June 7, 2022
Fashionably Late
There were pros and cons when it came to the baby arriving later than the due date. On one hand, I had incrementally more time to get our place ready and familiarize myself with all the new baby gears. On the other, I had to watch my wife continuing to suffer myriad side effects of pregnancy for no apparent purpose, which brought to mind the vivid scenes from the Friends episode where Rachel suffered her delayed labor. Rachel, we feel you.
By this time, our baby was almost one week overdue, which seemed more like an eternity because we had quite a few friends also giving birth this year, only they had all completed their missions weeks before their due dates. Of course, when we compared notes with the professionals, “it’s absolutely normal!” Sure, I could take comfort in knowing that the baby was not in any jeopardy, but it was a completely next-level burden on my wife who had to deal with the mixture of anticipation and anxiety as the days racked up.
Childbirth was a great reminder of our limited agency in life. We scheduled the induction, attended acupuncture sessions, carried out daily exercises (okay, that was all her), and repeated massages that were supposed to help with labor. Beyond that, all we could do was wait.
It’s Happening!
It had felt like “Today could be the day” for many days, but June 7 was different. At 1:30 AM, my wife woke me up and told me she was feeling contractions. Suddenly, it became very real. I had the pre-labor instructions front and center on the computer screen and loaded up in my mind as well. All the TV episodes related to labor were automatically playing out in my head for some reason, because I needed all the “help” I could get, maybe?
“Okay, let’s do this!” I thought. I pulled out the spreadsheet I made for timing contractions and started to track each one. They came quite frequently but didn’t last very long. For the uninitiated, contractions needed to hit a certain frequency and duration before we could even think about going to the hospital. Apparently, the most dreaded thing that could happen during this intense situation was getting turned back from the hospital. We wouldn’t want that, would we?
Out of inexperience and naivety, we had hoped that the contractions would gradually get stronger and more frequent over a couple of hours, then off we would fly to the hospital. Quite the contrary, my wife endured 4 hours of contractions without any sign of progression. To help her deal with the pain, I set up the TENS machine for her back, which in the end didn’t improve her situation at all. Despite all our best effort, at 5:30 AM, the contraction contemptuously slowed down and almost ground to a halt.
Intermission
Over the course of that confusion and pain, she barely got any sleep at all. Being the incredibly kind woman she was, she advised me to get as much sleep as possible. At some point, my duties would imminently come, and I would be much more useful being awake than not. Nevertheless, I still couldn’t help with the guilt as she was in pain right next to me while I went in and out of my consciousness.
By 10:30 AM, it was clear that we needed some professional help. Having called the midwives, we were advised that our experience was, of course, normal. Instead of focusing on timing the contractions, the best place to spend our energy would be food, drink, and sleep. Not long after we took that advice, my wife finally fell asleep, which hadn’t been possible for the last 9 hours.
This Is It
Later in the evening, another wave of contraction rallied, simultaneously bringing hope and pain back to our anxious hearts. The upshot was that its frequency and duration were more consistent than earlier. At around 9:00 PM, we finally hit the golden “4-1-1”, meaning contractions 4 minutes apart, each lasting 1 minute, for an entire hour. Essentially, that was the cue to call the midwife and meet at the hospital.
Although we knew the tasks ahead of us would only grow more intense, we were nonetheless overjoyed that our whole day of struggle finally brought us some progress. We both changed, grabbed our hospital bags, and headed toward the hospital. The cool and tranquil night contrasted sharply with our internal excitement. I was just thankful that we didn’t have to deal with any traffic.
Having watched the virtual tour more than three times, I found the entire hospital strangely familiar. I followed the instructions like a quest and slowly marched toward the maternity ward with my wife in my arm and bags on my shoulder. I pushed open the door to the nurse station, with my face having “We’re ready, let’s do this” written all over it. This was it, or so I thought.
Reality Check
Our midwife settled us down in the exam room and started the regular checkup. Since there wasn’t much I could do at that point, my mind jumped ahead to many possible scenarios and what I would need to do in every case. Ironically, the only scenario that I didn’t foresee happened.
After completing the exam, our midwife regrettably informed us that my wife was only 1cm dilated. We were both stunned by the news and literally speechless. 1? How could that be? We hit 4-1-1. We struggled for a whole day. We did everything by the book. What now?
It turned out 4-1-1 was only the bare minimum to initiate an exam and not a guarantee that the labor had progressed far enough to be admitted to the hospital. Until she was 3cm dilated, the hospital could not admit us. Our options at this point were limited, simple, and depressing. The best course of action was to give my wife some painkiller and sleeping aid, go home and hope that after some rest, her body would transition far enough into labor.
Thank You, Come Again
So, we reached 4-1-1, which wasn’t enough. How then would we know when to come back again? 3-1-1? 2-2-2? Apparently, the issue wasn’t the timing, but the intensity. “What intensity are we looking for?”, I asked. Right on cue, a scream of pain traveled across the hall. “Like that,” the midwife said. Basically, at 3cm dilation, my wife shouldn’t be able to keep up with a conversation.
What we dreaded had become our reality. I flung the bags back on my shoulder and held my wife in my arm again. We walked the same halls in reverse order, and our hearts sank with the elevator. Every footstep we retraced back home rang with the sound of defeat and blurred our immediate future with even more uncertainty than 24 hours ago. No matter how much the explanations made sense, we couldn’t help but feel lost, dejected, and confused.
As I drove out of the parking lot, home, for the first time, seemed like an unbelievable destination. After rolling the boulder up the hill for an entire day, it was time to start from the bottom again. The only consolation was that her medication seemed to be working. Hopefully, she would have a good sleep. Hopefully, she would wake up to further progress in labor. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have to turn back again. Little did we know what future was lurking ahead.
To be continued…
~ Du