The Journey

The first and one of the most meaningful journeys of our lives is the short passage down the birth canal. It marks the transition from fetus to full-fledged human being. It changes forever a man and a woman from fairly free individuals to parents, to somebody’s mother, somebody’s father.

Or, in my case, somebody’s grandmother…And what a journey it has been!

It took a 31 year trip as my daughter’s mom. It took the joy in all her triumphs from first smile and first steps to the series of degrees she has earned. It took the agony of slowly separating from the child so that the woman could be born. I have loved each and every minute.

In more concrete terms it has taken a flight to LaGuardia and, from there, a train to Hartford. Fighting growing impatience as the big event approached and, at the same time, wanting to protect my angel from the discomfort of pregnancy, it has been so very hard to contain the natural bossiness one assumes to protect one’s child. I had to constantly remind myself that my child is no longer a child. My child is soon to be somebody’s mother.

So, hoping to facilitate the forming of this new little family, I tried to assume a supporting role, painting, doing dishes, finishing laundry, walking dogs, or whatever I could think of to help. And, to my continuing wonder, the days passed and so did the due date. January 28, January 29, January 30, January 31……and as I scrutinized my daughter for ANY sign of impending delivery, I began to wonder how she could look so very cool under the circumstances. I also began to realize what has become a huge appreciation for the patience and skills of midwives.

So, on a very rainy Thursday afternoon, after having been bumped off the schedule twice for a local baby boomlet, my kid is admitted to the hospital for a “gentle” induction. Cervidil, a prostaglandin suppository is used to “prepare” the cervix for labor. Instead, this puts my slightly dehydrated daughter into strong contractions that last for the twelve hours the medication is in place. So, with no sleep Thursday night, “real” labor begins on Friday. And the contractions are STRONG. And they don’t accomplish much. Hours later, exhausted, my daughter finally caves and, with just a few tears, takes the epidural. Aidan’s dad finally goes home for some badly needed sleep. My kid and I have a incredibly short nap and then the ever-patient, ever-gentle nurse-midwife checks her. Half-asleep I remember saying to her, “please tell me she is 8!” With a trace of amazement in her voice she says, “she is 8!”

A quick call to sleepy David and we are back in the game. The betting is on and the late shift nurse (God bless her!) states without booking argument that “this baby will be born at 3AM.”

By 10PM she is complete, save an anterior “lip” of cervix. It is decided that she can now push and see what happens. In the meantime Aidan has become known as the “mellow” kid, as nothing seems to faze him. Cooperative as the little fellow is, he is also face up and that makes things a bit more difficult. At each push, his heartbeat drops. So the pushing stops. The only way you can tell my magnificent daughter is upset is that her heartbeat is in the 120’s. The only thing that drops her pulse to normal is when David is standing or sitting right next to her. That he does wonderfully, talking, touching, assuring.

At 2AM it is decided that we are all going to move to the operating suite. The OB on call is called to try using suction for the delivery. That is to be done in the Section room, just in case. There is this small fear in my daughter’s eyes and she says to me “I don’t want to be cut.”

It is 2:30. Everything is ready. I’m at the head of the table, trying to stay out of the way of a rather rude anesthesiologist, who is too busy on his cell phone to acknowledge the drama playing out before him. Perhaps he has seen too many similar dramas. I find I’m annoyed with him, perhaps so I don’t have to feel fear. The suction is applied, a few pushes, a moment of unreality and………….ohmygod there he is!

He is small and red and absolutely the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen in a good long while! David cuts the cord. He is placed on my kid’s chest. The look that she gives that baby, in spite of the fatigue, breaks my heart, it is so tender, so encompassing. I’m snapping photos like a woman possessed. He is weighed in: 7lb 14 oz.

The midwife shows us the placenta and the membranes attached where Aidan has spent the last few months. Aidan is placed in a warmer and David spends a few moments admiring his new son, counting fingers (my! what big hands he has!), watching him breathe.

Then Joanne starts to bleed. I don’t think she realizes what is happening but I know that her uterus is boggy after so long a labor. She knows there is a problem as we are all circling her but her concern is for Aidan. “Please,” she says to David, “Go and be with Aidan.”

This is where I feel the need to praise nurse-midwives. Kira and Karen, Joanne’s midwives, thwarted disaster at so many turns I fear to count them. At any point in this long, difficult process, the gentle, quiet, calm birthing experience that had been so carefully planed, might have turned into a medical event. Aidan might have been dragged into the world in a cold, clinical way. Because of the patience, care and diligence exercised by these two heroic women, the only intervention that was done was necessary and accomplished in the least invasive way possible. Joanne never lost her support team. She was never placed in a situation where control was taken from her. Kira and Karen were unflagging in their determination to respect the choices that David and Joanne would make and, moreover they freely and carefully explained each twist in the process so that those decisions could be valid ones. And, unlike most MDs, they seemed to have the commitment to spend as much time as was necessary to make the entire process as gentle and human as it could possibly be. I will never forget their kind, gentle, personal care.

And so, Karen, who was present at the delivery, Karen with her magnificent hands with the long, long fingers, gave some methergine and did some really dexterous uterine massage and stopped the bleeding. In all, she put in one stitch for a little “skid mark” that was the only injury of such a quick and dramatic delivery.

Minutes later, the triumphant mom, finally cuddling that baby boy, was wheeled back to the birthing suite. I think this is when I finally realize that, although Joanne completely and utterly owns my soul, she is no longer mine. Now she belongs completely and utterly to someone else and will as long as they both live.

So the little journey is over. And now, like my mother and my mother’s mother, I am a grandmother. Aidan has made me one. It’s a new role for me. As I move forward to embrace that role, I also think about what this all means. Can I ever be as good a grandmother as my grandmother? Probably not. She was amazing. She was my safety, my best cheerleader, my role model, my best friend. But I can be as good as I can be. I can remember what I learned from her and try. I can read the stories and sing the songs. I can defend him and believe in him when he can’t believe in himself.

And my goodness is he cute! And bright. And the best grandson anybody ever had. Ok. The kid has got me already. I’d do anything for him. Isn’t that the way it is supposed to be? Suddenly I understand the need to purchase the biggest Teddy Bear in the toy store. I think I’ll buy a new wallet so I can carry more photos. I want to call all my friends and brag about how wonderful he is even though it’s 3 AM. And I don’t care who I bore with the details.

I hope I’m around to brag about his SAT scores.

Please share your thoughts and experiences below.