Birth Day

I'm a daddy.

Yesterday began like every day in the past week. I woke up and piled extra bowls of food and water for the cats, checked all my essentials were in my bag, and set off for the hospital. The difference was that on the way to the hospital I received a text from my wife explaining that today she was being moved to labour ward.

It was a slow day. We played some Scrabble and chatted for a while, but ultimately the day boiled down to waiting. The room, which had six beds, slowly emptied as each woman was admitted to the labour ward. Everyone except my wife. We were used to the slow pace at the hospital - it once took a doctor and hour and a half to get two headache tablets - but still the wait consumed us. We could have done something to take our minds off the wait, like watching a DVD or playing more Scrabble, but we didn't. To know, for certain, that we were so close to the end of the beginning of our journey was too exciting to try and distract ourselves from the fact that it could take most of the day to get to labour ward.

As it did. We were finally called for and moved over to the ward at quarter past six. For the maternity ward, visiting times were only between ten o' clock and half past eight, but for maternity ward I could stay until our baby had arrived. No problem, I thought. Hopefully he'll be here by tonight.

Nope.

Before the midwives could start my wife on her hormone drip, they first had to get a satisfactory trace of our baby, something easier said than done with Ellis. Luckily, the trace ran smoothly and the midwife was happy to begin the drip. The drip would gradually release the hormones that would induce labour, and the dose would be increased manually as time went on. Unfortunately, it meant that my wife would be tied to a monitor for the whole labour. She made it clear that she was interested in having an epidural, but that wouldn't be administered until she was getting contractions regularly. The gas an air would be available immediately, however, and when she started getting twinges, she took the midwife up on her offer.

Gas and air made my wife act like she was drunk. She giggled and laughed, but it really helped with the pain, so it was good enough for me. She began to grow concerned that she wouldn't know her limits with the gas and air and wouldn't be able to ask for a epidural, but as the contractions grew stronger and the pain grew worse, she knew. A doctor soon arrived and administered the epidural, a process I found fascinating. Like the gas and air, the epidural worked brilliantly, and my wife was able to lay back and relax.

The time came for an examination, but the midwife found that my wife's cervix had softened, but barely dilated. She also thought that, contrary to what we believed, my wife's waters hadn't actually broken. She called the doctor, who managed to both confirm the suspicion and then break the waters. 'Tubular, dude!' would have been an apt thing to say, because the gush of amniotic fluid nearly carried the hospital staff away. The doctor explained that the hormone drip would work a lot more effectively now, and also attached what they called a 'clip' to the baby's head. They had been having trouble monitoring him through my wife's belly, as usual, so the 'clip' provided a direct trace of his heartbeat.

Unfortunately, the epidural wasn't working as effectively. I think that my wife's waters breaking may have loosened the plaster holding the drip in place in my wife's back. Regardless of the cause, the doctor who administered the first epidural come again, removed it and redid the process. Luckily the problem had been resolved and the pain relief began to take more effect. The midwife had explained that she'd be examining my wife again at four o' clock (in the morning), and it was already three, so I decided to keep myself awake and then sleep after the examination. I failed, and dozed in and out of sleep in my chair. When the examination came around, my wife had progressed to four centimeters dilation and our son's head had begun to descend. She was due to be examined at eight o' clock, so I decided to sleep. Unfortunately the maternity ward's sleeping facilities for dads left a lot to be desired, so I had to settle for either the chair, with a pillow cuddled inbetween my arms for me to lay my head on, or sprawled on the bathroom floor. A sort of sleep-dementia took hold and I sampled both.

The next few hours were a slight blur due to tiredness, but morning came, along with another examination. My wife had progressed to eight centimeters and our son's head had lowered even more. The epidural was still working well, but the building pressure was becoming uncomfortable for her. She coped well, though. In fact, I'm incredibly proud of her. In our time on the maternity ward during any of our hundreds of visits I have witnessed women wailing like banshees, screaming like babies and even woofing like dogs, but the most she complained was to say the word, 'Ow.' At times it was more drawn out, like, 'Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww', but still, it was really the only complaint, and I'm proud of her. I wouldn't have thought any less of her if she had begun barking, but she was determined not to scream, and she didn't.

The problem came when the morning doctor examined my wife at the start of the afternoon. He had visited earlier and explained the plan - the dose of hormone drip was to be upped to get my wife dilating the remaining two centimeters, she would continue to labour on the epidural for an hour before she began to push, and within two hours our son would be born - but during his second visit he explained that our son's head was angled backwards, so that his chin was facing out. Combined with the direction his back was facing, this was a problem. "I'm going to have to deliver him differently," he explained, referring to a C-section. Despite joking about having a caesarian from the beginning, this news upset my wife. The medical staff explained that this was nothing to worry about and that they'd deliver our son with the utmost safety to both him and my wife. Then they prepped her and took her to the theatre.

I had to wait until I was called. I donned the scrubs a midwife had given me and paced the room, waiting. After fifteen minutes i was told that the doctors had to reset my wife's epidural to ensure that she was numb during the procedure. I waiting another fifteen minutes and was finally escorted to the theatre where my wife was waiting. A blue cloth has been set up to block her view from what was going on, but I sat with her as the operation began. As a first time parent, no noise scares the life out of me, but we had a friendly doctor with us who was peeking over the sheet to dampen our worries. He began to smile as a midwife cheerfully chirped, 'Happy birthday!', but we heard to crying and saw no baby. They had whisked him off to clean him and examine him.

Finally, a cry permeated the air. It was enough to bring tears to both me and my wife's eyes. A small bundle was brought over and shown briefly, before being taken away for more checks. His eyes, cheeks, nose and forehead all looked swollen and red, but it had happened.

On August 10th, 2013, at 3:10PM, Ellis William Jon Tudor, our son, was born.

The doctors explained that he would need to be kept for a while to be examined, then began to close up my wife's belly. I was taken back to the room to wait, and not long after my wife was wheeled back on her bed. Then began to agonising wait for the pediatrician, who would explain what was going on with our baby. It was a strange anticlimax. You expect your child to be born and to have them in your arms within moments, but our son had been taken away, and we knew nothing. We didn't speak, but I think it was painfully obvious that both of us were worried. Finally the doctor arrived and explained that because of his awkward head position in the birth canal, our son has swelling on his face. He was breathing on his own and was stabilizing, but would have to be kept and observed for at least a few hours. I was offered to go and visit him, however, which I eagerly did. My wife, with her numb legs, couldn't come yet, but I took her phone to get photographs.

Ellis lay in a plastic crib under a warm lamp, loosely wrapped in a blanket. The swellings and cuts covered all his face and gave him the look of a boxer after a rough match. His tiny black eyes could only just see out from between his swollen eyelids, but when he looked at me I knew. What I knew, I can't explain in words, but seeing him stare at me, with a face that he wouldn't have in a few days, I just knew, and I will continue to know for the rest of my life. With the midwife's help I carefully dressed him, to keep him warm, and left him to return to my wife.

I visited him several times during the next few hours, and each time the swelling had noticeably regressed. I spoke softly with him and tickled his hands, but wanted me wife to be able to do the same thing. Luckily, a midwife arranged for him to be brought into my wife's room, only for ten minutes, so she could properly meet her son. He cried, but the second she took him in her arms he stopped. He looked at us with his black eyes as the three of us sat on the bed for the first time as a complete family. I know that he was unable to comprehend the situation in the same way that me wife and I could, but sitting there with the two of them was one of the most special moments of my life.

He had to go back to the special care unit, so I wheeled him over in his little plastic crib and gave him  a kiss goodnight, then returned to do the same for my wife. I've never been so proud of a person in my life. She carried our son for over nine months through all the difficulties we've had with him, laboured with him with little to no complaints, and delivered him in a terrifying situation with the bravest face. This isn't the post where I'll write about it (that'll come another time), but she is going to be an amazing mum. Ellis is lucky that he has her, and so am I.

So, I'm a daddy. After all this time, all these worries, it's finally happened. I thought it never would. But like I said earlier, this is only the end of the beginning of our journey. Being a first time dad starts at birth, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have a lot to write about.

For now, though, bed. I need to be well rested. I've got a family I need to visit in hospital tomorrow morning, and I want to get there early.

Kael