22 November 2010 – In Retrospect

1.  22 November 2010, at 1:12pm, was the moment Hamzah was born.  I don’t know about other guys, but I didn’t feel any fear or worries at all at that point of time.  I did feel some concern for the condition of the mother, that’s true, but I felt none of the panicky, not-so-hilarious exaggeration of chaos you sometimes could see in the TVs or movies.

Hilarious Panicking -not in real life

 

2.  Don’t get me wrong.  This is not a symptom of uncaring or selfishness.  I think it’s more of a function of me not getting more than 2 hours of sleep in 48 hours ( and my wife getting none, bless her soul) since her contractions started.  Also, during the actual labor, I was too caught up with a lot of things: holding her hands, fighting away drowsiness, giving encouraging words to the groaning woman, and not to mention witnessing various horrors perpetrated to her nether regions.  With that many things going on, fear didn’t get to join in the party.

3.  On D-Day minus 1, we wanted to expedite the process and decided to take a long walk inside Subang Parade.  We went round and round and round the mall, stopping once in  a while to let her Braxton Hicks contractions subside.  That night was the night I first witnessed the true meaning of someone enduring pain, when her contractions got hellishly stronger.  She started groaning and tossing around in pain.  In a state of restlessness, she was unable to lie down or sit for too long and had to resort to standing halfway up while hanging on to my shoulders.  We went through this cycle of lying down, sitting and crouching until midnight, when we decided that it was time to rush to the hospital.  To keep things short, it turned out that the pain she endured the night before seemed nothing compared to the few hours before true labor.  She then decided to have an epidural.

How I saw my wife on that day: My personal Santa bringing me an early Christmas gift!

 

4.  Now, let me take a step back here to talk about decision-making during these crucial times.  I’ve discussed this with quite a lot of guys, and I heard lots of macho talks like “There’s no way I’ll let my wife give birth by C-section.  I want my child to be stronger through normal delivery”, or, “I don’t want my wife to take the epidural.  I don’t believe in drugs and I think she should be able to stand the pain”.

To which I say (now that I know better): “Well, excuuuuuuse me!”.  All these talks of husbandly wants and rights are making me first-trimester-like nauseous.  This is because unless these men started to develop the ability to pass a small apple through their penis, they have only one right:  to remain silent.

5.  You just need to keep it in perspective.  The only person who would know whether she can stand the pain would be the person going through the pain herself, and usually they won’t know what to decide until the point of the most extreme pain anyway.  And the C-sections?  That’s the province of professional doctors, not husbands who are allergic to technology and modern medical practices.

6.  Although I was also a bit weak at this, but I feel that the main function of the husband is to fully educate himself with all possible topics related to the before, during and after the childbirth.  It’s his job to keep his schedule open for any contingencies, and to do the best he can to show up at that moment.  He’s got to make sure the hospital bag is ready and complete with everything both of them might need for the up to one week of stay in the hospital.  Perhaps, also things for the little one when he/she comes along.

"What an ugly little thing" was my first thought.

 

It’s his job to let his hands be squeezed by his delirious wife, and his eardrums shattered by her shrill screams.  To counsel and advice her about all the possibilities and options at a point when she can’t make even the simplest decision.  Most importantly, to support her on any decision she wants to make, and, unless expressly asked to, I think the decision should ultimately be hers to make.

Me, the happy customer, with the 1-week old now OK-looking Hamzah. Believe it or not, this is my first picture with him.

 

7.  As for me, I’m sure I’ll be readier and will try to be more useful the next time around.  I recalled how as soon as Hamzah’s head popped out, covered with blood from my wife’s (at that point) vast-gina, I vowed that come the next children, I’ll make sure that the only thing she needs to worry about is to vaginally deliver the child out into this world.

Or, if she decides to or have to, deliver through the Caesarean section incision on her tummy.

Me and Hamzah (8 months), saying thanks to Hamzah's brave mama, and to all other awesome mommies out there.