Getting out of the window

Thankfully, the final stage of delivery wasn't as bad as I'd expected, though it wasn't because the epidural had kicked in. On the contrary, I was only given a mild dosage so that I could feel the pressure from the contractions. More on that later. Doc Rabner had been an excellent support the entire day: he dropped by at lunchtime (appeared suitably impressed with my upbeat frame of mind), after work (when he coolly punctured another layer of my water bag with a plastic spatula), and in the late evening after Dr Rawlings had sedated me. Rabner told me that he would go home to get some sleep before returning in the early hours to deliver the baby. He lived a ten minutes' drive away.

The hours between 10pm (post-epidural fiasco) till 2+am just flew by ... I was drugged, fatigued, and sick and tired of the vaginal checks. The midwives had a shift change around 11pm and a nice, middle-aged lady named Ursula took over. She was German-speaking, personable and most important at that point - gentle. When the real pushing began, she cheered me on, with firm but motivating shouts of, "Fenster ... Fenster ..." (which of course means window -as in, to 'defenestrate' someone- which struck me as a rather odd utterance. But I didn't think much more of it at the time, presuming that it was perhaps a metaphoric way of telling me to dilate and release Baby through my 'Fenster'. It was only three weeks later, when I discussed this episode with Ste, that he clarified what Ursula had actually said, "It was 'fester', not 'fenster'. 'Fester' means harder ... like to PUSH harder ..."). In any case, I pushed for a while and when I overheard Ursula ringing Doc Rabner to come to hospital (oddly enough, I understood this in German!) I had a feeling that The Moment was near.

Rabner appeared at the doorway and got straight to work. He examined me and did something I found extremely helpful - he pressed down on the point where I needed to direct my expelling energy. With the second midwife holding onto my left leg and Ste to my right, Rabner said that the baby's head was very close and asked if I'd like to touch it. What a sense of humour ... what ridiculous timing - what ran through my head was, "Why the hell would I want to do that - just get the damn baby OUT!" Fortunately for all present, I was not particularly articulate at this point and just managed a slightly perturbed-sounding, "Er ... no ...". But I pushed ... boy, did I push. I pushed like there was no tomorrow ... I didn't really have a choice - the contractions were increasingly violent and Baby was felt like a ginormous poo that refused to budge.

Rabner then decided on another course of action. He didn't want the baby to get distressed and suggested the vacuum extractor to guide her head through the last twist in the birth canal. With the swanky vacuum equipment came a less-than-swanky extra midwife. The operating theatre suddenly felt crowded (a few weeks earlier, I'd asked Rabner how large his team in the theatre would be - he chuckled and replied, "Team, what team? You mean, me, the midwife, Stefan and you?"). With the buzzing equipment came a menacing pair of stirrups, to which my legs were lashed. I can't remember feeling the episiotomy, but did feel a tad queasy when I saw something resembling a toilet plunger raised in the air. According to Ste, Rabner activated the vacuum for a second, loosening Peany from her cozy environment, and told me to make the final push. I did exactly as I was told ... and with the baby's head came a glorious shower of amniotic fluid that doused Rabner quite thoroughly. Well ... if anything, that was one way to create an impression. The next scene would have benefitted from some musical accompaniment from the Star Trek soundtrack: a large purplish form was lifted from between my legs, blocking out the light for some seconds before it was placed face-down on my chest. It was wet, warm ... and surprisingly quiet. I looked at Ste imploringly and asked if everything was all right with the kid. Peany raised her head a little, squinted at me and furrowed her brow. I heaved a sigh of relief - a baby with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Now at the start, Doc Rabner had said that the low dosage of painkiller would make my pushing more efficient - and he was right, although there is a very fine distinction between pressure and pain. I could feel him stitch me up, which took an hour. Five minutes into the job, I inquired if he could just leave me to heal naturally instead, which elicited a cluck. Half an hour into it, I wondered what his handiwork (careful embroidery) looked like. For each stitch that was made, he would test the tension in the thread by tugging on it. Once, when he gave it a pull, the stitch didn't hold and went 'thwack'! Ouch indeed. I'd expected some pain-numbing effects from the euphoria of the moment, but none kicked in.