Although writing this blog about what it was like to endure labour from the mans perspective, I’ve already made a massive mistake of assumption. Assuming that being a dad would give me plenty of time to make a coffee, cradle a child, stick on BBC Radio 6 and merrily tap away whilst simultaneously chopping up fresh veg to chuck in a slow cooker, await the partner to get home, revel in the glory of new age man and presumably be rewarded with some form of bedroom based eroticism was certainly the wrong assumption and evidently the polar opposite of my new reality.
So here i’am, week 5, sitting on a train back from college, with two eyeballs that are clinging onto the back of my skull for dear life, whilst i try and shake my brain to produce some form of sentence that i can tap onto the computer. Hell has arrived in the form of sleep deprivation, that is so horrendous that i envy Guantanamo bay inmates who are simply subject to occasional waterboarding and a friendly beating. Whereas for myself, iam not even sure what dimension i reside in and whether or not this is all lucid dream. Have you ever watched the film interstellar when he enters the 5th dimension? Its a bit like that, fuzzy, blurry and difficult to communicate with the three dimensional world. Everything is weird, and iam always a bit hot and uncomfortable or bloody freezing cold. Even so, i promised myself to document the trials and tribulations of fatherhood from day dot so i will push on despite the adverse writing conditions. Do not get your violins out just yet, a wee little disclaimer i feel i need to add is that if i think i have it tough, i do have to acknowledge the lady who not only is far more tired but has the added pressure of keeping the baby alive. The baby (Dylan), keeps my partner (Danni) very nervous. Constantly threatening to scream or defecate himself if it is not going his way. You would think breastfeeding would give you a 2 hour gap to re-cooperate but Dylan uses this time wisely to keep us on tenterhooks, and will loudly and proudly fill this time by filling his nappy or giving off the occasional death screech just to make sure that we are not enjoying an hour of continuous sleep.
So it was January the 20th when Labour kicked in, to be honest, a week overdue, this latest ‘claim’ that labour had begun (again) was treated with mild contempt by myself. I sort of nodded, gave the obligatory low level support and carried on with my morning. Everything is on an App these days so Danni was relying on the labour app to monitor the intensity and frequency of the contractions so i was obsolete at this stage. I used the time wisely to stare at the internet.
Before i go into detail i will give you a brief back story on our NCT classes, we didn’t do them. We made the ridiculous decision of going to Hypno-birthing classes. Thats right, Hypno-Birthing, that technique where you go inside yourself and meditate your overly large and overdue baby out of your overly small and narrow birth canal, with nothing but a whimper and push with the odd butterfly knocking about and the local fallow deer entering the labour room to eat up the placenta so that the circle of life may resume its merry course with mother nature herself whistling an ancient pagan tune!! Well that is how they portrayed it (or i may have made a slight disneyesque exaggeration to boost reader numbers to 22). My job when labour started was to set the scene in the labour room, you know, low level lighting, some yogic music, almost Ashram like as possible. Iam not trying to put off anybody doing Hypno-Birthing by the way, as its a proven technique, but as a man, HAVE A PLAN B!! Your wife/partner does not even have to know about plan B (Plan B’s are seen as negative thoughts that can disrupt the positive mind-set of the mother dontcha know!), but plan B is a must otherwise if plan A does go wrong, you are up shit creek with nothing but a yoga matt and a Deepak Chopra calendar with positive quotes of the day!!
So the App decided we should ring the labour ward, which we did. We decided to birth at St Peters in Maldon. If you don’t know it, its like the set for ‘Call the midwife’. Externally Victorian with the interior to match, complete with freaky old school, front porch Texa’s rocking chair next to the bed just to make sure that if you want to get comfortable as the birth partner….you can’t. We were abruptly met with a smile by one of the cast members of ‘call the midwife’ too, bold as brass, like a second Generation WW2 child, who like people of that age always do, make some visceral claim to seeing a doodlebug at some point in the East End in Ninety forty never, but wait, she wasn’t a cast member, she was just an old school mid-wife. This did not bode well, i could feel it.
As you can imagine, the dinosaur mid-wife didn’t take to well too new age hypno-birthing and saw a chance to strike at me early and like people of that age do, like my grandad, of whom if i even whisper a personal dream or ambition he will destroy it with such ferocious realism, i always end up walking away licking my wounds and feeling childish for even daring to think big. She asked what Valsava breathing was (as per our birth plan), sensing a weak spot in my hypo knowledge……partner in pain, flustered and rushed, i failed. I shrugged my shoulders. The smirk on her face grew as she took the upper hand. New School 0, Old School 1. I knew she would be troublesome for us. She didn’t leave it there either, like a true old school machiavellian she wanted to finish me off and ultimately us until she had it her way with a pair of massive forceps and a plunger!
It is important in Hypno-Birthing that all conversations go through the birth partner, this protects the mothers neo cortex (thinking part) of the brain and allows complete meditation. Thats why she decided to ask Danni question after question involving people, jobs and places…she was toying with us. Like a Killer whale flipping a semi-conscious seal around in the ocean! Bitch. I couldn’t control her. She pointed out that my partner needed a pedicure, because thats important when your about to give birth, a fucking PEDICURE! She was relentless. We asked for one of the 4000 yoga mats they had in the next room that we had been practicing on for the last 4 months, but oh no, that would be a slight win for us, the midwife denied that these mats existed, i was confused, that was my one and only weak attempt at fighting back for control, like a true bully, she denied there existence, let the awkward silence engulf the room and then off she went. Our birth plan was also supposed to be drug free, the midwife’s eyes glistened when she saw that on the plan, i could tell she was banking that for later, but later became sooner as the contractions kicked in more frequently. “your not having pain relief drugs i see” she said whilst trying to hold down her delight at the wincing of Danni’s face. It was like a drug dealer hanging outside a rehab centre with a packet of heroine, taunting the ex-junkies as they came out. “How did rehab go, i see your on step 3, shame you don’t anymore, I’ve got shit loads of this free heroine i need to get rid of” whilst flicking the brown rock in its packet! She had us again, cornered and unsure with no defence, she was a pro. Little did we know Danni was Hyper-Contracting and had developed an infection, so we caved in and took the heroine (oramorph) to ease the pain. Hypo-birthing had died. The midwife, chest out like chief hen in the coup, waddling around all smug, parading around the room with syringes and 1940’s birthing tools!
Never was i so happy to hear that Danni had got that infection and was to be transferred to Broomfield Hospital. Shiny new age hospital with a Costa Cart and M&S (thats how i rate hospitals now). I followed the ambulance en route whilst Danni endured the dinosaur in the back of the ambulance. Never were we so relieved to know that the midwife was going home after the handover to the new hospital. I think she was genuinely disappointed that she could not finish off her kill and see Danni scream in pain or to see me breakdown in confusion and tears, iam pretty sure that is what she wanted. I will be sure to check she has retired before i even consider baby number 2. Its like she wanted to single-handedly destroy the hypno-birthing movement and saw me as weak, easy prey. I was, and she won the battle but a whole war was coming.
Twitter: @chrishurrell84
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