The doctor walked in. No, walked isn't quite the word. Sashayed? Skipped? Performed handsprings? Those might be more accurate.
Here was this mild mannered man that I had been seeing at least once monthly for the past nine months. I was used to seeing him in a suit and glasses, rather reserved and soft-spoken, almost professorial in demeanor.
And here he was, snapping on his gloves with almost a playful twinkle in his eye. My husband was standing to the right of the bed. The doctor walked up to him, made a sweeping gesture toward my belly and told him, "There is a fish in there. And we are going to catch it!" He turned abruptly and walked away, off to prepare for the delivery that was to follow.
So much of the next two hours is a blur. What I do remember is what the doctor said during each contraction. My husband tells me that every time I said I was getting a contraction he would assume fighting stance, his right arm raised in a fist.
"PUSH! PUSH! THROUGH THE BOTTOM! THROUGH THE BOTTOM!"
The contraction would end and both of us would fall back and relax a bit.
"Now I know that this is difficult for you, but remember you must breathe out all the air in your lungs before you push. This is because you will inhale all you need for the pushing. You must have good air, lots of air, or you will not have enough energy for the pushing. Another contraction? EXHALE!! MORE! YOU MUST DO MORE NEXT TIME! PUSH! PUSH! THROUGH THE BOTTOM! THROUGH THE BOTTOM!"
And this continued for two hours.
Near the end my energy was draining. I was actually falling asleep between contractions, which I had never in my life believed would be possible. I have a vague memory of breaking into tears, at which point my doctor said "No. You cannot do this, you must be strong and push for this baby. This is not the time for tears. Remember, there is one person in this room who is more uncomfortable than you are: your baby."
When it was time the doctor asked for and received my permission to perform an episiotomy. Two contractions later my baby was delivered. That feeling - his birth - was hands down the most exhilarating feeling I have ever experienced. The release from the pain, the release from the abdominal pressure of pregnancy, together with the sound of his first cries created a sensation that is absolutely indescribable.
They laid him on my chest immediately and at once I saw my husband in his face. He was such a beautiful, squishy, old-man-lookin' baby. And then they took him away for clean-up.
I watched the nurses perform their clean-up duties, I watched my husband walk over to the bassinet and calm him with his voice, anything to distract myself from what was going on with me. The doctor tugging gently at the placenta (ewwwwwwww), - Baby is 7 pounds 1 ounce! - the eventual delivery of the placenta (ewwwwwwww), - 20 inches long! - the injection they gave me in my left arm, - Aw look, he's just peed on the floor. How cute! - the stitches to repair the episiotomy and the tearing that had happened anyway - OK, there's no distracting myself from that. Stitches without local anesthesia just sucks, and ten-fold when it's in such a sensitive area.
And then it was all over. I got some instructions from the doctor that I can't even remember, all of the pain was forgotten, and I got to hold my baby in my arms for as long as I wanted.
Baby boy was delivered at 11:03 PM. My husband and I cooed over the boy until we finally realized we were exhausted - 4:30 AM.
We should have gotten more sleep than that. But that's a lesson learned in retrospect.
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