The Night My Son Arrived

The night my son arrived

It was the evening of 22nd September, and I was getting more and more restless by the minute. It had been more than 12 days since my ob-gyn had told me that I had dilated one cm and that she expected me to deliver within a week; it had been more than a week since my grandmother, sister and mother landed in Mumbai, and about a week since I emailed my boss a temporary handover note, telling her that I would like to go on maternity leave from the next day!

I was vigorously practising the ‘chopping wood’ technique, an exercise taught by my pre-natal yoga instructor to bring about labour, had even climbed 108 steps to pay the Deity a visit in the local Murugan temple, and was walking as much as I could while desperately hoping that each Braxton Hicks contraction was the real thing.

We had all been on tenterhooks for the better part of the last 10 days, almost ready to slip into our sandals and drive to the hospital at any time. The contraction timer app, in which we would start recording the initial contractions, would only confirm that my contractions weren’t getting stronger.

After nine whole months of a completely chilled-out pregnancy (my due date was the next day!), I was desperate to move to the next stage. Incidentally, I had an appointment with my ob-gyn the next morning and I was hoping that the appointment would give me some answers and a closure!

I was getting extremely impatient and actually told my mother that I couldn’t take it any longer and that I wanted the baby out! I had been in this fairly impatient state for the past week (precisely ever since I started my maternity leave!), and I figured it was a combination of having to stay at home and having folks over (which meant that my darling kitchen was under someone else’s control).

On the 22nd, my folks made me feel better by saying stuff like, whichever way you look at it, you’re not going to have to wait much longer, given that I was done with much of the waiting anyway. But nearly nothing made me feel less impatient and fidgety.

I had scoured the net for foods that are supposed to bring about labour, relying on old wives’ tales for nearly the first time in my pregnancy. My mum got me a cup of some raspberry tea, which according to BabyCentre, was supposed to bring about labour. Oh well, we will never know if it actually worked!

After some excitement over a frankie craving (again one of the few, if any cravings, I had had over the course of my pregnancy), which my husband had to go and buy, and some more whining and moping around, I started to feel some cramps originating in my back. They seemed similar to period cramps.

By this time, I was feeling mistrustful and told my mum bitterly that these were probably another round of false pains and would go away. Another hour went by and while it wasn’t anything dramatic, there was a semblance of constancy about the pain. While it didn’t neatly take on the intensification pattern prescribed by the internet, we were all daring to wonder (and secretly hoping, I’m sure!) if it was the real thing.

My mom, sister and A were hanging around, trying to make light of the moment. At some point, when I was crouched over and wincing regularly, my mum took control and said that we should probably call the hospital and inform them about the nature of the cramps.

This was almost 9:30pm or so, and she felt that it would be better to tell them in advance, in case we had to go to the hospital later in the night. A called the hospital and one of the nurses picked up and the conversation went something like this:

A: Hello. Mein Hamsini ka husband bol rahan hoon.

Nurse: Haan, boliye.

A: Hamsini ko back mein pain ho raha hai.

Nurse: Kitne samaein se?

A: Agle ek ghante ko..

Nurse: Kya?!

A: Sorry. Covers mouth piece and asks us: Piche va?

Laughter!

Nurse: Please, Hamsini ko phone dena.

I told the nurse in a very sceptical tone that I was having pains but was not at all sure that it was the real thing. When I told her they were originating from the back, she told me in no uncertain terms to head straight to the hospital.

I asked her if I must and told her I had had an appointment with the doc the next morning.

‘Please aap abhi aajayiye,’ she said sternly.

Hanging up and wondering aloud to my mother if we should actually go at all, the four of us decided to get into the car and head to the hospital.

We headed to the hospital and I was called in and plugged into the stress machine to assess contractions (if any) and the baby’s heartbeat. This was the second time in a week that I was undergoing a Non-Stress Test, simply to detect the strength of the contractions.

The doctor came in and asked me about my contractions and what I was feeling and for how long I’d been feeling them. She then took a look at the NST readings and told me that while there were contractions, they weren’t as strong as labour contractions normally are.

She then started doing an internal examination (I hate internal examinations with all my heart) and told me that my dilation was some 1.5 cm, only half a cm over last time.

I could feel my heart sinking and mentally get ready to go back home and resume the waiting game.

But no, I was still enduring the stupid internal examination. The doctor retained her finger inside and asked me if I could feel any difference in contractions, right then. She had performed a membrane sweep. I screwed up my face and tried to think through the extreme discomfort.

And then, there was a noise.

A noise loud enough to warrant an ‘oooh!’ from the doctor AND the two nurses.

I instantly knew what it was.

My water had broken.

‘Wow! Did my water break?’ I eagerly asked the doctor.

‘Yes, it did,’ she said calmly, while my heart started racing.

At this point, she took charge of things. She instructed the nurses to give me an enema, draw my blood sample and shave me. She told me that she wanted me to continuously pace the corridors afterwards, so that labour could progress at a satisfactory rate.

She then told me that she would go and talk to my family outside and let them know.

As with the last three visits before, I couldn’t help asking her, ‘How much longer, Doctor?’, to which she said, ‘About eight hours!’

It was about 20 minutes of restless waiting while the nurses changed me into one of those hospital gowns, shaved me and gave me an enema and an IV line insertion.

A and I had gone through countless internet links of ‘how to distinguish true labour pains from false’ and I wanted to be the one to tell him that my water had broken and that we were only a few hours from meeting our progeny!

"Three things: Pregnancy and childbirth is only the easy, chilled warm up act to what actually follows it."

A and my sister were then sent with my blood sample to a diagnostic centre. They would then go home and get my bag (dutifully packed a month ago and sitting idly!) and come back to the hospital with my grandmom, who didn’t want to miss the night’s action.

My mum and I were pacing the lobby without a break. While this was a breeze at first, I could feel the intensity of my cramps increasing and wished for a break to sit down for a couple of minutes.

No, said the nurses (on the doctor’s orders).

At some point, when A, my sister and grandmom had all come back to the hospital, and just when I described what the pain felt like (‘A horrible mix of a very hard bowel movement and crazy period cramps!’) to them, the nurses indicated that they would like me to walk up the stairs to the labour room, so that they may do some check-up.

I figured it would be some internal check-up and I would be back pacing the lobby soon after.

Once in the labour room, I was asked to change into the hospital gown and lie down on the bed. The doctor came in after a while to check on how I was progressing and assured me that it was going well. She told me that she would be able to offer me the epidural in an hour or so.

She went off to get some shut-eye because she was expecting a late, late night of work, thanks to me!

I had lost track of time by now and my pains were getting stronger. I could see that A and the rest of my family were waiting just outside the labour room, trying to peek in every time one of the nurses or the doctor entered or left.

I was feeling quite miffed that A wasn’t being allowed inside with me, as we had previously discussed with the doctor. He wouldn’t come in until just before the baby was born.

(As it turns out, when we quizzed the doctor later, she said that the nurses didn’t know squat, and that he could have been inside the room!)

The doctor’s promise of pain relief was creeping through my mind as the pains were getting unbearable, and I wondered if the one hour wasn’t up yet.

I was now screaming in pain while trying to find a focal point somewhere in the labour room to look at (some labour technique I had read somewhere!), and apparently helpless, poor A outside was almost in tears that he couldn’t help or be next to me.

The doctor then came to check on me, and soon enough, I was asked if I wanted an epidural.

Of course, there was no way I wasn’t getting it!

In a while, a distraction in the form of a slightly large man entered the room. He came straight to me and, as if we were meeting to discuss the evening news over a cup of coffee, shook my hand and said:

“Hello. I’m Dr. So-and-so. Does it hurt much? Don’t worry, I’m here to make the pain go away.”

I was feeling a bit exhausted to speak, but nodded vehemently and said, ‘Yes, please! Thank you!’

He asked me to sit up and gave me an injection somewhere on my back. I suppose I was in enough pain to not notice an insignificant thing like a syringe creeping into my skin.

Its effect, though, was almost instantaneous!

I soon lost all semblance of pain (or indeed much feeling, itself!) and suddenly felt light-headed and excited.

When the door opened during one of the nurses’ routine entry/exit, I signalled to an anxious-looking A outside a ‘V’ sign, while mouthing, ‘The epidural was awesome!’

I was now noticing insignificant and significant details in the room: that the doctor looked funny in her green hospital suit with a hat-like thing, that one of the nurses had brought with her a desk clock and somewhere it struck me that at this unearthly hour on a Wednesday, my soon-to-be-out offspring was keeping up more than half a dozen people.

Then the door opened, and A came in, dressed in a green hospital suit.

‘I’m here now! I’m with you!’ he said cheerfully.

And I, in my epidural-high, couldn’t get happier!

Then it happened very quickly.

I was asked to push, and I mustered up all my energy and tried to. Of course, the epidural wasn’t making this easy.

The anaesthetist then got on a small stool and helped push the baby out. I could see the ob-gyn standing in front of me, take out some tools and make some incision (though I felt nothing!).

At exactly 2:07 am, a tiny human being with a lot of hair on its head practically dived out, face first!

‘It’s here! The baby is here!’ cried A, who had been keeping up a steady flow of encouragement amidst all the pushing.

The ob-gyn asked A if he would like to cut the cord and he nodded yes. And in one instance, the cord that had fed and sustained the baby for nine months was snipped off.

I felt this jerk of euphoria, while trying to make sense of the present, as the baby now, letting out the sweetest cry, was being held upside down by the anaesthetist.

‘Hey! Is it a boy or a girl?!!!’ I asked A, biting my lips, realising that nobody had said anything about what kind of a baby it was!

Taking a quick peek at our upside-down dangling baby, he said, ‘Boy!’

The next few hours were a blur.

The baby was brought to me for a feed and then taken outside to be shown to the family. He was then kept under the baby warmer where he spent what was remaining of the night (early morning, really!).

I was asked to sleep the rest of the morning away and was told that I would be taken to my room at 6 am.

The thrill of giving birth and having the baby less than a foot away, pedalling his cute legs, made me stay awake, restless and eager to hold my baby and talk to my family.

It took a lot of effort to not just get up and head to the room, but to wait out the few hours and get some shut-eye.

I literally skipped upstairs to the room the next morning, when I was cleaned and put in a fresh hospital gown, with baby in a nurse’s arms, in tow.

I couldn’t get started on the rest of my life — a healthy baby boy was the best beginning I could ask for!