Tag: Dad Blog

My Birth Story … The Dad’s Version – The Final Push

David Pierre   ·  

Here it is, the final part to the thrilling three-part story of my birth story. If you missed parts 1 and 2, check them out HERE and HERE.

So Where were we?

Labor had started at 2 am Wednesday and had gone on all day and night with absolutely no cervical progress. Exhausted and frustrated, after 28 hours of labor, we made a trip to the hospital to get a small dose of painkillers, hoping they would allow my wife, Krista, to finally get some rest. The painkillers helped a bit, allowing us to rest between contractions. The little bit of rest lifted our spirits and we woke up Thursday mid-morning ready to deliver our baby.

Daytime is the Best Time

There is something comforting about the daytime to me. The sun comes up, people move about, and birds fight in the alley over a piece of old bread. This all just feels nice. The new day also brought a burst of energy to our spirits. After a refreshing breakfast of eggs on toast, we got right back to what we had learned in birthing class for progressing labor: walk the stairs; roll your hips on the yoga ball, deep knee squats.

We went outside for some fresh air. I even started counting the contractions again on the terrible app that had done nothing more than terrify me over the last 36 hours. The app wasn’t telling me to call 911 anymore and the handy chart showed me that we were well on our way to having a baby!

This went on and on and, still, nothing to report.

The hours clicked by, the afternoon turned into evening, and the evening turned into late evening. By this time, we realized that our baby wasn’t as close to arriving as we had thought and we were about to face another long, dark night of no sleep.

This is when things got intense.

Everyone told us there would be peaks and troughs during labor. After riding a peak all day Thursday, we had nowhere to go but down… depths of Mordor joke? Nah. So, unfortunately, down we went.

The mood got quite tense and it only took another couple hours of night labor before Krista was back in the bathroom. She was hunched over the counter, a familiar and unwelcome pose from the night before.

Krista was frazzled and so was I. By this time, the only help I could provide was a special water concoction.

About a week earlier, I read the book “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall. Chris visits the Tarahumara, a Native Mexican tribe in the Mexican Copper Canyons. These people can run for hundreds of kilometers. On their runs, they take a mixture of water, chia seeds, lime and sugar. This supposedly gives them the nutrition to run forever. For whatever reason, this super drink stuck in my head.

So, as I grew worried that Krista wasn’t eating enough, the only thing that came to mind was this Tarahumara drink. Just to make sure it was the best drink possible, I also mixed in some Emergen-C. I’m not sure what I was thinking but I just kept bringing them. Krista would drink them, throw up, and I would bring another one. Come to think of it, maybe the drink was making her throw up and not the labor?

Anyway, it didn’t take long before we were calling the midwives asking them to come back, mostly to calm us down.

Midwives are Angels

By the time the midwives arrived at our house, it was around 2 am Friday morning, 48 hours into labor. I didn’t have to meet them at the door or show them where Krista was. They just appeared in our bedroom.

The first thing they did was assure us that there was no need to panic. They talked to Krista in a calm, encouraging voice, telling her this was all part of the process and that she was doing great. The comfort was meant for Krista but I drew comfort from them as well. Obviously, they are the experts, having attended hundreds of births, so their calm confidence gave me the strength to feel calm as well.

The next thing they wanted to do was check the baby and Krista’s cervix again. Did I mention that I hated these checks?

First, Nicole checked the baby. He was content, doing whatever babies do in the womb. Next, Carol checked Krista’s cervix… and… it had softened and was a half-centimeter dilated. I did a quick calculation. Given our progress thus far we would be having a baby in 960 hours!

Frankly, we had had enough so we asked the midwives what we should do next.

Business of Being Born

Here’s the thing: midwives will never tell you what you should do. Unless it is a medical emergency, which this wasn’t, they leave the decisions about your birth up to you.

That said, we knew that, if we went back to the hospital, we would be heading down the path of Ricki Lake’s “Business of Being Born”. Krista was exhausted, though, and, by this time, pleading with the midwives to take her to the hospital to receive an epidural.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new path. Part of me bought into the hype of natural home births; the whole incense, and tribal chanting… You know, the National Geographic birth. However, I knew that I didn’t have the emotional capacity to continue with what we had been doing for another 960 hours. Ultimately, I knew that I wasn’t entitled to an opinion about this. While I had been there beside Krista the entire time, she was the one laboring, not me.

With our bags packed, we headed to the hospital, knowing we would return home with our baby.

Room with a View

We arrived at the hospital around 9 am Friday morning, 55-hours into labor. When people are laboring at home, the midwives always have a room ready at the hospital for transfers. However, we couldn’t go to the room assigned to us.

Why?

We couldn’t get into the room because, incredulously, after 55 hours, Krista wasn’t in so called “active labor” defined as 4 cm dilation. Krista was still only a ½ cm dilated. It also meant that Krista didn’t meet the hospital requirements to administer an epidural. So, at first, the admitting nurse told the midwives we should go home and come back when Krista was 4 cm dilated. That wasn’t going to happen.

We waited in triage until Carol explained to us that the only way we could stay was if we were coming to the hospital to have our labor induced. Pitocin. Ricki Lake.

We agreed to the induced labor. The room was ours. Just as Krista got up from the bed in triage, she must have spilled a water bottle she was carrying in her pocket because, suddenly, there was water everywhere! So clumsy! Just kidding. Her water had broken! Another signal that we might be able to shave a few hours off my 960-hour estimate.

The room we had was nice. It had a single bed for the mom and a small nook for a coaching partner. The room also happened to overlook the parking lot we had parked in. This reminded me that I had parked in short-term parking. Forever frugal, I ran down to move our car to somewhere more affordable.

When I arrived back to the room, things had become a lot more medical.

“I Sound Like a Man”

When I got back to the room, Krista was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, doodads and an IV. It made me feel sad to know we had now handed over the responsibility of delivering our baby to the hospital. I know that Krista is a strong and capable woman so seeing her hooked up to everything and being treated as a “patient” was hard for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that I wish we hadn’t gone to the hospital. I’m simply saying that seeing her in this state was in stark contrast to what we had envisioned for our birth and that made me sad.

The Pitocin drip had started, which made contractions longer and stronger. To more effectively endure the contractions, Krista spent time in the room’s bathtub and taking puffs of laughing gas.

I’ve never had laughing gas so I don’t know what it’s like. However, when Krista would take a puff of it, the gas making her voice sound like a man entertained her. The only problem was, she was the only person who thought her voice sounded like a man. She would go on and on, laughing and saying, “I sound like a man, I sound like a man”. We all just smiled and nodded. She did not sound like a man.

You’re Next

Apparently, it was a busy day for births at the hospital. This meant that it took a long time for the anesthesiologist to make it to us to administer the epidural. By the time we were told we were next on the list, 5 hours had passed since we arrived at the hospital. This put us at 60 hours of labor. Krista had made progress with the Pitocin, though. She was now 4 cm dilated and that meant active labor had begun.

It was around this time I noticed that people somehow got the news of our lengthy labor and where relentlessly texting me to ask what was going on. I appreciated their concern and support but I wasn’t in the mood to go through all the details of our journey. Those of you who have read this far, could you imagine receiving this three part blog post as a text message? No, thank you!

After writing out the same message a few times, I decided to simply copy and paste from then on to anyone who messaged. It read,

“We are at the hospital now, laboring. Krista and the baby are doing well and baby should arrive today. It’s been a long journey and I will fill you in on the details later.”

Finally, the anesthesiologist arrived and went through explaining all the red tape regarding an epidural. Sign this, do you understand that, the risks are these. It reminded me of those drug commercials on American television. Side effects may include diarrhea, paralysis, infection and death. If you’ve had a history of heart failure or death, consult your doctor before starting the epidural.

After the epidural was administered, things got pretty boring.

We Waited

Krista was immediately impressed by how much better she felt. She was laughing, smiling, eating food and constantly saying, “Epidurals are amazing”. Honestly, I also found the epidural to be amazing. The emotional stress of childbirth vanished with the epidural on board.

Krista and I had a normal conversation that didn’t contain a series of grunts or scowls. We talked about how much we had been through and how grateful we were for our midwives and doula taking care of us. For us, this was the quiet period before the storm. Krista was smiling and acting like herself again. The constant baby monitoring gave me comfort because I knew our baby was doing well. It was that constant monitoring, however, that would soon bring my stress level to a new all time high.

The Final Push

About 5 pm Friday, 63-hours into labor, a third midwife, Wendy, checked Krista’s cervix once again and, holy moly, the baby’s head was coming through! A full 10 cm dilated.

It was almost time to push!

Wendy, Nicole, and Carol began coaching Krista through the process of pushing. Deep, hard pushes, timed with contractions like you are taking a huge dump… real life here, people.

The midwives quickly discounted the first couple of pushes as not good enough. Further complicating the process was Krista’s inability to feel her lower half. Oh, and that fetal monitor? That thing started really stressing me out.

Beep, Beep … Beep

I knew from birthing class and from “The Business of Being Born” that the baby’s heart rate decreases during a contraction. Ricki told me this was normal. What I didn’t know was that the medical professionals expected the heart rate to bounce back to a baseline shortly after a contraction. After awhile, this wasn’t happening for us.

With the fetal monitor loud enough to drown out an ACDC concert, I couldn’t help but hear the obvious decrease in heart rate during a contraction. But, like I said, I knew this was normal. What I didn’t think was normal was the new medical people showing up in our room. Our midwives and all these medical people gathered around the fetal monitoring chart whispering with concerned looks on their faces.

This is a stress I had never before experienced in my life. I was filled with panic and anxiety. My heart was pounding, my eyes were watering, and my fight or flight response was at level maximum. I felt helpless, lost, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t know what to do.

The midwives gathered around Krista and said, “We need to get your baby out now. You need to push with everything you have to get your baby out”.

Completely clueless as to what to do, I found myself simply repeating what the midwives were saying. If they said, “Push harder”, I said, “Push harder”.

The baby monitor was still showing that our baby wasn’t bouncing back to baseline after contractions but Krista was making progress. Our baby was far enough down that we could start to see his head but also too far down for the fetal monitor to work. It was at this time that a baby resuscitation team showed up in our room. As you can imagine, this only caused more panic and more stress.

So close, Benny’s head was right there. Nicole asked me if I would like to catch our baby, with her help. I gladly agreed. With one final push, Benny was out; alert, good color and crying.

Then, like a shadow at night, the resuscitation team and new medical people vanished along with all the panic, the anxiety and the worry we had experienced over the course of those several days, leaving us with our beautiful Benjamin, born March 4th, 2016 at 7 pm, weighing 7lbs, 15oz.

Full of gratitude for the all the concern and support we had been shown and for the beauty of having come through such a difficult process, nothing could have been more perfect as that moment when I first held Benjamin in my arms.

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Surviving the Mom’s Playgroup as a Dad

David Pierre   ·  

What’s that Smell?

I smell Chanel Chance Eau de Toilette. I see every shade of brown leather boots varying in length from mid ankle to knee height. I hear the words “paleo, alkaline, and whole30”. I am in a basement with few windows, grey carpet, miniature tables, and brightly colored toys. There are eight children, seven moms, and me. It’s Wednesday morning playgroup and this is how I survive as a dad.

Socialization is Good, Right?

As a stay at home parent, one of the things that worries me is whether or not my child (Benjamin) is getting enough socialization. If he were in daycare, he would be surrounded by other children and other adults every day, 5 days a week. Heck, if we lived in a jungle tribe, there would be numerous mothers and children running around all day. Of course, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be caring for him, I would be off hunting wildebeests.

Anyway, I try my best to bring Benjamin to parks, playgrounds, kid’s museums, and playgroups so he has a chance to be around other children. Out of all of these opportunities to socialize, the most difficult for me to navigate is The Playgroup.

I Just Walked in the Door

The first thing I notice when I walk in the door is that everyone seems much more dressed up than I am. All the moms are wearing makeup, their hair is styled and their jeans look like they have never been washed.

I usually wear chino pants (washed several times), sweater or t-shirt, runners and a toque (Canadian for “winter hat”). Now, don’t get me wrong, there are moms there wearing toques. The hair underneath the toque, however, always seems to be styled into either beachy waves or perfect curls.

I do have some hair that falls below my toque, but this is only because I am too lazy to get a haircut. Also, when would I even find the time to get a haircut??

I always wonder if these moms enjoy getting this dressed up or if they somehow feel pressure from the other moms? Is it like the corporate world where everyone is expected to dress a certain way?

I know that even I have started to put more thought into what I should wear to playgroup. I have purposely picked nicer shoes to wear on several occasions.

Breaking the ice

When it comes to talking to moms at playgroup, the children do most of the work. I mostly stand around and wait for the children to interact with one another, which inevitably results in a small tussle over a toy or a chewed up piece of food on the floor.

This is a perfect opportunity to ask the standard parent icebreaker, “How old is your little one?” It’s best to never assume the child is a boy or a girl. Even if the child is wearing all pink and a tiara that says, “Little Miss Attitude”, I always wait for the parent to allude to the child’s gender. It’s just safer that way.

Are you a Stay at Home Dad?

After the icebreaker, most moms will ask me right away if I am a stay at home dad. When I reply that I AM a stay at home dad, more often than not I get a, “right on”. I’m never sure how I’m supposed to take that. Does this impress the moms? Why is being a stay at home dad met with an enthusiastic “right-on”? Does it have something to do with stereotypical gender roles? I never ask the follow up question because I feel like doing so could cross a boundary.

The conversation quickly turns to talking about our children, their milestones and their struggles.

I don’t know what moms talk to one another about but, when I talk to a mom at playgroup, the conversation is pretty light.

Participating in Activities

When it comes to helping out at playgroup, I feel the need to go above and beyond. As the only dad in the group, I feel like I should be doing more than my share of the work to combat the classic media headlines, “Moms do more chores than dads” or “Moms do more baby care than dads”. No one asked me to take on this task but I somehow feel I need to prove a point.

I always think that most dads would like to help out more at home but that, over the years, perhaps they lose the skills and then the desire to participate. I’m sure there are many instances where this isn’t the case, however, it seems to me that, when one parent is around a child more than the other, that parent understands the rhythms and routines better. Then, when the outside parent tries to replicate the game or routine, they inevitably do it wrong and lose confidence to try again.

So, is it Awkward Being a Dad at Playgroup?

I would never say anyone has made me feel awkward at playgroup. There are, however, limitations to being a dad at an all mom playgroup.

I have heard on a few occasions’ moms exchanging phone numbers and arranging separate play dates with their children. The reality is that, for me to attempt to arrange a one on one play date with another mom ultimately feels wrong. As harmless as it is, the questions that could arise from such a thing aren’t worth it.

So when I leave the playgroup, I go home with Benjamin knowing that I won’t see any of those moms or children until the next Wednesday when I’ll show up to the All Mom Playgroup in my runners and torque, do more than my share of the crumb sweeping, be impressed with the beachy waves all around me and try to avoid alluding to any child’s gender.

And, maybe, by next week, I’ll have gotten that haircut or a started my Whole 30 regimen… probably not, though.

Yes, I am a stay at home dad and this is how I survive playgroup.

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Don’t you Miss Working?

David Pierre   ·  

Thanks for Asking, Mom

A question that has come up quite a bit in the last little while, mostly from my family, is, “Don’t you miss working?”

First off, I find it comforting to know that spending all day catering to the needs of a semi-neurotic person isn’t work.

I guess it depends on how you define work.

From Dictionary.com

  1. “Activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result.”

 I would argue that full time parenthood fully meets the requirements for so called “work” based on that definition… and anyone who has driven in a car longer than 15 minutes with a tired or hungry toddler would not dispute this point. On the highway, toddlers have an amazing ability to estimate the distance to the next off ramp. Shortly after passing an off ramp, its melt down time. Kicking, screaming, and turning beet red is all part of their strategy. However, the melt down isn’t actually about getting out of the car seat, it’s about testing your mental stability. Need proof? Within a few miles of the next off ramp, a toddler will calm right down to the point that you think another unnecessary stop isn’t needed. Once the ramp is a safe distance behind you, its melt down time again.

The mental and physical toll it takes on a parent to accomplish even the most basic task is challenging. The battle grounds are everywhere; diaper changes, dressing, baths, naps, food, not to mention the millions of things you never considered a safety hazard until you had kids.

Another Definition

Clearly, the definition above acknowledges the massive amount of effort that is required in order to raise another human being. So what else does Dictionary.com say?

  1. “Mental or physical activity as a means of earning income; employment.”

And there it is!

This is most certainly the definition society (minus physicists) think of when it comes to work. Heck, this is how I think of work! Work has always been about making money for me and probably always will be.

Raising another human being is different, though, and it’s honestly the most difficult ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

Well, now that I say that, I remember the summer I spent landscaping.

So, raising another human being is the second most difficult ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

Even with all the difficulty, however, being home with Benjamin is also the most rewarding and fulfilling ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

In between the battles, I get to see him grow every step of the way. I’m the first to witness his new words, his new toddler jokes, and I’m there to receive those rare hugs and kisses. I don’t wonder if his caregiver is mistreating him. I don’t wonder what he is being fed because I’m there to see it. All of it.

So, do I miss work?

As you’ve likely guessed after all this rambling, the answer to that question is complicated.

Are there days I wish I had an income? Yes.

Are there days I wish I could hang my head over my desk at work and listen to podcasts all day? Yes. (Favourite Podcast)

The all expenses paid work trips to Europe, very nice!

In reality, however, the perks accounted for a very small part of my work.

The majority of the time, work was a grey, stale cubicle setting. I sat at a desk all day listening to dull corporate conversations going on all around me. The heat was either too hot or too cold depending on whom you talked to in the lunchroom. I drank 40 liters (10 gallons?) of water a day just so I had a reason to get up from my desk and walk to the restroom.

9 hours a day, 5 days a week. It was in one word, depressing.

So, while I don’t actually miss work, what I would love is a bit more balance for both my wife and I.

My Wife Works

I am fortunate that my wife does all the working for our family. But I will admit, it isn’t fair. I often think about going back to work solely so that my wife can have an opportunity to be home with Benjamin.

In my mind, it doesn’t matter how many errands I run, diapers I change, or bathrooms I clean, it will never add as much value as bringing money into the home. That’s because our society runs on cold hard cash. I tried to pay for a latte the other day with used diapers and I was asked to leave.

Value is Nice and all

Salary.com had an interesting info graphic showing the value created by a stay at home mom.

(I ignored the “mom” part and read “parent”… what is this the 90’s?)

Anyway, the graphic estimates that a stay at home “parent” creates $112,962 worth of value in 90 hours of work.

Sadly, when I tried to use the graphic to buy a latte at another café, I was asked to leave once again.

All I can say is, the majority of families have two working parents. With no one staying home and both parents putting in at least a 40-hour work week outside the home, who does the 90 hours of staying home work??

It sounds exhausting!

Guilt Free Balance

I’ve had this discussion with my wife several times. Because my wife and I are both Geologists, in a perfect world, we would share one job. Both working 2.5 days a week while the other person is home with Benjamin. The 2 days on the weekend? Family time!

In my opinion, shared jobs create more value for families, parents, and corporations. Both parents share in the frustrations and benefits of cubicles (I would list the benefits if there were any) and both parents are adding to the latte fund.

Additionally, both parents share the frustrations and benefits of raising their child. One parent isn’t alienated because they don’t know the routines, behaviors, quirks, inside jokes, etc.

Finally, a corporation gets increased knowledge and increased productivity for the same yearly salary. Win-win for everyone.

Sadly this isn’t an option for us yet. A quick google search on job sharing in Canada reveals that the concept is used as a method for avoiding layoffs, but not as a method for creating better work-life balance.

You tell your Mom all that?

Okay, if you were smart and quickly scrolled through the above text, you now get the benefit of the shortened version:

When someone asks me if I miss work, I usually say, “hell no”!

What I DO wish, for ourselves and for all families, is a situation that yields more balance, where the efforts of both income earning and parenting are shared.

Until that perfect scenario comes to fruition, I’ll just be here making lattes at home and laughing at toddler fart jokes.

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Breasts are Amazing

David Pierre   ·  

Breasts Are Amazing

Have you ever walked past a car dealership and marveled at the beauty of the vehicles in the show room (I’m not talking about the Ford Fiesta S); the curves, the roundness of wheels or the vehicle’s headlight positioning? Vehicles are everywhere in North American culture; on billboards, on television, and on the Internet. We use them to sell movies, music and even pizza. Honestly though, behind the heavily marketed veneer of paint and curves, you’ll find processes that are simply amazing! It’s a shame that more people don’t appreciate how incredibly complicated a vehicle is.

I’m not talking about vehicles.

I’m talking about breasts.

Pre-Baby Breast Thinking

Before I had Benjamin, I fell into the ignorant category of thinking “Boobs are, well, boobs.” Growing up, I knew nothing about them other than that they made all the Sean Connery movies my parents watched slightly more tolerable. I grew up in a rural area with only three television channels, so yeah, I watched the Sean Connery movies with my parents. Really, though, Sean Connery is 87… would those twenty something girls in the movies actually like him? Umm, I don’t know.

Anyway, once we had Benjamin and I started reading about breasts and breastfeeding, it was like I popped the hood of a 1921 Helica de Leyat (Google tells me this is a rare car) and realized … “Hey! There is something amazing going on in there!”

Now I know the benefits of breastfeeding have been written to death by media, bloggers, and medical experts. From increasing your baby’s immunity and health all the way to giving the baby the ability to see though walls, the benefits are undeniable. The subject is also wrought with opinions and feelings and I am not trying to write that article again.

Breasts are more than Boobs?

When I realized just how incredibly fine-tuned these puppies are (pun intended), a sense of guilt washed over me about how I have viewed boobs my whole life. I’m not sure how to feel about the guilt. Am I mad at advertising? Am I sad? Like the time I found out that there is a lot more to Macaulay Culkin than the crafty little boy thwarting bad guys in the Home Alone movies? I just don’t know!

All I know is that when Benjamin arrived into this world, without even seeing a single Bud Light commercial, he instinctively knew that boobs are amazing.

He knew how to find them by the visual cues of the darkened areola and by the smell of secreting milk and colostrum. When Benjamin latched, his saliva sent information to the boobs about his nutrition and health needs. A Science News article that I read explained it best.

“Part of the immunity that breast milk imparts, it seems, may depend in part on a mixture of milk and baby saliva flowing upstream. This backwash may actually cause a mother’s body to create made-to-order immune factors that are delivered back to the baby in milk.” *

The information didn’t stop there. Because Benjamin was born with a lack of understanding between day and night, my wife’s breast milk apparently has “naturally occurring chemicals called nucleotides that have previously been linked to sleepiness and only reach their highest concentrations in human breast milk that is expressed at night.” **.

Thankfully, this stage is over but Benjamin used to use his mother’s breasts for comfort when he was upset and to calm himself to sleep. His mama’s breasts detect his body temperature and adjust accordingly to heat him up or cool him down.

They are, in a word, amazing!

Final Thought on Breasts

After witnessing all the wonderful things breasts can do, I’m closer to understanding why it has been so easy for the media to manipulate my mind into buying ridiculous things. It’s instinctual for a newborn baby to look to breasts for all the wonderful reasons mentioned above. So, as a teen and early adult, perhaps it was instinctual to seek breasts again when considering which loaf of bread to buy or which restaurant to patronize. Come to think of it, my favorite post-hockey place to eat when I was younger was Hooters! Case. In. Point.

Anyway, I know breasts can’t talk and I don’t even have any of my own. However, I enjoyed telling their story and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Let me know about your feelings on breasts in the comments below and, remember, this is a family blog!

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* https://www.sciencenews.org/blog/growth-curve/backwash-nursing-babies-may-trigger-infection-fighters

** https://www.newscientist.com/article/dn17908-evening-breast-milk-means-a-good-sleep/

My Birth Story … The Dad’s Version – Thursday

David Pierre   ·  

Part 2: Thursday

If you missed part one click HERE.

20 Hours in

So, here we were, 20 hours into our birth story and my wife and I were feeling encouraged! The frequency and duration of her contractions had increased. The app I had downloaded earlier also continued to feed us encouragement and so, feeling confident that progress was being made, we called the midwives.

The midwife I spoke with on the phone was Nicole. She asked me what Krista was doing. I told her that Krista was alternating between kneeling on the bed, leaning over the counter in the bathroom, and throwing up in the toilet. Nicole then asked me to ask Krista what her contractions felt like. Krista told me that they were extremely sharp, painful pains in her lower back.

“Oh, back labor” Nicole said, “does she feel any pain in her lower abdomen?”

“No”, I replied after asking Krista.

Side note: From what I gathered reading books, watching videos, and from our birth class, back labor is the least desirable of labors. It seems to me that it’s sort of like visiting your local Ford dealer with the intent of getting their worst car in the best trim (Fiesta ST), but ending up with the worst car in the worst trim (Fiesta S).

Ford, if you’re reading this, please send me either version (ST preferred).

Call the Midwives

Anyway, Nicole told me that she and another midwife, Carol, were coming over to assess Krista and that we should also contact our doula, Heidi.

I called Heidi and told her all the same things that I had told Nicole.

Another side note: Midwives always work in teams of three to make sure two of them can attend the birth. One midwife is always assigned to the mother and the other is assigned to the baby.

Heidi, Nicole, and Carol arrived at our place shortly before midnight. Heidi came with snacks, massage devices, heating pads and, best of all, a warm positive attitude which we desperately needed after so many hours of labor. Seriously, such a great Calgary Doula!

Nicole and Carol arrived with midwife things; you know, like, 3 raven feathers and a bottle of witch hazel. I’m joking, of course, but I know for a fact that this is how some people view the practice of midwifery. Such a misconception. Midwives are highly specialized in all aspects of the birthing process!

Right away, I could tell from their body language that they didn’t think our birthing process was very far along but they offered us comfort, encouragement and peace of mind by making sure that Krista and the baby were doing well.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Checking the blood pressure and heart rates for both mom and baby adds a certain level of comfort, but we all know that the real business in birthing is the cervix opening… I would come to hate those checks.

Carol checked Krista’s cervix and, unfortunately, it was still slammed shut! Or as she put it, “Still a ways to go, honey. This is all part of the process”.

Now, I’m sure its normal for the midwives to see this little progress over 22 hours of labor but, after reading so many birth stories, this news was deflating for us. So many women describe waking up, hopping out of bed, feeling some liquid on her legs, going to the hospital and, 8 hours later, a baby.

Carol suggested Heidi draw Krista a warm bath and that I get a little bit of rest. The midwives left instructing us to contact them if anything changed or if we needed them for support.

Get Some Rest

So I lay down in the spare room which is separated from the bathroom Krista was spending the majority of her time in by a 4-inch thick wall. Needless to say, the rest wasn’t all that productive.

I sort of just lay there switching between feelings of guilt, for even getting to pretend to relax, feelings of anxiety, wondering how much longer this would go on, and feelings of complete uselessness, wishing that I could somehow bear some of the pain and struggle my wife was going through. In any case, this wasn’t an ideal state of mind for rest.

After finding a way to rest for some amount of time, (possibly 3 hours?) Heidi came into the spare room and said that I should call the midwives again. I got up and went to the bathroom. Krista was in visibly more pain than she had been when I saw her last. She was growling and clawing at her back during every contraction, which were coming every 4 minutes and lasting for over a minute. I consulted with my app which informed me that, if we weren’t almost to the hospital, to call 911.

I called the midwives again.

This time, when I spoke to the midwives I added guilt to my list of feelings. I don’t know why but I started to feel like our birth was becoming a nuisance to our midwives. They did absolutely nothing to make me feel that way; it’s just how I felt.

Anyway, I told them that Krista was feeling a tremendous amount of pain and wanted them to come back. So Nicole and Carole got back out of bed and drove to our house.

I’m Coming Undone

When they arrived, I apologized for the situation as though I had any control over it. They told me that visits during the night are normal with birthing. They stated that because oxytocin levels are naturally higher during the night, a lot of babies are born during this time (I didn’t bother to fact check).

Once again, they checked both Krista and the baby. They found that both heart rates were good, that Krista’s blood pressure was good and that her cervix was thinning, but still completely closed. I didn’t even know it was possible to be deflated any further, but I was.

We Need Relief

By this point, Krista hadn’t slept in 26 hours so I asked Carol what our options were. She suggested a small dose of painkillers to help her get some rest. I had reservations about going down this path because I was aware of the risks that it posed to both Krista and the baby, however, Carol and Nicole talked me through it and, ultimately, left the decision to us.

Krista was in favor of the painkillers and I came around to the idea, but it meant that we had to drive to the hospital since they couldn’t be administered at home.

When we got to the hospital, we went right into triage. At 6 in the morning on a Thursday, there were some interesting people in there and, of course, we could hear everything going on with them. One lady was having a baby but was also high as a kite on crystal meth. Another lady was having a baby and screamed as loud as she could during every contraction.

Nicole new What we Needed

Nicole was the midwife that was going to give Krista a dose of morphine to help her relax and hopefully get some sleep. Unfortunately, though, we first had to go through a gauntlet of checks to make sure the baby and Krista were in perfect condition. This took a long time and only added to our frustration. At times, the tension was thick between Nicole and us. Nevertheless, Nicole showed us patience when needed and was a stern voice of reason when needed and I respected that about her. She was there to make sure both Krista and the baby were healthy and refused to deviate from her plan of double checking everything.

When all the tests were cleared, Krista received a dose of morphine and we went home to rest.

Now What?

When we got home, we both just lay in bed not knowing what to think.

We had already been through so much and there wasn’t any real end in sight. We talked about stuff that I can’t quite remember. I do remember that it was nice. We would both fall asleep for a few minutes between contractions. When the next one would come along and wake us up, I would massage Krista’s lower back for the duration of the contraction and then we would sleep again. This went on for several hours.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep and missed some contractions, but I woke up to find Krista on her hands and knees on the bed, humming, eyes closed, making small circles with her body. She seemed to be in a good place so I remained still and quiet so as not to disturb her.

Eventually we started talking and, with the sun having just come up and shining cheerfully through the window, we decided that we were ready to have our baby today.

Our spirits had been lifted and we felt the strength to move through this process and begin the next chapter of our lives as a family of 3.

Even though Thursday had only just begun, I’ll take a break here and finish the story in Part 3.

Back to Part 1