Melissa if she can get in the bath tub. It’s one of the tubs with jets, a feature the hospital loves to boast, something the Bradley teacher has suggested we use to help the contractions, and the something I know Jen has been looking forward to using. Melissa kindly suggests we save the tub for later, like when Jen is at 4 centimeters or more. Jen agrees that is a good idea and goes back to her resting pattern.
5:30 AM
The nurses still cannot get the monitor to show when Jen is having a contractions. She brings in this small buzzer device that hooks into the monitor and asks me to press it once when the contractions start and again when the contractions end. There is a bit of concern because at certain times the baby’s heart rate dips slightly. The speculation is that these dips are caused by the contractions, but since they don’t know when the contractions are they can’t be sure.
Time feels as if it is slowing down. It’s late. Jen and I are both exhausted. She wants to be left alone. The most I can I do for her is to apply a cold wash cloth to her forehead and sit by her side. All our training of gentle massage and rubbing seems useless now. I sit and watch her. I watch the monitor. I press the little buzzer when I see Jen’s body endure a contraction. This goes on for some time. I sit there and I take note that when I press the buzzer nothing really changes on the print out. I wonder if this thing even works. Is it simply something to keep me busy? An electronic placebo? I visually note that the baby’s heart rate only dips when Jen has contractions. Jen moves during the contractions and this shifts the monitors causing a disturbance in the monitoring. The nurse and midwife come in. I report that the buzzer isn’t working. Sure enough, it’s not plugged in all the way. I also tell them why I think the baby’s rate is dropping. They think I’m probably right about that too. Still, they would rather trust the monitor than my visual account. Once the monitor is working and my buzzer is recording contractions it turns out that me guess was dead on. I really should have been a doctor. Lord knows it pays more than being an artist or and instructor or both. Too bad I usually get faint at the site of blood.
6:00 AM
Time slows down to a crawl. I feel the hard truth starting to set in. We could be here for many, many hours. Suddenly, the lack of sleep is creeping over me and I can only imagine how exhausted Jen must be. I wonder if we should just give in and take the drugs. I know it won’t make things go faster, but the combination of fatigue and pain seems hellishly cruel.
The nurses and the midwife have seemingly left Jen and I alone. They occasionally stop in too check the monitors, but their visits feel farther and farther apart. I sense that they too expect this to be a long labor. They are all probably assuming that Jen will soon become the responsibility of the next shift and perhaps the one after that. Like us, they are probably thinking of a warm shower and sleep. I can’t blame them.
6:30 AM
Just as the midwife comes in to check on us, Jen launches into a excruciating contraction. for the past hour she has quietly suffered through each contraction, taking long deep breathes and fighting the pains. This time she lets out large yelps. It’s obvious something has changed. I wonder if this is transition, for real this time.
6:45 AM
The midwife asks Jen if she feels the urge to push. Jen screams, “Yes”. The midwife tells her to hold the urge while she checks Jen’s cervix. Miraculously, her cervix is now 9 plus centimeters dilated. The nurse rushes to ready the room for the delivery. The bottom half of the bed drops out so Jen can pull her legs back and push. The nurse and I help hold back Jen’s legs while the midwife watches for the baby. With each contraction Jen gets three or four solid pushes in. Between contractions Jen is surprisingly wide awake, alert, and in good spirits.
As the baby’s head begins to emerge Jen screams out, “It burns.” Ah, this is it! This is the “Ring of Fire” that our Bradley instructor had told us about. There is so much tissue being stretched that it feels as if Jen’s on fire. I have to do everything I can to hold back from singing the Johnny Cash song “Ring of Fire”. After we had first heard this term used in connection with the birthing process I some what tormented Jen with the song. To my surprise, it is she not me that jokingly mentions the Ring of Fire. She smiles and then another contraction comes and its back to business.
Something I never expected to be doing the birth is watching the entire process. Jen and I both feared that my low tolerance for anything medical would have had me passed out on the floor if I so much as peeked in that general direction. Now, I find that I have front row seat and I can’t stop staring in amazement. I also think that the lack of sleep is helping the experience. Everything I’m witnessing is too surreal to belief. It’s a dreamlike show, where you don’t really question what happens next.
Yes, there’s lots of blood and other gross factors, but besides all that there is my kid. At first she looks gooey and scrunched and I can barely make out what part of her head is not entering the world. Deep in the back of my mind there are still fears. Will this child be normal looking or some freak or mutant? Too many horror films will fill your head with such worries. But, as the baby’s head pushes its way out I begin to see a beautiful little face quickly followed by a tiny little body. The whole exit takes a matter of seconds and before you know it baby is being lifted to mom’s chest.
7:23 AM
Ania Madison Sarnowski is finally here. Before the tears of joy can even begin to flow I am being asked if I want to cut the cord. When I say, “Yes,” Jen looks at me in shock. I can barely take my eyes off our baby girl, but after the midwife clamps the cord I turn away long enough to make two little snips that free the baby from the placenta. How does it feel? Physically cutting the cord feels like cutting through sausage. On an emotional and spiritual level it feels pretty awesome.
For the next hour or so the midwife and nurses clean up Ania, stitch up Jen – there was a bit of slight tearing. We get to hold the baby until they have to weigh and measure the her. Then they let Jen and I indulge in being first time parents. I think that is when the real waterworks started.
I marvel at the fact that I was able to not only stay conscious, but actively observe the whole process. I marvel that Jen got through the whole procedure without drugs and that she is happy she had a natural birth. Most of all, I marvel at the little baby girl we brought into the world.
