TWO YEARS, TWO DAYS,
AND ALONG COMES NUMBER TWO:
FROM DAD’S PERSPECTIVE
by Alex Lau
November 17, 9 p.m.—The room was dark, and on the bed was Anna, curled sideways around her sacred belly, breathing hard. Brave, confident, beautiful, and oh so ready! She had quietly hoped that Baby would come on its official due date, as a second birthday present for Older Sister, but Older Sister had celebrated her first birthday yesterday, and so just as she had let go of this little wish, Baby decided to come. The contractions had lengthened to over a minute each, the interval between them had shrunk to five minutes, and it had been this way since dinnertime.
“Four minutes between contractions, contractions a minute long, for at least an hour, ‘Four One One,’” Anna said, “that’s what we have to wait for before we call the midwife.”
I bit my tongue in the usual place. “Let’s call Lolli at least,” I suggested, and Anna concurred. How could she not? For there is no greater comfort in childbirth than our doula, Lolli—not even the famous epidural, which some women claim is the one consolation prize of the pain of childbirth. Lolli is the ultimate bedside warrior, armed with a bag of tricks and the knowledge from a thousand births attended. Lolli has a fierce intensity wrapped in a calm demeanor—a focused, relaxed, deep presence—and such an understanding of the space between first contraction and delivery that I feel she could actually hold the gate between those worlds wide open by herself. Her kit included a forty-inch exercise ball wrapped in a sarong for handling and style, some herbs, a blanket, medicines, and a bag with other mysterious goodies to be unveiled only at the right moments. At our first birth, she had introduced Anna to Rescue Remedy—feeding her drops from the pipette as if she were a baby bird.
Over the phone, we gave Lolli the rundown on the situation. She agreed with Anna that full labor might not come until the morning, but offered to come over and sleep on our sofa just in case things moved quickly, as they often do with a second birth. “Absolutely,” I said. “Yes, yes, yes!” is what I was thinking, anxious about what might come. I didn’t feel Anna was as far away from delivery as she imagined.
11:30 p.m.—Lolli arrived. The timing on the contractions hadn’t changed, and Anna was getting tired. Lolli worked with Anna, giving her a few different positions to find her restful place, and then around midnight she went downstairs for her nap.
1 a.m.—Anna’s contractions became more intense (Lolli says “intense,” not “painful,” “worse,” or “bad”). She was feeling weary and uncomfortable. I went downstairs to ask Lolli for advice.
“We should try to get Anna to rest, and her contractions to slow down,” Lolli told me. “After a night’s sleep she’ll be well rested and can deliver the baby first thing in the morning. Draw a bath, and have some Tylenol ready. I’ll come up and you should take a rest.”
After I drew Anna’s bath and helped her in, Lolli relieved me and I went to sleep on the couch, meditating to the slow waves of deep breathing and groaning.
1:45 a.m.—It felt like no time had passed when Lolli called me awake. “The baby’s coming. Anna has the urge to push. Call the midwife, then call 9-1-1 and get a paramedic out here in case the midwife doesn’t arrive on time.” I was floored, but suddenly in a state of hyper-alertness. From that moment on, it felt like time became more expansive, wherein one could do many things in a short amount of time.
I paged Audrey, our fantastic and trusted midwife who had delivered our daughter. Audrey was attending another birth at the hospital, and she called in her backup who was across town. Not enough time. Anna was in active labor.
1:55 a.m.—I called 9-1-1. “My wife’s about to have a baby,” I said. “She’s starting to push. Can you send a paramedic team down here?”
The man on the other end of the line told me he was sending a team down right away. Then he asked me who was there. I told him that our doula was there, and she had attended over a thousand births, was very experienced, and was in control of the situation. He hung up, reassured.
Two minutes later my phone rang again. It was the 9-1-1 attendant. “I just looked it up, and a doula is a woman who assists in a childbirth,” he said quickly and breathlessly. “Keep me on the line. I’m going to tell you how to deliver the baby.”
From our hallway, I could see Lolli moving Anna out of the tub. “That’s OK,” I said, “our doula can probably deliver the baby with her eyes closed.”
“She’s a woman who assists in childbirth. I’m going to walk you through the process.”
My amusement was gaining a tinge of annoyance. “Look, tell me what to do and I’ll tell the doula.” He started asking questions, as if from some kind of manual.
I tried to answer them as best as possible, and help Lolli get Anna comfortable on our bed. Lolli was talking to Anna in a calm, guiding voice, and Anna was pushing.
On the phone, the man was still talking to me. “Is the baby out yet?”
“Uh, no, my wife’s just started pushing.”
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“She’s pushing. I can see the baby.”
“OK, hold on . . .”
The expression on Anna’s face was one of controlled but boundless power, like the waves from a storm crashing into shore, and with only about five strong pushes, I could see a patch of baby hair with the rest of the head quickly following.
“Sorry, I have to put down the phone to help the doula, the baby’s coming out.” I went to Anna’s side. Anna and Lolli were in a zone of complete focus, breathing, pushing, expanding, inviting. Lolli gave a quick tug and the rest of Baby’s body dangled along. I noticed tears in my eyes as I was awash in all of the beauty and emotion and raw life energy. Lolli asked Anna for one more push.
“I’m too tired!” For Anna, pushing out the placenta is the hardest part, having to summon up more energy after the main event is done, but push she did and the placenta came out easily. We set Baby on Mommy’s tummy, hoping that he would crawl up to her nipple for a drink. He made a good effort before lying quietly. Awake, but exhausted from his torpedo shot. He was very cute and sweet: a determined little thing with a scrunched-up face.
2:15 a.m.—I ran downstairs to answer the buzzer—a fire engine had arrived to clear the way to the entrance to our building for the paramedics. I ran back to continue helping—getting clean towels, holding the baby, keeping Anna comfortable—then back down to greet the paramedics. The paramedics were a cheery uniformed man and woman, a crack Provincial Birth Unit that is flown around the province by helicopter to assist with birth emergencies. The paramedics saw happy mommy and healthy baby, took some vitals, and agreed to stand by for the midwife to arrive. They presented us with a beautiful baby quilt handmade by volunteers, and waited respectfully as Lolli and I tended to mother and baby.
2:20 a.m.—Our midwife, Audrey, arrived. The midwife from across town had taken her place at the hospital, and Audrey had hurried over to our house, running in the door to complete our crew, and pronouncing mother and baby healthy.
Alex is based in Vancouver, where he is a businessman, avid skier, and enthusiastic dad.