Some moments from 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #2

Some moments from a 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #2

Truth, fear 

There are moments in life where the problem is reality, that one is all too aware of the facts of the matter, and that one is powerless to control them.  An hour after Amelia was born came such a moment. As the wonderful Claire put it, at such times we are all heart; no brain at all.
The birth had gone as smoothly as it could for such a long one. On a handful of paracetamol, my incredible wife had delivered her precious cargo to the world. We were briefly content, attempting to breastfeed and reposing as a family for the first time for a moment. Then of course, the afterbirth needs to come out.

It didn't.

The breastfeeding should have helped.

It didn't.

The injection of oxytocin should have helped.

It didn't.

The midwives' expertise should have been enough.

It wasn't

An hour after the birth, we were told that Victoria simply must go to hospital for a surgical intervention. I watched as an ambulance crew worked with one midwife to strap my now unconscious wife to a stretcher. There seemed to be blood everywhere. One midwife had kept an eye on Amelia and I and kept me busy looking after her, but for a few minutes I was alone, clutching my naked newborn daughter to my chest under a blanket and watching as my tenacious, vivacious wife was carried out the door.

I wept.

I prayed, and I knew God was with me, but counting back the promises in the bible, I knew that not one of them told me Victoria would be OK. He promised to be with me, and that I would be ok as He went through whatever life throws at me alongside me. But I also knew, in a suddenly real way, that Victoria might not be coming back to me.
I could only cling to the facts: the midwives were not too worried, and I was probably reacting out of a state that to call 'tired and emotional' would be utterly to underplay. I should not trust my instinctive fears.

I don't quite know how I got though that moment, looking down at the top of Amelia's head and her tiny hand wrapped around my finger. I only remember praying "not this cup Lord, anything but this", and eventually being OK.



Less than an hour later I heard from the hospital that she was in surgery, out like a light and all was going well. Finally I could join my daughter in her peaceful sleep.

Vanity calling?

Victoria had always wanted a few pictures of the birth; she has a few from her own birth and cherishes them, so I was under strict orders to capture a few salient moments, however inappropriate it felt at the time. I cant tell you how glad I am that I did; those first few shots give me a few concrete places to hang my memories.
Knowing her plan, when we set off to the hospital the first time at 6:00 am, Victoria managed to straighten her hair between contractions.

That took a while.

What a peculiar picture of determination she is.

And how lovely she looks, hair straightened or not!

Naming

You wouldn't think it was that hard, naming a child, other than the draw-jopping terror that in one decision you can ruin a future with comedy initials or a series of awful nicknames. Perhaps that's why it took a couple of days; we really wanted to get it right. My sister-in-law, keen for detailed news, was told weight, length, hair colour and "no name yet." Her alleged response: "What are they playing at, they've had 5 months!" It's true, we had known we were having a daughter for a while. I'm really glad we found out; knowing I was going to have a daughter really helped me bond with D-minor. By the end, we'd narrowed it down to just a few names, each of which we really liked. We just wanted to meet her and see what she looked like. Then things were complicated by the fact she was born on the 23rd April: St George's day and Shakespeare's birthday (Which is incidentally why it's world book night. How cool for a bibliophile to have a daughter for whom to buy books every year!) Should we call her Wilhemina? Georgina? (Georgia had a good chance for half an hour, to be honest. ) How about a Shakespeare character? I liked Cordelia, myself.
In the end, we decided against any new additions. The ultimate call was always going to be Mrs D's, she'd clearly earned the right. At about half past ten, she became Amelia Anne. We hope she likes it; it's quite a responsibility. She's stuck with it for a good long time.

I also wanted it to be shortish. If I'm going to get it tattooed on me somewhere I don't want it to hurt too much!

Some moments from 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #1

Some moments from a 52 hour labour (Papa's Perspective) #1

(in no particular order)

And relax...

We walked into the maison de naissance, two and a half days into the epic slog, and our hearts lifted. They sang. The hospital we'd been at that morning had been so efficient, so clinical, so medical, that Victoria's labour all but stopped as her heart sank. There was also the fact that after a night of what felt like such hard work, she'd progressed only as far as 4 cm dilated. The maison at Grens was so warm and cosy, so colourful and soft. There were plenty of places for papa to sit when he needed to keep out of the way. (How wonderful that this was one of Victoria's first thoughts!) Pervading all was a soft persistent smell of lavender, one of my favourite and most soothing scents. Kindly, the following morning the midwife dispatched my daughter and I with a little present; a lavender pillow for her cot, so that feels connected and at home, and little woollen hat, knitted by a lady who lives nearby and could never have children, so has knitted one for  every child ever ushered into the world there.

Within a minute, Victoria was immersed in the giant bath, resting her weary head on a blue U-shaped pillow, and instantly, frankly, at home. This was the place she could work.

Never alone

It goes without saying that a 52 hour labour is a difficult thing, for papa and maman both. That Victoria did it is testament to the hands we were in. Two wonderful midwives working seamlessly as team inspired so much confidence. Friends across continents asked for updates infrequently so as not to pester. Two families here in Switzerland, godparents to Tiger, prayed and prayed and prayed through the whole birth with us. We were in God's hands, which were the very real praying hands of our friends. We will both be eternally grateful.

A welcome surprise.

Towards the end, the midwives gave an ultimatum. As much as they wanted to give Victoria the birth she wanted so much for her baby, she was nearing the end of her prodigious personal resources. 49 hours into labour she was still at 7cm. In 2 hours, they were going to have to make a call; we're ready to push now or you're going back to that hospital to get the medical assistance you need to get everyone through safely. 

Victoria felt the pressure, let me tell you. She didn't think she could do it, that they were going to be cutting our daughter out of her. Nor did she think she could make the drive. I told her she could do it, not believing it myself. She found the strength to keep going, and under some incredibly tender and insightful coaching from Claire and Evelynne, she managed to push on. When we checked again at 2:00 am, she was ready to push.

The pushing part was full of shouting. Three of us were urging Victoria on on in two languages (at this stage she was so exhausted she was losing her French: I was even occasionally translating!). Every time it was "One more!" "Don't stop!" Frankly, for all I was shouting at Victoria that she could do it, I was tired of hearing  "one more push." The twelfth time you hear it, you begin to lose faith. The  hundredth, they're just words. So at 2:47 when Claire said "stop stop Victoria, look!" I though she wanted to show her something, some sign of progress in the mirror, I got the surprise of my life! I'd missed seeing what was going on, I was literally holding Victoria up, so I looked over her shoulder and Voila!, all of a sudden, there she was. My daughter. The child I had known for months inside of my wife, pushing on my hand in church services, wriggling when we watched a little TV, was there in front to me, safe in Claire's hands. A peculiar monochrome intrusion in otherwise colourful world. That moment, when the abstract invisible blessing to come became the daughter I will know and love and raise, was indescribable. In all the busyness, in all the shouting, everything stopped. The world stood still. This rapidly pinkening creature captured my heart and I was overwhelmed by reality. Within a moment she was lying on her mother's chest and holding my hand.

#2 to follow...