How I imagine it would have happened.
Okay, so you have most likely read my telling of Hugh's birth. It was an adventure, but an adventure I didn't enjoy so much. However, it did end with us getting a perfectly healthy boy and my wife is doing fine now. I am very thankful for that.
In the months leading up to the birth, I had been planning the general tone of what I would write. I figured on writing the typical birth scenario from my perspective. What we got was way different from what I anticipated, so all my ideas went right out the window. I sort of feel a little jipped. So, I am going to write the birth story as if it had happened the way I thought it would. Here is a chart I found to help you imagine my range of reactions. And, just to be clear, this is all fictional. I would change the names to protect the innocent but let's face it, how many of us are truly innocent? I just won't use names.
In the months leading up to the birth, I had been planning the general tone of what I would write. I figured on writing the typical birth scenario from my perspective. What we got was way different from what I anticipated, so all my ideas went right out the window. I sort of feel a little jipped. So, I am going to write the birth story as if it had happened the way I thought it would. Here is a chart I found to help you imagine my range of reactions. And, just to be clear, this is all fictional. I would change the names to protect the innocent but let's face it, how many of us are truly innocent? I just won't use names.
ACT I
It was a dark and stormy night. This was a typical night by normal standards, except that there was nothing typical about it. We really don't get too many nights that are both dark and stormy. Mostly just dark. Sometimes just stormy. We were sitting around doing our regular evening routine, my wife sitting with her feet up while cradling the whip she bought to make sure I kept working, me busily toiling away. I was dressed in my best rags as not to get my only set of decent clothing dirty. That would lead to another beating for sure. I honestly don't mind the beatings anymore. She made it clear from the day she tricked me into marrying her that she says "I love you" with her fists. The pregnancy really made her love me a lot.
I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor for the fourth time that day. I will admit I was not doing my best work because I knew she would not be satisfied until I scrubbed it at least two more times. I had a kerchief wrapped around my head to avoid dripping sweat on the newly sanitized floor. That would lead to another round of "I love yous". As I was scrubbing a particularly obstinate stain, I noticed my wife's swollen feet waddle into view. She was going on and on about how worthless I was (as she usually did) when she dumped a bucket of water on the floor (as she usually did). I suddenly realized she had stopped talking (as she never did). I noticed she had gotten her shoes wet. Boy, was I gonna get it now.
As I slowly looked up in the general vicinity of her face (she does not like it when I make eye contact), I noticed she had also gotten her pants wet. A thought occurred to me. She just peed her pants. Great, now I would have to scrub the floor again. But no, her face was stuck in an expression of shock and bewilderment, just like mine when she told me she was pregnant. Her water had broken. Oh, my.
I let the panic wash over me for an instant, then pushed it all down inside. I would silently cry it out later in my blanket covered box that served as my bed (as I usually did). No time to succumb to emotion. It was time for me to finally be a man. This was my moment to show her I was worth more than some freshly polished shoes.
I grabbed my phone and dialed, shouting out information to the nurses at the hospital as I collected the items my wife would need, while brushing off their insistence that while I was a valued customer, they did not deliver in our area. I shoved the mobile device into my ragged pockets and set to loading the car.
Trunk packed, everything in place, we raced off to the hospital. I pulled up in the loading zone of the birthing center and began emptying the trunk. I was promptly met by a gaggle of nurses and a couple of burly looking security guards. They watched in confusion as I piled suitcase after suitcase on bag after bag. I thought to myself that these people were not being very helpful. How were they going to be in the delivery room?
The bigger of the guards grabbed me by the wrist and guided my face in the direction of a wall I was about to become intimate with. He was muttering something about homeless people and how they need to stop hanging out at the birthing center. At the last moment, a cab pulled up and my wife stepped out. She did not seem too happy. The nurses all jumped to her aid and wheeled her inside. She casually mentioned that I was with her and Mr. Security kindly took his knee off the back of my neck. I hadn't even realized I was on the ground.
They swiftly pulled me to my feet and kindly instructed me to get my crap off the sidewalk. As a bonus, they offered to keep a close watch on me. I really felt secure at that point. So, I grabbed my wife's stuff and hobbled into the birthing center, a mountain of luggage with eyes.
After several assurances that I was, in fact, supposed to be there, they let me into the birthing room. My wife was on the bed sipping on a spritzer while a team of nurses alternated between leering at me and pampering my wife in any way they could think of. One nurse, we will call her Nurse 1, directed me toward a hard chair in the corner, or facing the corner I should say, with instructions to sit quietly until they needed me. The other nurses snickered at that for some reason.
I gladly took my seat and marveled at how much like home this place was, splintery wooden fold up chair included. As I had just settled in and placed my cheeks between splinter patches, my wife threw her spritzer on the floor and demanded something stronger. I instinctively reached for the flask I keep for just such an occasion, but thought better of it. So I busied myself scrubbing the floor. The nurses all complimented me on how well trained I was. I took the praise the best way I could due to not being used to receiving it.
The next few hours were filled with more flying beverages and nurses sticking their fingers in places I did not want to know about. I looked at my wife, not making eye contact, and marveled at her beauty. This was the beautiful miracle of birth unfolding before my eyes. I was so in love with her (#1 on the above chart).
I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor for the fourth time that day. I will admit I was not doing my best work because I knew she would not be satisfied until I scrubbed it at least two more times. I had a kerchief wrapped around my head to avoid dripping sweat on the newly sanitized floor. That would lead to another round of "I love yous". As I was scrubbing a particularly obstinate stain, I noticed my wife's swollen feet waddle into view. She was going on and on about how worthless I was (as she usually did) when she dumped a bucket of water on the floor (as she usually did). I suddenly realized she had stopped talking (as she never did). I noticed she had gotten her shoes wet. Boy, was I gonna get it now.
As I slowly looked up in the general vicinity of her face (she does not like it when I make eye contact), I noticed she had also gotten her pants wet. A thought occurred to me. She just peed her pants. Great, now I would have to scrub the floor again. But no, her face was stuck in an expression of shock and bewilderment, just like mine when she told me she was pregnant. Her water had broken. Oh, my.
I let the panic wash over me for an instant, then pushed it all down inside. I would silently cry it out later in my blanket covered box that served as my bed (as I usually did). No time to succumb to emotion. It was time for me to finally be a man. This was my moment to show her I was worth more than some freshly polished shoes.
I grabbed my phone and dialed, shouting out information to the nurses at the hospital as I collected the items my wife would need, while brushing off their insistence that while I was a valued customer, they did not deliver in our area. I shoved the mobile device into my ragged pockets and set to loading the car.
Trunk packed, everything in place, we raced off to the hospital. I pulled up in the loading zone of the birthing center and began emptying the trunk. I was promptly met by a gaggle of nurses and a couple of burly looking security guards. They watched in confusion as I piled suitcase after suitcase on bag after bag. I thought to myself that these people were not being very helpful. How were they going to be in the delivery room?
The bigger of the guards grabbed me by the wrist and guided my face in the direction of a wall I was about to become intimate with. He was muttering something about homeless people and how they need to stop hanging out at the birthing center. At the last moment, a cab pulled up and my wife stepped out. She did not seem too happy. The nurses all jumped to her aid and wheeled her inside. She casually mentioned that I was with her and Mr. Security kindly took his knee off the back of my neck. I hadn't even realized I was on the ground.
They swiftly pulled me to my feet and kindly instructed me to get my crap off the sidewalk. As a bonus, they offered to keep a close watch on me. I really felt secure at that point. So, I grabbed my wife's stuff and hobbled into the birthing center, a mountain of luggage with eyes.
After several assurances that I was, in fact, supposed to be there, they let me into the birthing room. My wife was on the bed sipping on a spritzer while a team of nurses alternated between leering at me and pampering my wife in any way they could think of. One nurse, we will call her Nurse 1, directed me toward a hard chair in the corner, or facing the corner I should say, with instructions to sit quietly until they needed me. The other nurses snickered at that for some reason.
I gladly took my seat and marveled at how much like home this place was, splintery wooden fold up chair included. As I had just settled in and placed my cheeks between splinter patches, my wife threw her spritzer on the floor and demanded something stronger. I instinctively reached for the flask I keep for just such an occasion, but thought better of it. So I busied myself scrubbing the floor. The nurses all complimented me on how well trained I was. I took the praise the best way I could due to not being used to receiving it.
The next few hours were filled with more flying beverages and nurses sticking their fingers in places I did not want to know about. I looked at my wife, not making eye contact, and marveled at her beauty. This was the beautiful miracle of birth unfolding before my eyes. I was so in love with her (#1 on the above chart).
ACT II
By this time, the contractions were coming faster and stronger. My wife was quickly straying from her normal pleasant self and becoming a monster, the most beautiful monster I have ever seen, I might add. I was then pulled from the bench and put into play by Nurse 1. I was, at this point, a crucial part of this process. My wife's comfort was my purpose in life. I quickly became an apparatus of contortional assuagement. By that I mean that the nurses continued to pose me in ways my wife could lean on me or I could prop her up that was not in the least bit comfortable for me. But, why should I start thinking about my comfort now? This only lasted for twelve short hours. I got off easy.
My wife had made it clear that through all of this, she did not want to use pain meds. I was sworn to support this decision no matter what. So, when the doctor came in and evaluated her, he asked if she wanted to change her mind. She said she was thinking an epidural wouldn't be so bad. I spoke up and repeated my promise. The doctor heeded my caution and exited the room.
I am not sure what happened in the next undisclosed minutes or hours. What I do know is that I woke up on the floor for some reason and my face really hurt, mainly in the nasal region. There might or might not have been blood and it may or may not have been mine. Either way, I cleaned it up as a husband should.
I was now ready to resume my post as, well, a post. But, Nurse 1 directed me to my wife's side. It was time to start pushing.
At this stage, I was unaware of my role in the process. I relied heavily on the nurses to tell me what to do. They basically said to stay out of the way and let my wife abuse me to diffuse the pain. Finally, something I was good at. Finally, something she was good at. They moved her into several positions and instructed her to push. I was amazed because every movie or TV show I had ever seen had the woman push a couple of times and out came the baby. Why were they making her push while squatting, standing on her head, rolling on a ball, putting both feet behind her head?
I only thought these things to distract me from the excruciating pain in my hand. My wife had taken this pushing opportunity to turn my hand into a fleshy bag of shattered marbles and splinters. It sounds bad, but trust me, she could have done worse things to worse places. I count my blessings where I can.
After an eternity of constipated yoga, she was ready to deliver.
My wife had made it clear that through all of this, she did not want to use pain meds. I was sworn to support this decision no matter what. So, when the doctor came in and evaluated her, he asked if she wanted to change her mind. She said she was thinking an epidural wouldn't be so bad. I spoke up and repeated my promise. The doctor heeded my caution and exited the room.
I am not sure what happened in the next undisclosed minutes or hours. What I do know is that I woke up on the floor for some reason and my face really hurt, mainly in the nasal region. There might or might not have been blood and it may or may not have been mine. Either way, I cleaned it up as a husband should.
I was now ready to resume my post as, well, a post. But, Nurse 1 directed me to my wife's side. It was time to start pushing.
At this stage, I was unaware of my role in the process. I relied heavily on the nurses to tell me what to do. They basically said to stay out of the way and let my wife abuse me to diffuse the pain. Finally, something I was good at. Finally, something she was good at. They moved her into several positions and instructed her to push. I was amazed because every movie or TV show I had ever seen had the woman push a couple of times and out came the baby. Why were they making her push while squatting, standing on her head, rolling on a ball, putting both feet behind her head?
I only thought these things to distract me from the excruciating pain in my hand. My wife had taken this pushing opportunity to turn my hand into a fleshy bag of shattered marbles and splinters. It sounds bad, but trust me, she could have done worse things to worse places. I count my blessings where I can.
After an eternity of constipated yoga, she was ready to deliver.
ACT III
The doctor came in with a series of syringes filled with pain meds. I told him it was not what she wanted. I experienced something new, a feeling I didn't know I could feel. That was the moment I experienced fear, not just fear, but fear that clutched my very soul and threatened to smother it out of existence. I made eye contact and I saw my own death in her eyes, and it wasn't pretty. The doctor began to leave and in a panic I grabbed a syringe. I was going to do something that I would regret later. In the heroic style of all TV doctors, I brought the syringe to my mouth to remove the cap with my teeth before injecting it into her leg. What I failed to notice was that the cap had come off when I pulled it from the doctor's hands. The syringe was sticking out of my face. I don't know if I looked indifferent or the anesthetic had paralyzed my expression, but everyone had stopped what they were doing and were all staring at me. I didn't care, I felt good for the first time in a long time. By the way, I was not sure what was in the syringe but it numbed my face and started to tingle my thoughts. Everything quickly became super green. I could hear the various shades.
The attention shifted from me to my wife's mommy parts. I shouldn't have made eye contact with said parts. It was now a bulge of ookieness that was quickly expelling a purple something with hair. Also, poop. They don't tell you about the poop. This was what the beautiful miracle of birth was? Purple gremlins and poop? I think I missed something. Where was all the oooing and awwwing? Heck, where was the beauty? I felt like I had been lied to my entire life. That was the loudest I had ever smelled in my life.
Loudest I had ever smelled? The drugs must be taking over. I can't let them take me. Let them take me. Let them take me away. The baby poked his head out and winked at me. Fortunately, I had my best tea set so we could have a lovely conversation. But who invited Nurse 1? No! Focus! The baby did a half twist to get his shoulders clear and out he came. Nurse 1 wrapped him in a blanket and began to fold it into a paper tuxedo complete with top hat. One does want to look nice on their birthday. I should have remembered my cane. It would have matched perfectly. There was nothing left to do at this point but to have a father son dance off. Let the drugs take me away. I need a burrito. Hello floor. Mwah!
The attention shifted from me to my wife's mommy parts. I shouldn't have made eye contact with said parts. It was now a bulge of ookieness that was quickly expelling a purple something with hair. Also, poop. They don't tell you about the poop. This was what the beautiful miracle of birth was? Purple gremlins and poop? I think I missed something. Where was all the oooing and awwwing? Heck, where was the beauty? I felt like I had been lied to my entire life. That was the loudest I had ever smelled in my life.
Loudest I had ever smelled? The drugs must be taking over. I can't let them take me. Let them take me. Let them take me away. The baby poked his head out and winked at me. Fortunately, I had my best tea set so we could have a lovely conversation. But who invited Nurse 1? No! Focus! The baby did a half twist to get his shoulders clear and out he came. Nurse 1 wrapped him in a blanket and began to fold it into a paper tuxedo complete with top hat. One does want to look nice on their birthday. I should have remembered my cane. It would have matched perfectly. There was nothing left to do at this point but to have a father son dance off. Let the drugs take me away. I need a burrito. Hello floor. Mwah!
EPILOGUE
Those last few minutes got a little weird. One thing I knew for sure was that I had to figure out what was in that syringe and where I could get more. I woke up on the slightly padded window seat in my wife's room. I remembered it from when I was there before. Except, I didn't recall the padding going all over the room. Also, window seats usually have a window near them. And what's more, my hospital gown tied in the back. Someone must have gotten my sleeves caught up in the buckles. I really couldn't move freely.
Apparently, my recollection of the events that transpired were not entirely accurate. The psych ward doctors suspect a surplus of Rockstars and Tums in my system had created an alternate universe in my mind, where my wife was a horrible slave driver and I was a horrible slave, that would reoccur every time I combined said products. They cautioned me against consuming either ever again. Might as well ask me to stop breathing. Incidentally, the syringe was nothing more than saline solution. No wonder they give that stuff to patients.
After a few weeks, they released me into my wife's custody, the hospital declined to press charges, and CPS let us keep the kid. I have to question their standards. Turns out the kid is pretty cool. He sleeps and eats a lot. I admire that quality in him. My wife is amazing with him. He loves her so much. He thinks I am okay, but would like me a lot more if I produced milk. I think we can come to an understanding some day.
The doctors at the psych ward told me I should find a hobby to help relieve stress so I didn't have another episode like that night in the hospital. So, I decided to start writing a blog about a first time father experiencing pregnancy and fatherhood for the first time. I decided further to write every entry with a giant Rockstar and a bottle of Tums sitting by the keyboard.
Apparently, my recollection of the events that transpired were not entirely accurate. The psych ward doctors suspect a surplus of Rockstars and Tums in my system had created an alternate universe in my mind, where my wife was a horrible slave driver and I was a horrible slave, that would reoccur every time I combined said products. They cautioned me against consuming either ever again. Might as well ask me to stop breathing. Incidentally, the syringe was nothing more than saline solution. No wonder they give that stuff to patients.
After a few weeks, they released me into my wife's custody, the hospital declined to press charges, and CPS let us keep the kid. I have to question their standards. Turns out the kid is pretty cool. He sleeps and eats a lot. I admire that quality in him. My wife is amazing with him. He loves her so much. He thinks I am okay, but would like me a lot more if I produced milk. I think we can come to an understanding some day.
The doctors at the psych ward told me I should find a hobby to help relieve stress so I didn't have another episode like that night in the hospital. So, I decided to start writing a blog about a first time father experiencing pregnancy and fatherhood for the first time. I decided further to write every entry with a giant Rockstar and a bottle of Tums sitting by the keyboard.
THE END
Now that is an epic birth story.