Birth

This is the first of four posts on Experience that I introduced in Crossing an Ocean.

The first time we went to the hospital we took the underground. We walked across the Common to the station. Rachel paused every couple of minutes and held the rail that ran long the footpath, head down waiting for the contraction to finish.

At the hospital the obstetrician read our birth plan. We didn’t want Rachel to have a routine episiotomy. We didn’t want the baby to be taken away after birth. There were other demands, which I can’t remember now. It was a long time ago. The obstetrician shook her head. We haven’t done most of these things for years, she said, but she was happy for me to cut the umbilical cord. She then examined Rachel. We were in one of the maternity ward rooms. The television and fan and other things that could be moved were chained to the wall. Rachel was on a bed with foot stirrups. It looked a bit alarming. The obstetrician measured the dilation of Rachel’s cervix and said that the birth was someway off. We should go home and return when the contractions are coming more often.

Outside it was dark and people were coming out of the pubs. We hailed a cab by Tooting Broadway station and gave the driver our address.  A man opened the door at the side of Rachel. He asked if he could share the cab to Balham. I said yes. He got in. As soon as he began speaking we realised that he was drunk. I immediately regretted allowing him in. He spoke about his night in the pub. He swore a lot and he tried to chat Rachel up. I told him that we had been at the hospital and that Rachel was pregnant. He didn’t believe us at first. Then he told us about his girlfriend and their child and that they weren’t together anymore. I could see the driver glance at me in his rear view mirror. I wanted to get this man away from us but Rachel sat between him and me and I knew that he would get aggressive if I tried anything.

He got out on Balham Hill. We went home. That night and the next day the contractions continued and slowly began to increase in frequency and strength. Rachel asked me to rub the tops of her thighs to relieve the pain. She said it helped. 

In the evening we went back to the hospital. This time in Pete’s VW camper van. We didn’t want to risk another situation like the man sharing our taxi from the previous night. In the maternity ward we were taken to the room designated to us and a midwife introduced herself. She was Scottish and called Elaine. She examined Rachel and reported that she had dilated more but not enough. We still had to wait. Elaine showed us how to use the gas and air. Rachel said she didn’t want any other pain relief.

The contractions were strong now and Rachel tried different ways to relieve the pain. She tried lying across a large yoga ball. Whilst doing this she watched television. French and Saunders were on. They were playing a spoof of Alien and in it the Alien burst out of Dawn French’s chest. I noticed that Rachel’s shoulders  were shaking and so I glanced at her face. There were tears rolling down her face and I became concerned that she was distressed by the scene, but she was laughing uncontrollably.

All through the night the contractions continued. Every hour the midwife came in and examined Rachel.  Each time we would ask how much the dilation had increased and Elaine would reply that it was bigger but not by much. Rachel lay on the bed and I sat in a chair next to the bed facing her. Whenever the contractions came I would lean forward and rub the tops of her thighs gently. The contractions were getting stronger. Now each time they came Rachel took a lungful of Entonox, closed her eyes and disappeared under the wave of contraction, rhythmically thumping her head back into the pillow. In between we tried to sleep.

At about five am Elaine came in and told us her shift had ended and someone else would be attending the birth.  I don’t remember the name of this second midwife. When she examined Rachel, Rachel’s waters broke. Rachel looked at us wildly. There was a film of sweat on her face and her hair was dishevelled. Should I push? She gasped. Yes, the midwife said. Then Rachel was gone, howling and grunting. Alone.

At six am our son Sam was born. I remember his head coming out and his mouth opening in a silent wail, like a fish out of water. I put my hands ready to catch him and the midwife steadied them. When he came she grasped them tightly making sure I didn’t drop the baby.  We put him on Rachel’s breast and she looked at him dazed and delighted. When I cut the umbilical cord it felt tough and gritty, like a garden hose.

This is the second of my experiences that I want to describe, not so much the arrival of our first child but the way Rachel changed during the birth. She describes the experience of childbirth as like being in a violent storm on a vast ocean. You are alone in a small boat and all you can do is try to stay calm and keep the boat upright. Let the huge waves roll through and not panic. For that time something elemental and wild appeared in her, like she had gone back to the animal we used to be thousands of years ago, but that would be wrong. We are that animal, we just don’t acknowledge that fact, or the ability it gives us to endure and to undertake great physical feats, like giving birth.

Rachel and Sam went to a ward so Rachel could recover. Later she said she lay there looking at Sam beside her in the cot. She wondered if she was allowed to pick him up. Then she thought, he’s my baby I can pick him up if I want to and she did. I dropped the van back to Pete. We had a quick chat. I told him the birth was amazing and that we had a little boy. Then I walked across the common, let myself into our house and went to bed.