Fear and Loathing in Cobb Hospital

  The evening before, Michelle and I spent another frustrating afternoon at the hospital wondering if Baby Joseph was ready to enter the world, or if he just had Dad's sense of humor and suspense. Contractions were spaced regularly and short but there was clearly no dilation and we were once again kicked out and told to stop being such whiney parents. Nurses in the Women's Center know our type-the overly freaked out, knee jerk reaction type people. It was written all over their faces as they patiently went about checking this and that. It's hard not to feel childish about heading to the hospital on your own two feet when the majority of other people were rolled in on stretchers with tubes hanging out of every orifice and screaming. The nurses do their best to not act condescending. However, my desire not to be at the business end of my wife while giving birth spurred us on to the hospital time and time again, each visit ending with a shot of Demerol for pain and contraction suppression.

  Having tried every old wives tale of inducing pregnancy, we decided to try Red Lobster. There is no correlation to Red Lobster concerning likelihood of birth but we gave it a try. And why not?  We had heard that something in the spices of the sauce at Provino's made women induce labor. Michelle was willing to do anything. For weeks she had not slept and because she didn't, I didn't. I worried about her constantly but at the same time I've never seen her so beautiful. Her face glowed constantly with the light of excitement for Joseph. She held onto her belly, not so much for physical support, but for emotional support. She and Joseph had already bonded and now all that was left to do is to be united. There is simply nothing so satisfying as watching your spouse love with equal or greater intensity your children. 

  The mood at Red Lobster was jolly and upbeat, and we promised the waitress that if the food did work it's magic then we would send a thank you note with a picture of Little Joseph with a stuffed crab. We left the restaurant slightly dejected that she had not, in fact, gone instantly into labor since the hospital was a mere 500 feet away. The 20 minute drive to the hospital from our house is what frightened me most and I had been mentally planning the drive for months. This would be round three for Michelle, round one for me, and I was not about to experience this for the first time in the back of a cramped minivan. The feeling of helplessness was profound already and what was I going to do in the back of  minivan, much less the actual hospital? I would do what the rest of the Dads do. Tell her to breath. That's good, I'll do that. I'll hold things too. Her purse. Right on. I've got this. I'll coordinate stuff. I'll tell the family that they can validate parking because Michelle is having a baby. Yeah, I'm a pro. A Dad is something to be dealt with by the nurses and doctors. And rightly so. Our first instinct is to make everything better, and any wife can tell you how often that happens in the world of masculinity. I considered asking the nurse if she needed any duct tape just for kicks. If I can't be useful, then I'll be funny.

  We got home and went immediately to bed because we both were wiped out from the sleepless nights and near daily trips to the hospital. Michelle's mom had come over to stay with our girls and she left after we related the story.  Resignation settled over us in bed that night and we wondered if Michelle would have to be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. Her contractions were nearly constant and the pain unrelenting, not to mention the irritation of the pregnant waddle and constant bathroom breaks. She accomplished several hundred squats per day, on and off the potty, and was developing quite the toned quad muscles. I mentioned this to her and the humor was lost. Time to get this kid out. 

  I woke at the usual 3 am potty break but something was different. Michelle had returned from the restroom and was sitting on the end of the bed holding her belly. I was just about to doze back off when she let out this groan that sounded like someone had punched her in the kidney.  It is difficult to describe the feeling of going from cruise control to full on, highway car chase in a split second. Groggy and adrenaline infused, I attempted to levitate into my pants while trying to calm Michelle down. What ever plan we had laid out to get out of the house went out the window instantly. Clothes were flying around in a tornado of panic. When your wife is going into labor, your shoes will be 36 feet apart in different rooms. Your trouser belt will be still buckled from the night before for some inexplicable reason and your pants won't slide on. The dog will have to pee worse than ever before, and your keys will be laid, half hidden, under a stack of newspaper ads. It was chaos. I got on the phone to my neighbor, Bill, and asked him to come over and sit with the girls until Michelle's mom could get back over.

  A few weeks before, Bill and I had been discussing the plan, which was now useless, and he mentioned that there is no smell in the world like amniotic fluid on carpet. Intrigued, I ask what it smelled like and he said that it is on the periodic table. It is an element for which there is no equal. I took the warning and he said he would lend me some plastic to protect the minivan. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw him sprinting across the street with a 50 pound roll of plastic, but I was indeed. I even took a minute to consider asking him if he meant we were supposed to cover the entire minivan or just the entire interior. After all, it was unlikely Michelle was going to explode. Merely leak. She looked as if she might explode but I didn't think it worked like that as far as I knew. In the chaos, the plastic was overlooked and we jumped into "Minnie", our Mini van as we like to call her, and I took off like a well disciplined, law abiding citizen. Michelle was irritated. I can't blame her either. I'm thinking, "Let's get there alive" and she is thinking "OMG, I hate you for doing this to me…" Her logic made more sense than mine so I sped up a bit. She also informed me, between gut wrenching contractions, that I could do at least 10 over the speed limit and not get pulled over. Even in excruciating labor she out thinks me. 

  We get to the hospital after the longest drive ever and I run in to the lobby and grab a wheelchair. The receptionist looked at me as if, had I not grabbed the wheelchair, then she would have tazed me and sent me to sober up in the ER. I looked like a drunk. Unshaven, two different socks, and a t-shirt made me look more like a meth addict rather than a worried soon-to-be father. I rushed outside where Michelle was waddling up the path to the sliding doors. She sat down in the wheelchair with great flourish and relief and we boogied upstairs.  This time, the nurse who saw us first identified the look on our faces as "go time" and immediately sent us back to triage where they inserted an IV of fluid and started prepping her. This stage of go time looks like they are prepping her to launch into the atmosphere. The electrodes and sensors and tubes were mind blowing and scary. Then the "Cool Hand Luke " of nurses came in the room and magically the chaos stopped when she said so calmly and smoothly,"Hi darling, let's check you out and see how far along you are". Her face beamed with a calming smile that immediately settled Michelle and I down. I hope they are paying this woman massive amounts of money I thought.

   After a rather intrusive investigation of the birth canal, Michelle was only dilated 1. This was confusing because her contractions were epic and she was actively praying for an epidural. We resigned ourselves  for what we thought would be a long night. A few visits before, she was having contractions and we wanted to make absolutely sure Joseph wasn't planning on coming early. It was a slow evening and the nurse was good natured and jolly even, so I said,"I bet you see some crazy folks in here, huh?". "Brother, you don't know the half of it". Michelle and I looked at each other quizzically. The nurse became animated,"This one time, a lady came into triage with the head rest of her mini-van. I asked her what it was for she said said we might need it." "And she WAS pregnant?", I interjected. "Yep. We put her in a room, and get this, I came back in a few minutes later and she was screaming and had her feet propped high on the wall, head smashed into the bed, and screaming bloody murder." The nurse gave me that, "I told you, didn't I?"  look and I returned it with complete confusion and amusement. "Wow, what did you do?" Michelle asked. "Well I told her to get her dumb ass off the wall and get in bed." After Michelle and I laughed at her New York accent yelling "get your dumb ass off the wall", she added "And you know what the funny part was? The head rest was laying on the counter next to the bed. Apparently she had other plans for the head rest". I shuddered to think of what use the head rest could be but decided that this night would be no story the nurse could relate later. We quietly went home and waited. 

  Fifteen minutes later, another nurse, equally sweet, came in our room and performed the same intrusion and happily announced Michelle was fully dilated plus 1. Meaning, not only was Joseph ready, he was being proactive and walking out by himself. No forecepts, nothing. I saw panic and terror wash over Michelle's face as she realized the epidural would not be coming and this would be a pure, natural birth.  The sense of urgency was noticeable and like a posse of blue smurfs, we rolled down the hallway to the room where Joseph would be born. Sooner than later no doubt.The room was a flurry of activity and I was instructed to help Michelle with the labor breathing. Right, gotcha. Better me on this end rather than that end, pointing to her stirruped legs. Michelle shot me a look that meant death to all humor. 

  Overstimulation doesn't begin to characterize the activity in the room. Tables were being moved around, sterile medical packages were being opened, instructions were being shouted this way and that. Michelle was letting out  guttural groans that were resonating fear in my spine, when suddenly someone pushed pause on the room, and the only sounds were the screams of my wife. "What the hell are you doing! Let's get him out!" Michelle yelled. I had to suppress a laugh. The entire room stood staring at she and I as if we had just declared our love for Nazi memorabilia. "We can't. Your doctor is not even here yet and it could be a while" a nurse said. I cringed at the coming response. "I've got news for you," Michelle said angrily,"I'm pushing." "That is entirely on you but we can't advise you on anything because your doctor isn't here". "Yes, we heard that, thanks." I said, wanting to convey anger too, even though I was practically smiling with excitement. Seconds after Michelle stated her plan of action, the attending hospitalist entered and joined the nursing staff to receive a fast moving Joseph.  Michelle started pushing and I started awkwardly congratulating her on her efforts.

 The day you marry the woman you love, you never imagine, at least not realistically, that something so traumatic as child birth would make you happy and excited. The hospitalist is down between her legs doing God knows what, dangerously close to something that looks like a bloody disaster. That is heart breaking enough, but your wife is screaming and all you want to do is destroy entire worlds to make her pain stop. Then your child comes out and cries for the first time. You feel your body go limp, the strained facial expression goes away, and something basic and loving, and protective turns on inside your body, mind, and soul that will never turn off.  With a flood of amniotic fluid and a groan of relief, Joseph came flowing out into the hands of the impressed hospitalist. "Wow, that was fast". Michelle pushed 6 times. Only one hour and fifteen minutes and 6 pushes and there he was. She accomplished this without the help of a head rest.