Did you hurt yourself? Err...well let me like fiddle around here while I look for that first aid kit I swear I keep in my car. You know, just in case. My keys are here somewhere. Oh, look here are the EMTs. Ok, bye. Good luck.
Then I race away and breather a deep hot breath of relaxation. I saved some face and that person got helped. Win-win.
So that day, I did not much. My wife and the doctors and nurses did all the work. As a 30 something male I will say that TV/movies have lied to me in two ways about women. Which, note that is not how you should learn about much, but especially over 50% of the human race, but there was a lot of good TV you see. First one is
1) All women wear matching bra and underwear. I know where this came from. MTV had a show called Undressed that was on around 11pm every night and it had lots of good looking teens and 20 somethings heavy petting in their underwear. Not going to talk much about it because there is a key wonkiness factor but episodes are all over Youtube. This is also not the post on the very rare and few times I got to test this theory.
2) Birth is a quick process, knocked out in a couple of hours. I call this the sitcom having a baby at the worst time rule. Ever watch Home Improvement. I know, I did to. We can be sorry together. Heidi had her baby on the way to the Car Guy of Year convention with Tim. Why the Car Guy of the Year convention is in boonie back of beyond Michigan and not Detroit (where the show was set) is beyond me but they needed to have that baby in a gas station in a snow storm.
So, lets focus on number 2. And that feeling of helplessness.
My wife, doing all the work, ask me to tie her hair back into a simple pony tail. Because she has got IVs in her arms and a fetal electrode running up her birth canal to monitor our son's vitals. And I just can't. I mean I am beyond reproach when it comes to anything with fine motor skills. Putting stickers on Legos? Oh, no way. I am just going to write Octan with this here sharpie don't mind me. Tie a tie? Mine look like the legs of guy who always skip leg day. Tie up her hair? Err, I got nothing. Luckily, a med student was there observing (My poor wife not just dealing with her own doctors an hovering parents but a plucky student who can't help medically but can watch) and was able to tie it back.
However, the real sense of helplessness came when my son actually dropped into the birthing canal and they told my wife to start pushing. At the first contraction all the monitors started screaming and within one second about 7 doctors and nurses blasted in to assist the already 3 people in our room. And the massed around my wife and unborn son in a huddle of that periwinkle hospital scrub blue while I just stood in the corner. They screamed things like "code blue" and prep for surgery while alarms ringed those sharp submarine AAAOOOOGGAHHS from the movies. Over in the corner it was all the boiled down essence of awkwardness from every event in life. School dances holding up the wall. Sitting alone in the dining hall. Every first day at work. Going to a work conference by yourself. Waving at someone then realizing they were waiving at someone behind you. Hitting reply all on an email. All those turn to dust moments laced with dread that maybe she was dying? Or the baby? Both?
When the baby dropped and my wife's water formally broke my son's head hit the top of her pubic bone. So every time she pushed his head slammed into a wall and his vital spiked in a primal sense of panic. The doctors immediately whisked her away for an emergency c-section while I stood alone in the disheveled room. Towels and kidney basins dropped on the floor over wheel ruts left impervious to all cleaners. Its a huge room with the beige and rust and seafoam pastels favored by hospitals and cheap hotels. Outside the word was gone and it was nothing but void beyond the windows and runner drapes. Unable to help my wife, the staff and unable to effect the rush of that void. Feeling small and collapsing with the gravity to spark another Big Bang.
Then, someone popped in and asked me to get dressed for the OR.
In the OR, when he was born, the radio played "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, testament to how rote this all is to the doctor's chatting about what they will do over the weekend.
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