My first and only child, Jonah, was delivered via C-section after a grueling 56-hour labor and three hours of futile pushing. There were times when he was scared as hell; during labor in an average hospital, nurses and doctors have little time to answer questions and virtually no time to hold his hand, let alone deter him from an occasional panic attack.
Well-intentioned moms (and other relatives) can bring worrying or controlling energies to the birthing experience. And your partner is as helpful a “birth coach” as your own personal experience with childbirth, which almost always means nothing at all. Yes, my husband Andy was with me every minute and I appreciated his presence. But he didn’t know what he was really feeling, how could he know? – so naturally he was as anxious as I was.
Our family doctor, Jacob Reider, was also with us, albeit intermittently. Unlike the other doctors who had examined me, however, he found time to sit with my family in the waiting room and explain to me what was happening and why. He was gracious when he had to “check” me to feel how many inches I had dilated. He helped us make many decisions; he listened carefully to our concerns. He was the only doctor who made it clear that he really cared if she was tired, hungry, or in pain.
Most of the doctors and nurses had been friendly but superficial; they were rushed and rushed in both procedure and explanation. Some made me feel like a standard barnyard cow giving birth for the umpteenth time, an interesting event, perhaps, but not one of particular concern. None except Dr. Reider seemed to get over the “this is just another day at work” mentality.
When we made the decision to go for a C-section, I was devastated. Not because she wanted to give birth naturally (although I did), and not because she was afraid of being awake during an operation (which she was), but because Dr. Reider did not perform C-sections.
That meant he’d be under the knife of an anonymous doctor—an excellent doctor, no doubt, but random all the same. So I said a tearful goodbye to Dr. Reider (although I wish I had begged him to come with me, even if he was just to stay there) and was wheeled into the operating room. Of course, they let Andy tag along, and through my increasingly drugged state, I focused gratefully on his hazel new-father eyes meeting mine.
However, the lights were too bright and I was not given a pillow. My memories of the birth are confused and disjointed:
My arms, flailing wildly of their own accord, trapped like caged birds…
My imagined images of scalpels cutting through meat and cutting open me like a can…
Rocking it, rocking it, pulling it out of my pelvis, rocking it and pulling…
Voices of various people, doctors and nurses and aides, whoever… chatting about politics and telling jokes and wondering aloud what’s for dinner…
This is the soundtrack to the birth of our son: a miracle drawn from my bloody womb in mundane conversations and necessary commentary:
“It’s a boy…”
Where is? Can I get up now? Who has it? He’s crying and I’m crying and there’s Andy’s eyes again, and he’s holding our son so I can see… I whisper “he’s a peanut” and we smile.
I’ve often heard people say that, given the choice, they’d rather have a top-notch, experienced surgeon who had no bedside manners than a much less experienced doctor who would give them hugs and paddles. But I almost would have preferred Dr. Reider to do his first C-section than to be cut open by such an experienced surgeon, all faceless and functional.
The birth of my son was a miracle, a sacred event. Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t expect absolute silence for the show, nor gifts of frankincense and myrrh, but a respectful atmosphere would have been nice. Hospital staff surely bring babies into the world every day, making labor and delivery commonplace. However, I only gave birth once, and it all seemed quite remarkable to me. Couldn’t he have at least received a “congratulations”?
If Dr. Reider had been there, and a room full of people like him, I think it would have been a completely different experience. Although I don’t want to revisit the birth of my son with anything other than joy, I sometimes imagine how much greater joy it would be to deliver my son with a doctor, not by one.
I am thankful that there are still doctors like Dr. Reider out there. I love that he knows and treats my family, and I’m especially excited to learn that he teaches medical students, surely emphasizing the practice of mindful medicine, utilizing the knowledge stored in the heart and brain.
