Oct 03 2008
My First Time: To Assist in Childbirth
My First Time to “assist” in childbirth was a more amazing experience than I could have ever imagined.
I was 33 years old. Thought I knew everything by then. Had been married for five years and this child was to be my firstborn son. We had chosen a first name and an honorary middle name; we had attended Lamaze classes together. My first experience with that too. I was pretty uncomfortable with the discussions in front of other people, but by the time we completed the class a couple of babies had been born, and I was gaining a lot more confidence.
“Fathers in the Delivery Room” was still a relatively recent evolution in parenting.
My wife’s water broke during the night. I was calm. I showered. I dressed. I encouraged her to be calm; asked about the contractions and timing, etc. etc. Mr. “know-it-all.” We drove slowly to the hospital, my wife’s urgent promptings to “speed it up” notwithstanding. The contractions were two minutes apart. “Plenty of time,” I told her. She went straight into the Delivery Room. I went straight into the restroom.
“Better hurry up, Dad,” called the doctor to me through the restroom door, “We’re getting really close, here.”
I “sat” in the restroom stall, trying to put on the green scrubs and booties, while at the same time experiencing the worst diarrhea of my life. Perhaps I wasn’t quite so calm and confident as I had presented to the World.
I made it into the Delivery Room. Thirty minutes after we arrived at the hospital the job was done. Everybody was fine. My wife had yelled at me when I told her to “push” and “breath.” The Lamaze teacher said that would happen.
