My story of Leo's birth

A lot of people have asked for a description of how the birth went, and I am eager to tell the story before it all becomes a hazy memory. So here goes -- warning: some may find the details a bit more graphic than they would like.

I (Paul) will give my side of the story over here, following a time-honored tradition.

On the morning of Monday, October 8, I was heading toward the fridge to get stuff out for breakfast, when I felt a warm liquid spurt down my leg. Hey, I thought, that could be my waters breaking. So I told Paul to hurry up in the bathroom.

I remember a startled "oh!" from the kitchen, as if Noemi had unexpectedly found a kitten under the table.

The stuff in my panties was clear and didn't smell like pee, so we decided to head on over to the hospital -- after breakfast.

All the books said, if your waters break, you should phone your hospital and they'd probably want you to come in to avoid infection. It could still be days before giving birth though.

I was really glad that this happened before Paul headed off for work, so that we could go together. We got everything together into the suitcase and walked down to the taxi stand down the street. Easy peasy, as my niece Áine would say.

It is quite an interesting experience, walking slowly down to a taxi stand with your pregnant wife at your side, suitcase trailing behind you. I couldn't stop grinning.

At the hospital, the gynecologists were not impressed with the liquid. They said my amniotic sac was still intact and the liquid didn't have the right pH and wasn't nearly abundant enough. So they sent us home. OK by us, we didn't want to spend the day in the hospital anyway. We took the bus home (I think that all the bus taking I had been doing helped bumpety bump Leo down & out...).

Noemi tried not to take the lack of appreciation of her bodily fluids personally, but it was hard. We started trying to reconcile ourselves to the fact that Leo might not be coming for many days yet.

Almost immediately after we got home, I had what our British pregnancy and childcare book calls a "bloody show" -- my mucus plug came out (when I went to the bathroom). This, along with waters breaking, is a sign that labor is imminent, but can happen days ahead of the actual start, so it put us on the alert but did not make us rush back to the hospital or anything.

I decided it would be imprudent to wander off to work though, so started working from home.

I certainly felt vindicated though (the way the gynecologist at the hospital had dismissed me had made me feel a little silly earlier). I decided that since I happened to have an appointment with my gynecologist scheduled for that afternoon, I would wait to see him and then get more information on what was happening. Meantime it was time for lunch. I also started to prepare a vegetable pie, and when it got late enough to call my parents, I let them know that the game was afoot...

Noemi was a model of calm throughout the day. She was getting contractions at this point, not strong but quite frequent. I heard some clattering and walked into the kitchen to catch her working on this pie, as cool as a cucumber. That's when I got my first inkling of how serenely methodical Noemi's approach to child-birth was going to be.

I went to my gynecologist's at 4. He wasn't impressed with my so-called liquid either, nor even with my having lost my mucus plug, but while he was examining me he felt a contraction. After I was dressed again and we were discussing things, he asked if those contractions were getting stronger and more frequent. I said I supposed so, but I couldn't tell if they were real contractions or the practice Braxton-Hicks contractions that occur throughout pregnancy. He said, well, if they are coming within a half hour of each other, that could mean something. I told him I was having one right then, which surprised him -- he leaned over and felt my tummy and said, but you just had that other one not ten minutes ago! I shrugged. He told me I was going to go into labor soon, and that he'd see me that evening at the hospital. I said OK. He looked at me sharply and said that this was serious. Um, yeah, but it's not like I'm going to panic, OK?

And that's when Noemi's gynecologist got his first inkling...

So, back home again, in a bus (bumpety-bump!). I told Paul the news, and said that I'd like to finish cooking the vegetable pie, have a snack and then take a nap. So we had hot chocolate and a slice of Gianpaolo's blueberry pie, ...

(Gianpaolo makes excellent blueberry pie)

... and I lay down, and despite the contractions coming pretty strongly, I managed to sleep almost 2 hours. I was woken up by a particularly strong pain.

I was extremely impressed, both by Noemi's napping skills, and commitment to a broader strategic vision. This nap was crucial for getting through what would be a rather broken night, to say the least.

We had a bite to eat (the vegetable pie, sad to say, didn't come out that great -- it needed to cook longer) and got our stuff together once again to go. I called my parents to let them know I was headed to the hospital, and talked for a few minutes with my friend Steph. At this point when the contractions were reaching their peak, I couldn't really talk. We left the house around 9 pm.

At this point it was completely clear that this was it, that Leo was ready to move out of his parent's basement (so to speak). Again I had the experience of walking slowly down to a taxi stand with my pregnant wife at your side, suitcase trailing behind me, but this time with her grip on my hand tightening every few minutes as a contraction bore down. I may not be the most observant fellow when it comes to reading signs and portents, but I somehow got the feeling that something was going to happen...

We called for a taxi -- usually a very swift and straightforward operation. Unfortunately Genoa was hosting its annual Boat Expo that week, and with all the out-of-towners, the taxi service was overrun. We couldn't get through to the operator for a really long time. In the meantime we walked down to the taxi stand again. I was whistling during contractions, a little like Purple and Brown in this video.

It was exactly like the sound in that video. I had expected childbirth to be surreal in many ways, but walking down the street with my wife whistling like Purple and Brown beat my expectations by a long shot. I think the general public agreed with me - we got quite a few stares.

Finally the operator came on, said she'd find us a taxi, and put me on hold. Back to walking around on the street corner whistling while Paul started to call our friends to rescue us. But then a taxi randomly came along, and we hopped in and were off. We reached the hospital around 10 pm.

This was the first and only time I've had trouble getting a taxi in Genoa. Figures. I was afraid we weren't going to make it to the hospital, and had a moment of horror as I imagined having to explain all this to Noemi's parents. Thank goodness that taxi came along.

At the check-in to the hospital, they let us right in when they saw me, saying that Paul could go take care of the bureaucracy later.

Normally there's a fairly elaborate and slow check-in procedure at "pronto soccorso." I was happy to see that if one is actually grimacing in pain and unable to speak, they expedite things a bit. It makes sense, but sense doesn't always count for much.

Up in the maternity ward they had me lay down for monitoring for a half hour, during which they measured my contractions and the baby's heartbeat. I was supposed to press a button every time I felt the baby move, but he didn't (or I didn't feel it while I was concentrating on getting through a contraction) -- until, of course, they detached me from the monitors. Gotta love that subversive child. Anyway, then they did another exam, and found that I was 2 cm dilated. The goal is 10 cm, and my gynecologist had told me I was 1 cm dilated that afternoon, so I was kinda disappointed and thought I had a long night ahead of me. They led us into a room, and again I was disappointed: during the pre-partum course they had shown us a big, beautiful birthing room with tons of funky equipment, chairs, pillows, a tub, ropes to hang from, colored lights, a stereo, you name it (and, coincidentally, a picture of a Madonna and child also found in my mother-in-law's house).

The room we were in was small: basically just a bed and that was it. Oh well. I changed into my birthing outfit: an old t-shirt of Paul's he didn't care about and my monkey socks. We opened the British baby book and started following the instructions for positions to use during the first phase of labor. This included leaning over on some cushions and waggling my butt back and forth -- a particularly becoming pose when one is wearing no underwear, and, say, one's butt is facing the door when a hospital staffperson walks in...

One would think that in a hospital the staff become inured to seeing exposed bottoms, but perhaps the habituation is only in certain contexts. Certainly, the entire series of staffmembers who walked in on us backed out and shut the door very rapidly. I was impressed that Noemi managed to find a way to shock nurses...

It was very comforting for me to see the Madonna from my mother's home. There were lots of Modannas-with-children about. I asked Noemi if she was offended by all the Christian iconography, and she said not all all, she thought it was lovely to have all these depictions of a loving Jewish mother and her beloved son.

After a little while, they came to tell us we could go ahead to the birthing room now. Ooops! The room we were in would be my room post-birth, and I got to go to the big beautiful room they had shown us before. Of course, by that time I wasn't using any of the funky equipment. I just lay down on the bed on my left side, with Paul sitting by my head and bathing my forehead with a damp cloth now and then. They did another exam and told me the good news: I was already 4, nearly 5 cm dilated! This was very encouraging.

I was trying to relay news from time to time to Noemi's parents. Between the lousiness of the line, my broken French, compounded by unfamiliarity with the particular technical lingo used in child-birth, communication was difficult. However, it was hopefully clear that Things Were Happening, and that so far everything was going fine. I chose not to bring up the topic of taxis at this time.

I had started to use a different method for getting through contractions: instead of whistling, I was humming through my nose. (In general, for labor, the idea is to take a deep breath at the beginning of a contraction, and to let your breath out as slowly as possible. It's easier if you are singing or humming -- they also suggest to visualize trying to blow on a candle without blowing it out, but that is way too difficult for me.) I'd like to claim full credit for coming up with this humming technique, but I think I just remembered it from my Yoga for Pregnancy, Birth and Beyond book (which I highly recommend; it's been extremely useful at every stage) where they suggested putting your fingers in your ears and humming through your nose to relieve stress. The humming worked really well, and had the added benefit of providing an accurate soundtrack of each contraction. I got louder and higher pitched as the pain mounted (occasionally shifting into a cry of pain, but not too often), and then subsided. At times I thought of the sound as a kind of song, calling my baby to me. Concentrating on making the sound match the sensation helped me to stay relaxed, and I was able to take each contraction as it came, enjoying the pause between them and even chatting a bit with Paul. A few times the contractions came in "double-whammies", the second one starting before the first had fully died away, but I quickly realized that these were either preceded or followed by an extra-long pause, so those were ok too.

The humming was indeed useful. It let me know when I could hope to convey information or ask questions, and when I should just shut up and make with the brow-mopping. The correlation between the hums and the medical read-out of the contractions was excellent. I believe the obstetrician had to make far fewer trips into the birthing room from her neighboring office because of the sonic readout.

Sometime in all of this the obstetrician (a wonderful woman named Antonella, very friendly and competent) decided to rupture my membranes to let out the amniotic fluid, and it did gush out then (fine, fine, so whatever I had felt that morning wasn't my waters breaking. Still: it had been something, all right.)

I believe you, dear.

After a while, they examined me again: 8 cm dilated! I was so happy. Antonella told me to let her know when I started feeling the urge to push. A little while later, at the peak of a contraction, I felt a kind of tightness in my bottom, very much like needing to poo except more intense and involving my whole pelvis. It wasn't too long after that they said, ok, time to go! and flipped me onto my back, legs into stirrups, lights on, crowd of people entered, Paul in a green gown, pair of handles for me to hold on to...

When Noemi says "crowd" she is not exaggerating. This was a party. I don't know who half the people were, but they were having a whale of a time, chatting with each other, cracking jokes, and occasionally briefly doing something Noemi-related, out of a vague sense of duty I suppose. Births seem to be something of a social occasion at the hospital, even apparently at 1-2am at night.

The contractions stopped. There were long pauses, and then when the urge to push (poo) came, they all encouraged me: ok, elbows out, keep your butt down, don't arch your back, relax your butt muscles, chin to chest, hold your breath, no grunting, just push, push, push! You can do it! That's it! I felt somehow oddly calm and patient.

I just have to repeat my awe at Noemi throughout all of this. In her position, I don't think I'd have been half as collected and together. I was very glad to be the one doing the brow-mopping and not the one having my brow mopped, but if I had to give birth, I'd aspire to be like Noemi. She's my hero.

Also, like I could really have used some practice at this, there were too many body parts to keep straight at once. I couldn't quite coordinate it all, and in the end Antonella decided that I needed a small cut (episiotomy) to help the baby get out. After that it was just a few more pushes -- Paul saw the head coming out -- and then voilà! At 2:20 am, Antonella pulled out Leo and held him aloft for a moment, just like in all those babycenter movies!

Behold! A son! At this point half of my mind was dazzled by the shear glistening beauty of the new life appearing so improbably, and the rest of my mind was devoted to keeping up a running commentary for Noemi of what was going on.

He was yelling and glistening and I immediately pulled up my shirt and held out my arms for him, but they whisked him away to examine him and wash him. I was overcome with emotions.

Noemi's eyes were as big as moons, she was laughing, her head was swiveling around, searching, tracking her son. I continued to keep up a commentary of what I could see (and hear, goodness, the boy had a healthy set of lungs!) in case it took some time for Leo to come back.

First: hilarity -- my tummy wobbling like a deflating balloon after Leo was out was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. And then awe, and wonder, and impatience, and joy. Oh dear. They gave Leo to Paul, and he brought him over, and I kissed his little head, which must be the softest and sweetest thing in the world. I couldn't believe it. I had seen him come out of me, but it just seemed (and still seems) utterly incredible. I asked to hold him but they told me that he was cold and needed to be put under a heat lamp to get warmed up.

The poor little guy was shivering. So gorgeous. Bigger than I was expecting.

At some point I pushed out the placenta but this was a total non-event compared to everything else. Paul saw it, though, and was satisfied that it looked alright, not too different from those he had seen on the farm.

Noemi was impressed by my stories of calf-births on the family farm, and somehow considered me an expert. It is true that everything looked right, in fact much more normal than in the pictures we'd look at (yuck).

During all this time, my gynecologist had shown up to see the birth, and he settled down to stitch me up. He started, but then called for his glasses. Some wiseacre brought him a pair of sunglasses, to the amusement of all (except me, because I wasn't paying attention and missed all this, and Paul, who was a bit horrified). Then they brought him his real glasses and settled them on his nose as he continued to stitch.

I'm glad Noemi missed all this, it is funny in retrospect, but if someone were stitching me up I might not appreciate this kind of humor...

This took quite a long time, and my legs, still in the stirrups, began to ache, and then get cold. I felt fine apart from that. By the time he was finally done and they helped me lift my legs out of the stirrups, though, I was trembling and chattering -- I had lost a lot of blood. They put me on an IV drip to restore some fluids, and brought me my disposable underpants to wear. They dismissed the panty pads I had brought as insufficiently large and provided me with a ginormous thing to put in my pants.

At this point, there was a lot of talk amongst the horde about getting Noemi a drink - some tea? juice? - but it went nowhere. I think perhaps no-one was quite in charge of that aspect. In the end I went and got her a bottle of water from a vending machine, and made a phone-call to her parents to let them know Leo was out, mother and son were in good health, and that they should be proud of their daughter. Their joy was a delight to hear. The timezones worked out well, it was good to have someone to call at 2:20am without having to worry about waking them.

Then I walked slowly to the little room and got onto the bed. Paul joined me and we waited for them to bring Leo to us. The view over Genoa from the window was lovely, and it was so nice to have the room to ourselves (they have some double and quad rooms in the ward as well). They brought Leo -- all lovely and warm now -- and the three of us just sat and chatted and gazed at each other for hours.

Staggering. Amazing. Such joy!

We encouraged Leo to suck, which he did very willingly on whatever he came across: breast, fingers, blanket, etc. Paul had to leave at around 6:30, and they took Leo away as well. And then the dawn came up.

I stumbled home and slept the sleep of a new dad.