June 8, 2022
Where Were We?
Suffice it to say, my wife’s labor did not get off to a good start. We didn’t expect it to be pain-free, of course. We were not delusional. However, we had hoped that the pain she suffered, a whole day of it, would lead up to a baby, hence the conclusion of pain and culmination to joy. Sadly, as we were forced to start from the beginning again, only more exhausted and more exacerbated, it would seem that entire day was a write-off.
Nevertheless, we didn’t find ourselves devoid of hope or direction. The midwife had advised my wife to get as much sleep as she could, take a shower, and stay nourished. She suggested that we should forget about timing the contractions since it would induce anxiety that was counterproductive to labor. The long and short of it was, think “relax”.
Round 2, Here We Go
With all the tips and guidance at hand, we were ready to recalculate our route like a faithful GPS. To kick things off, my wife enjoyed a few hours of much-needed sleep thanks to the medication. Contractions also followed soon after she woke up. This time around, we focused on keeping her comfortable, fed, and hydrated rather than watching the contractions like a hawk. We did notice that the pain was getting more intense, which was a good thing, I guess…?
We threw the kitchen sink at pain management: massages, TENS machine, pain killer, Lamaze, back pressure. To be completely honest, I was timing the contractions under my breath. (Sue me.) Look, I was on board for not stressing her out, but my compulsive need for data wasn’t going away soon. What did the data say? Let’s just say I should’ve taken the midwife’s advice. The contractions seemed to be gaining some momentum at first, but just as I was expecting them to trend toward more frequency, duration, and intensity, they slowed down and weakened.
With my hands firmly pressed on her back, I looked away and rolled my eyes at the whole situation. It was difficult not to ask into the void, “What is going on!? How long does my wife have to suffer?” I stared at every subsequent contraction with the urgency and anticipation of a man frantically waving toward the horses on a racetrack. “Come on. Just a little longer, a little quicker, and get this over with, please.” Then just like a gambling man with absolutely no control over his losing outcome, I watched every other contraction end up falling short of a minute.
Off We Go Again
Countless groans and an eternity of agony later, her contractions finally intensified. Indeed, the pain became so consuming and frequent that I didn’t need a spreadsheet to tell me it was time to be on our way to the hospital. This time, it was much harder to help her onto the car. After many stops and go’s, we managed to get in the car and arrived at the hospital at 5:30 AM. The whole way there felt like an awful Deja Vu.
The same road, same parking lot, same hallway, same elevator later, we reached the same exam room. The midwife settled my wife down and began the same examination. Vastly different from last time, the contractions were only 2 minutes apart, during which my wife had to focus all her energy to cope with the pain. The midwife took notice and gave her some laughing gas to help. Though painful to watch, these auspicious signs were very reassuring. We got the intensity, and we got the timing. I didn’t know how, but it just felt very 4 cm.
Reality Laughs
“1 cm.”
No. This couldn’t be true. How could all this pain and tedium amount to only 1cm? That literally meant the whole time my wife spent being drugged and afflicted contributed to zero progress. As I was wrestling with this inexplicable reality, I felt completely dazed like someone barely surviving an explosion in the movie. My head was whirling. All the sound was muffled. I was hardly able to comprehend what the midwife was saying. I somehow naively hoped she was correcting herself or suggesting something, anything that could move this process along. But no.
In the short span of less than a minute, my mind cycled through all five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I didn’t have time to sulk. I must get a hold of the situation and advocate for my suffering wife. As I was trying to say something to that effect, I realized there was nothing to say. Before I opened my mouth, I had run the possible scenarios in my head given the constraints and restrictions of our local medical system. There was literally nothing I could utter, be it a plea, argument, or threat, that would help my wife one iota.
We couldn’t jump the line to get an induction, couldn’t order a C-section like takeout, and certainly couldn’t refuse to leave the hospital in protest. What could we do? Even if I knew the answer, I still had to ask if there was anything other than the drug, sleep, and wait. I was right. Oh, how I hated to be right that time. There was absolutely zero recourse.
Home Is Where the Hurt Is
The same elevator, same hallway, same parking lot, and same road later, we got home, again. I had thought we hit rock bottom the day before. As it turned out, it was only P1. I couldn’t even find a word to describe what I was feeling. Imagine what my wife must be going through. If 12 hours earlier, the future was a blur, now it was a blank.
Forget 4-1-1. Forget any intensity. We had nothing to go with this time. Any time was as good and bad as any other to go back to the hospital. Any sign was as good and bad as any other to indicate any progress. We were completely flying blind, painful, and lost. Worse yet, the drug didn’t work nearly as well as last time so my wife couldn’t even get more than a couple of hours of sleep.
Soon, we were right back at it again. Pain, pressure, massage, tears, heartbreak, time. But why even bother timing it? It was funny how I realized there were plenty of apps out there that did a much better job at timing contractions than my spreadsheet. I hope other people could benefit from them because we sure had run out of realistic utility for them.
Dances of Joy and Pain
In the attempt to find additional ways to cope with the pain, we tried one of the videos where a wife leaned against her husband while both standing up, holding each other, and rocking left and right during labor. This turned out to work quite well for my wife, so we stuck with it for a while. Left and right we rocked, each in the other’s embrace. Left and right we rocked, just like on our wedding night.
Four years ago, we danced to the tune of Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud”, quite clumsily, but also sweetly. Surrounded by our well-wishing guests, we paradoxically felt engulfed in a bubble by ourselves. As we held each other in affection, left and right we rocked to the fruition of our courtship. Streams of love and joy danced fairy-like around the two of us. Then and there, we couldn’t have imagined a happier moment.
Here and now, the same choreography was accompanied by bitter anguish and irredeemable suffering. In dead silence, my wife wept through the pangs of contractions. I, like a moving tree, was powerless to remove, shorten, or share her pain. As we held each other in heartbreak, left and right we rocked to the fruition of our marriage. This time, nothing but suffering permeated the air. We couldn’t remember a more dreadful moment in our lives.
The Problem of Suffering
In suffering, a life begins. In suffering, a life perseveres. Virtueless and amoral, suffering is an inseparable part of life and stands through the test of time and technology like a force of nature. Yet through suffering, character emerges, success arises, and joy prevails. Equally likely, resignation follows, defeat is spelled, and devastation ensues. Out of the enormous suffering of labor, life, the greatest potential for good and evil alike begins.
For that life, we endured. For that life, we yet hoped. For that life, we pressed on. On we would have to press for another day.
To be continued…
~ Du