Diary of a Middle-aged Woman

02/16/07 - Another Thing I Would Never Ask My Husband to Do!

Yesterday, while I was snowbound, I watched televison and saw a show that mentioned Mother Teresa. Whenever I see her, I always think of the day my daughter was born. With that, I always think of the things that I would have done differently that day.

Mother Teresa came to our county on June 17, 1995. In fact, she went to the small town where my in-laws live. And, being the good Catholics that they are, they all went to the church to see her. I went into labor bright and early that morning. I remember waking my husband around six o'clock to tell him that I was having contractions. He asked me how far apart they were. When I said three minutes, he said, "Let me know when they are a minute apart." With that, he rolled over and went back to sleep. You can imagine how well that went over.

He got his butt out of bed, called the doctor, and then set about calling the relatives. At first we couldn't understand why he couldn't reach anyone so early in the morning, and then we remembered Mother Teresa. We headed to the hospital and were shown to one of the "birthing rooms".

A television was in the room and my husband was drawn to it like bees to a flower. Almost every channel had coverage of Mother Teresa. Traditional church music filled the room. Meanwhile, I was in extreme pain and began whining for my epidural. The anesthesiologist came into the room to administer it and said, "Hearing that church music is kind of creepy." I felt the same way. The church music made me feel like I was in a remake of 'Rosemary's Baby'. Since it was Saturday morning, my choice would have been Bugs Bunny making a wisecrack on the morning cartoons.

My labor went fast. When my daughter was born an hour later, the doctor told my husband to cut the cord. My husband is a squeamish person when it comes to blood. He dreaded this moment. "I think I'm gonna pass-out," he said. The nurses and doctor had to force him to do it. He turned his head as he squeezed the forceps, and finally the cord was cut. My daughter was carried to one of those warming tables where she was weighed and cleaned-up. She cried the way newborns do. My husband walked over to her and said, "What's all this crying about?" and she instantly stopped. She recognized his voice. This is a cherished memory.

However, he walked over to where I was and stood behind the doctor to see what she was doing. I watched him closely. He pointed at the area she was working and made a face. I still had my feet in the stirrups, so I had no idea what he saw.

Being afraid of the whole delivery room experience, I insisted that he be by my side throughout the whole process. Looking back, this was a bad choice on my part. I should have gone into the room by myself. Afterall, once I got my epidural, I was fine and didn't need a coach or moral support. In fact the nurses were wonderful and I didn't feel as scared as I thought I would.

The organ music, having to force him to cut the cord, and the faces he made behind the doctor's back, I could have done without. He wasn't crazy about the idea to begin with, and seeing blood, and cutting the cord caused him to break-out in a cold sweat. I think my husband would agree with me on this point. He would have been just as happy to sit in the waiting room and be called in when everything was over and done. Like our fathers did when we were born.

Well, that's my trip down memory lane for the day. Sorry I had to subject you to that.


Have a Great day!