From Daddy's Viewpoint

In honor of Claire's first birthday, I wanted to post something that Matt wrote about our experiences last year.  This is Claire's birth story from his perspective.  Enjoy!

It was supposed to be a regular doctor’s visit on Monday morning.  Amanda and I had spent the previous Sunday afternoon checking off things on our todo list before the baby arrived.  I had taken one task just a little too far by unwisely starting a project that left a mess in our bathroom and the shower out of order.  Amanda’s chores were made more difficult by two suddenly-swollen feet, a common pregnancy symptom that had been mild before but humorously intensified over the weekend.  We drove to the doctor’s office Monday morning, fully expecting to be home quite quickly since we had learned that the morning appointments were always on schedule and quite efficient.  The first hint of anything different was a mild comment from the nurse who checked Amanda in, that her blood pressure was “slightly elevated,” but the nurse gave no indication that this really meant anything.  It was the midwife who explained the full story of what “slightly elevated” can mean for a pregnancy of thirty-eight weeks and two days.  The midwife’s exam also started normal, albeit slightly disappointing, since for the third week in a row dilation measured in at a mere one centimeter.  She left and we began discussing the afternoon’s plans, then she quickly returned to the exam room after having just noticed the “slightly elevated” blood pressure number.  She sat down again and what followed was a brief explanation of how this measurement can mean many things or nothing, but the onset of those swollen feet over the weekend and an incoming headache meant we weren’t done seeing doctors for the day.

The midwife said that we should go to the hospital so that Amanda and the baby can be monitored and they can run some tests.  If the symptoms were a morning anomaly, we would be home that night.  If not, the doctors may want to “treat” it by inducing the delivery.  Amanda’s eyebrows immediately furrowed and a prominent look of concern appeared on both our faces.  The midwife had obviously had this same conversation with many couples before because she swiftly and skillfully transitioned into the joyful announcement that by Tuesday evening we could be holding our long-awaited baby!  Amanda caught my eye and we stared at one another with faces of excitement and fear for what was probably only a second but consumed an emotional hour.  We were reassured that little baby was quite ready after thirty-eight weeks; at that time we had been joking for several days that Amanda’s belly was exceeding capacity, but we both secretly wanted baby to have every possible minute inside, so we needed all the reassurance we could get.  Before the exam concluded, Amanda and I were granted a few minutes to pray quietly, which brought reassurance from the best source that both Mommy and baby were going to be alright.

Conversation out the door of the doctors office and in the car on the way home was a flurry of what to pack, who to call and when, and which todo items will/won’t get done.  We had to proceed on the assumption that we wouldn’t be home for several days and would be coming home with a tiny new addition to the family.  While still in the car, I thought about that project that I unwisely started the night before which left a mess of the bathroom… since Amanda would certainly want the house to be clean and ready whenever we came home, I concluded that I would have to make what some might consider the most inappropriate request while on the way to have a baby: “honey, we need to stop by the hardware store,”  (Amanda often teases me that I can’t go one weekend without a trip to ACE or Lowes, so I anticipate that this story will be brought up for many years to come).  Once home, Amanda worked very hard and the house looked immaculate in a very short period of time.  I’ve discovered that her habit of cleaning so that she can return to a tidy home is a family tradition that I have no doubt our little girl will inherit.  Brooks followed her around the entire time, as is his habit on some days, and we lamented every time we looked down on his furry face that the poor kitty had no idea how much his own life was about to change.  He joined us for lunch and bit widely into a large bowl of canned cat food which Amanda served to him as an apology meal.  Amanda and I ate lunch, loaded the car with everything we might possibly need, and headed out for a nervous drive to the hospital.

We walked into the hospital through the parking garage door, deciding to avoid the “mothers in labor” entrance since Amanda was feeling quite well (a relative term since there is always a long list of achy things that come with being thirty-eight weeks pregnant).  We both confessed that this entrance was not the one we anticipated.  Both of us had pictured a hectic scene where we pull up to the door at three AM, get out in the pouring rain wearing mismatched clothes, and wheel-in a huffing and puffing Amanda; this entrance we were experiencing was much less climactic.  We waited forty-five minutes at the admissions desk while we waited for them to figure out exactly what to do with us.  Amanda wasn’t in labor, so there was no need to tie-up a delivery room right away… but there was a good chance that they would induce so she would end up there anyway.  They eventually asked us to go to exam room LH7 which was in an area that we hadn’t seen on the tour.  LH7 was tiny, which may be a generous adjective because one nurse later remarked that it should’ve been converted into a broom closet.  It was barely big enough to fit the hospital bed and there was so little room leftover that the nurses and I had to rearrange the remaining furniture just to move past each other.  While Amanda was receiving her IV, we asked what section of the hospital we were in and the nurse informed us that it was the high risk pregnancy area.  Our silent gasps might’ve stolen the air from the room because she immediately tried to comfort us by explaining that it was merely the most convenient place for Amanda to be and that everything was just fine.  All the same, I know we both mumbled prayer to ourselves right then and there.

The next several hours were rather uneventful as Amanda and I watched the screens where baby’s heartbeat and Amanda’s contractions were being recorded, and we waited on various test results.  We watched two episodes of The Office on TV and Amanda was served a dinner of classic southern fried chicken with greens and mac & cheese; thank goodness for Amanda’s foresight to pack some snacks just for me because I wasn’t about to leave her alone but I was secretly famished.  When the test results were in, one of the midwives entered the room and explained to us that everything looked healthy but the doctors wanted to induce labor as treatment for Amanda’s blood pressure.  The quiet looks Amanda and I shared while the midwife explained everything were like telepathic love notes passed in a crowded hallway.  The concept of having a baby as treatment for any condition sounds a little silly, but we were rather focused on the concept of having a baby at all rather than the details of why.  Their decision did mean, however, that Amanda could be moved into one of those large labor and delivery rooms and out of the broom closet.

Two phone calls were made before we left the exam room, one to Amanda’s parents and one to mine.  The message was mixed: “pack the bags and wait,” but anticipation was overflowing on both ends of the phone.  After we’d had time to make those first calls, the nurses helped Amanda out of bed and on her way to the labor and delivery room.  I asked about a wheelchair since Amanda was now tied to a heavy IV pole, but the nurse said that was unnecessary… which was another silly thing, because hospitals practically force patients to get wheeled to the front door after they’re all better.  So we walked, and Amanda shuffled, down the hallway.  Halfway down, we approached a tour group of expectant parents who’s tour guide saw us and huddled them around to talk about something random like ceiling tiles; I’m sure that the sight of a worn-out mother-to-be wearing a hospital gown and IV could’ve shaken up the other first-timers.

The labor and delivery room was, in a word: enormous.  Amanda’s bed was surrounded by a structure that could be accurately compared to the decorative framework around the stage of a theater.  The bathroom was larger than the exam room we had just left!  There was a device in the corner (which looked like the strangest medical contraption this side of Star Trek) where newborns were examined immediately after birth.  There was a nook in the corner with a bench for me to sleep and a small window over top.  The nurse commented about the window feature like a real-estate agent; it seemed nice but I couldn’t see out of it because it was permanently frosted and sealed shut (I soon realized that this “window” was just a bad tease after I found the magic light switch that had the power to turn off the sun!).  Amanda was again strapped into the bed and hooked up to another computer that tracked baby’s heartbeat, Amanda’s contractions, and took blood pressure readings every fifteen minutes.  It was neat to watch everything happen in real-time but it was also bothersome to Amanda that the process of going to the bathroom required unplugging and dragging electrical cords behind one’s-self, then upon completion being greeted by the nurse who had noticed the screens go blank from her monitoring station in the hall.  Their concerns about the blood pressure readings were often reinforced when one little machine beeped incessantly until a nurse arrived to turn it off (I paid attention and learned which button she pressed to stop it, but restrained myself because I did not want to be one of “those patients” – the guy who messes around with things he knows nothing about).  Also in the delivery room was an extra dinner of fried chicken and greens waiting for Amanda, which the nurse and Amanda both offered to me since it would otherwise go to waste.  I ate it at Amanda’s side but felt terribly embarrassed every time a different nurse walked in to see her and saw me eating from the only plate in the room.  The nurse assigned to us that evening was a sweet lady named Meryh.  Meryh was both incredibly wise and incredibly kind; she was a classic mother figure who treated Amanda as her own daughter and was gentle in every way.  Amanda was attended with great care and big smiles by all of the nurses, some young and others seasoned veterans, but she felt most comfortable when Meryh was around.  We were grateful to have her around as long as we could.

The first procedure for induction began that evening and through the night; the next one would begin early the next morning.  One thing Amanda was very much looking forward to was a dose of medication that would help her sleep through the night.  She hadn’t had a full night’s rest in several weeks and was sure that hospital-grade medicine would more than do the trick.  Unfortunately, she found that the real reason they suggest this medication is so that mothers can get fourteen minutes of rest in-between the endless visits from nurses… every fifteen minutes - all night long.  I suppose there may have been two thirty minute stretches, but those were interrupted by restroom visits.  Tuesday morning was a welcome relief to Amanda from a frustrating night of missed opportunity; the joke had always been: “get sleep now because you won’t get any for 18 years,” and we both believed that to some extent.  Her dilation hadn’t progressed much, so the second phase of induction was initiated.  Within an hour or so, progress transitioned from uneventful to intense, as the full force of contraction pains began to set in.  Those little bumps on the computer screen, which we had been told were contractions but hardly believed because Amanda felt fine, were no longer meaningless blips but were the scribes of powerful pain.  Amazingly, they were almost exactly one minute long each, just like all the books and classes said they would be.  However, the intervals of relief in-between were cruelly irregular, since two minutes was far too short but any third minute was spent agonizing with anticipation. For three hours she gasped and breathed and winced in little intervals.  She never cried; only a tear or two was squeezed from the corner of her eye.  I did my best to cheer her on with repetitive chants that millions of husbands have used to coax their wives through a pain that they themselves will never experience and feel that they caused.  We were both grateful when the doctor arrived to insert the epidural (although I’m certain that Amanda was immeasurably more grateful than I).  Neither one of us watched the procedure. I nestled my mouth into her ear and prayed and encouraged her.  I found that these words were more for me that her because she claims to have never heard them, focusing more on the doctor telling her what to do, the nurses telling her how it was going, and fearing the next contraction.  Within fifteen minutes she was more relaxed than Brooks is on his favorite perch (after delivery, the midwife commented that the doctor must’ve done an outstanding job).  The contractions still came and went, but only on the computer screen. Amanda was un-phased by them and she looked forward to capturing any amount of sleep she could find.

My job as motivator was not going to be needed for the while, so Amanda released me to get something to eat.  We had informed only a few friends that the delivery was imminent and each of them had offered to do something, anything, to help (well, not with the delivery of course).  I asked Lyn and Terry Akins if they might have the time to share a lunch with me. Amanda was in no condition to be visited and I still wanted to stay close to her, but we wanted this couple in particular to share this moment with us.  Lyn and Terry prepared a picnic lunch that we shared by a fountain outside the hospital.  The day was beautiful and spring colors were taking over, which was something I hadn’t noticed out of our prank window.  We ate and talked for nearly an hour, and though I knew Amanda was sleeping, I continued to check my phone for her urgent call every sixty seconds.  Their prayers and reassurance with us, Lyn and Terry said goodbye and I returned to Amanda, who was in and out of sleep.  She woke and wanted to hear all about what it looked like outside, so I told her what I could as she lazily picked cherry blossoms off my shirt.

I pulled up a chair to the bed and began typing emails to friends as Amanda tried to rest.  We expected to be there for several more hours and perhaps have some dinner before delivery was set in motion.  Instead, after just thirty minutes without interruption, the midwife arrived for Amanda’s checkup and followed it with a surprising conclusion.  Mary, the midwife, announced that she could see the baby’s head and dilation was nearly ten centimeters, so Amanda could start pushing and we might have the baby out before Mary was scheduled to assist with a cesarean in forty-five minutes.  Amanda and I looked at each other, this sounded like a joke - Amanda was soundly asleep just one minute ago.  Mary had a big grin on her face and insisted to us that this was no joke.  Amanda agreed and in a flash the room was buzzing with Mary and the three nurses at her side giving instructions, and another nurse preparing that Star Trek contraption in the corner.

I’ve never witnessed a birth before; the closest I’ve come was when Amanda rented NOVA’s “miracle of life” documentary.  I also know that TV deliveries are full of scary stories and misconceptions.  One thing TV doesn’t tell you about is how awesome epidurals are.  I can’t say that Amanda didn’t feel anything, but her face was more like that of a fair-weather jogger halfway through a 5k than it was of a stereotypical woman giving birth.  Contractions came on the computer screen and the nurses encouraged her to push. Mary did a wonderful job telling Amanda how well things were going and kept everyone’s spirits at a state of glee.  I had always imagined that the encouragement was supposed to be the husband’s job, but as I was at a loss for words and Mary seemed a professional cheerleader as well as midwife, I was content to soak in the moment with my hands and head around Amanda.  The periods of relief between contractions lengthened from two minutes to six during that time, providing us with plenty of awkward silence when there was little to nothing going on.  Amanda and I conversed some about how surreal it all was, and she sat for several moments in silence to catch her breath.  Amanda was even thoughtful enough to ask how I was doing, which I took to mean emotionally but she meant physically in regards to my susceptibility to lightheadedness around things of this nature.  The nurses took the cue and warned that I’d better sit down because if I passed out they’d have me taken to the ER and I’d miss everything.  The feeling never came over me, which I attribute to immense amounts of adrenaline.

Twelve pushes, that’s all it took.  Twelve pushes in thirty minutes and little Claire was sitting on Mommy’s tummy, clearing her lungs as loud as she could, with both of us crying harder than we’d expected too.  They allowed me to cut the umbilical cord and I was so nervous that my depth perception failed and it took two tries.  The nurses brought Claire over to the corner of the room for examination and Amanda and I stayed together in one-another’s arms near her bed.  With her blessing, I left her side and went to be with Claire to hold her hand and take her first photographs.  Little hands wrapped their little fingers around just one of mine.  Her crying was soft and sweet to my ears, unlike any child’s cry I had ever heard.  I looked over at Amanda time and time again from several feet away that stretched for miles.  Claire’s eyes opened just a fraction, and I peered my head down each time in hopes that she would get a good look at her Daddy.  We found that the nurse giving her a first bath was another Clemson graduate and we reminisced about our alma mater as we joked that Claire’s little lungs were getting good and strong to be a Tiger Band drum majorette.  Claire was swaddled up and handed again into her mothers arms where she cuddled and cooed, yawning and opening her eyes and doing all sorts of wonderful sweet things that made our hearts melt.  She was born on Tuesday, April 6, 2010 at 1:59pm Eastern Time, weighing six pounds fifteen ounces and measuring twenty inches long.  She was perfectly formed with a round head of thick brown hair, long piano-players’ fingers, and long runners’ feet.

They moved Amanda up to a recovery room, which was smaller but still quite spacious, and we stayed in the hospital from Tuesday until Thursday afternoon, exactly forty-eight hours.  Those three days and two nights were far busier than anyone had ever told us.  There were doctors visits and nurses visits and midwife visits, there were naps to take and feedings to do and nursing problems to diagnose and fix, there were visitors to schedule and food to get, there was paperwork to sign and people to call and emails to send and pictures to post online.  None of this chaos needs to be recalled in detail.  We wondered why no one told about how tiresome and busy those forty-eight hours would be, and if they did they didn’t emphasize it enough, but we realized after arriving at home that the only parts we vividly remember were the moments alone with Claire.  So many of her first things were too important to us and there was little room to hold onto the rest.

Amanda’s parents arrived from Murrells Inlet in South Carolina by Tuesday evening and my parents arrived from Holland in Michigan by Wednesday evening.  The new grandparents stayed with us until Saturday to run errands, do chores and – of course – hold Claire as much as they could.  It was wonderful to watch the first-time grandmothers as they entered the room, both the same way: first seeing Claire, then hugging Amanda, then walking to Claire with their arms outstretched, and then the moment while they held her that their hearts just burst and their faces strained to hold it in.  We were immensely blessed and grateful that they could all be there.

That is the story of Claire’s birth – written from her father’s perspective and tuned with her mother’s keen copy-editing skills.  This is only the first story we will get to tell.