My niece Nova was born at 1:06 am on my 40th birthday, and here’s how it happened.
My birthday was Saturday, April 11. On Friday, April 10, my sister called in the morning to let me know that she’d been having regular “pressure waves” all night. "Pressure waves" are contractions in hypno-birthing parlance. My sister had been practicing self-hypnosis for months now, in order to anesthetecize herself during labor. From what I could gather from the reading she gave me, this involved closing your eyes, imagining a nice place, and breathing deeply while your birth partner patted your forehead. Noe had successfully used her self-hypno-birthing exercises to alleviate her back pain through pregnancy, she said, so she had confidence she would feel little pain through labor and delivery. When she would say this, I would smile and pat her on the forehead.
So Noe is in mild labor and imagines that things are getting started but there’s still plenty of time, she says, and she wants to labor quietly and privately for now. So I spend the day doing stuff—Good Friday, it was, and I had lunch with a friend and took a nap and thought about turning 40. I call to check in, and things are settling into a pattern, but she’s going to stay at home for as long as possible. Okay. My mom is over there cooking her brains out to keep herself busy and Joe is very busy patting foreheads. There’s not much else to do, Noe says, so I go on with my birthday plans.
Which included the most fabulous dinner of my life with my dear friend Mark Morales. Right as we were ordering dessert my phone rings. This was about 10pm. I answer, and it’s my Mom, sounding annoyed. “I’ve tried to call you once already,” she scolds. “They’re leaving for the hospital, so you better get over there.” I hear, in the background, a low rumbling moan, kind of like a train coming from a long ways away, then a voice talking like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons – then my mom says, “Well, Noe says to finish your birthday dinner and then meet her at the hospital.” I hear another one of those trains passing through Noe’s house, and then we get off the phone.
Mark and I finish dessert. We high-tail it to the hospital. We zip up to labor and delivery, past the waiting room, past the nurse’s station – “My sister’s in labor and I’m here to help her!” I announce as we whiz by – and then we’re there, in front of the door to her room. I look at Mark, Mark looks at me – we’ve both been through this before, the natural child-birth thing, and know there could be hours of waiting involved before anything else happens. Should he come in and say hello?
I crack the door open to see what's up. Immediately there issues forth from the bed, over which my sister is bent, naked, mooning me, "I need to poop. Ooooooooooh. I need to poop."
Question answered. I turn back to Mark, whose eyebrows are frozen about 3 inches above his eyes, like sideways exclamation points. "You better wait in the waiting room," I tell him. He nods enthusiastically, thoroughly convinced by the sounds emitting from beyond the door, and I re-enter a room that is now resounding with Noe's rumbling voice, "I need to poop. Ohhhhhh, I need to poop."
And the fun begins. Kathleen, our nurse, is strapping a second monitor around Noe's waist, and Noe is not too happy about this as she struggles to find a position that's comfortable. I don't know how to tell her that there is no such thing, when you're laboring, as a comfortable position. She lies on her back with her knees up in her air. She rolls over onto all fours. She stands up and leans forward over the bed. Kathleen is studying the computer screen next to the bed and keeps nudging at the monitor belt around Noe's contracting belly.
"Please. Stop. That," Noe says gruffly. "Please take it off."
Kathleen won't take it off without a doctor's consent, she says, but no matter. Noe has bigger things to worry about. Like trying to poop, apparently. Another pressure wave ripples through her belly, setting off Noe's soon-to-become-standard incantation.
"I need to poop. I need to poop. Why the f--------"
-----Gentle readers, be warned. The language from here on out, until the baby is born, is pretty raunchy.
"Why the fuck can't I poop?" Noe wants to know.
I take a look at her nether regions. I don't know how to tell her this, but she already has. I decide to leave that, um, little morsel of information for the nurse to discover and focus my attentions instead on getting Noe through her contractions.
"You're doing great, Noe," I murmur. "Breathe. Breathe. Ride the wave. Surf that wave. Don't fight it." Stuff like that. I don't even know half of what I said over the next three hours. Helping your little sister give birth is so intense that there is no brain room left over for storing the experience in your memory banks. It was extraordinary. I've done it twice, given birth naturally, but the thing is, when you're giving birth, you're so focused on just getting through it that you don't (or I didn't) really reflect on the event with your mind; your body takes over, for the most part, and you enter into some paranormal mental zone. Guys got it good, I discovered this time around, because watching the experience of somebody you love giving birth is the best of both worlds: you love her so much you are very much in the experience with her, but without any of the pain.
Finally Noe settles onto a big bouncey ball at the foot of her bed. From her perch there, she clutches towels wrapped around the grip bar over her head and, using them for support, sways back and forth on the ball. Then Noe's eyes kind of glaze over, she rocks forward and rests her forehead against her palms which swing from their grasp of the towel, and goes, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I still need to poop . . . . "
Once the contraction passes, I stroke her back with gentle undulations and tell her she's amazing, etc.
"I just wish I could take a fucking shit," she tells me.
This goes on for about an hour. I'm fanning Noe to help cool her down and Joe is continuously either stroking Noe's forehead with a cool wet cloth or patting it. And the bane of Noe's existence is apparently the large, unmoving turd plugging her up and creating intense pressure.
"Noe, that's the baby," I tell her. "Giving birth feels like you're trying to crap out the biggest bowling ball ever known to man." We had talked about this before today, but talking about pooping a bowling ball and actually trying to poop a bowling ball are clearly two very different things in a laboring woman's mind. This is especially unfortunate for Noe, who would rather have bamboo stakes shoved underneath her fingernails or the bottom of her feet beaten than suffer from irregularity. Several years ago she had to have her back cut open to have her spine fused and was laid up for weeks. Did she complain about the pain? the stiches? the immobility? the helplessness? the boredom? Nope. The only thing she complained about, and quite vociferously, was how constipated the morphine made her. "Noe, how you doing," I'd ask her. "I'd be doing a lot better if I could just take a shit," she'd say. When Noe's 70, she's going to be one of those septgenerians who judges the quality of the day by how regularly her bowels perform.
And the fun begins. Kathleen, our nurse, is strapping a second monitor around Noe's waist, and Noe is not too happy about this as she struggles to find a position that's comfortable. I don't know how to tell her that there is no such thing, when you're laboring, as a comfortable position. She lies on her back with her knees up in her air. She rolls over onto all fours. She stands up and leans forward over the bed. Kathleen is studying the computer screen next to the bed and keeps nudging at the monitor belt around Noe's contracting belly.
"Please. Stop. That," Noe says gruffly. "Please take it off."
Kathleen won't take it off without a doctor's consent, she says, but no matter. Noe has bigger things to worry about. Like trying to poop, apparently. Another pressure wave ripples through her belly, setting off Noe's soon-to-become-standard incantation.
"I need to poop. I need to poop. Why the f--------"
-----Gentle readers, be warned. The language from here on out, until the baby is born, is pretty raunchy.
"Why the fuck can't I poop?" Noe wants to know.
I take a look at her nether regions. I don't know how to tell her this, but she already has. I decide to leave that, um, little morsel of information for the nurse to discover and focus my attentions instead on getting Noe through her contractions.
"You're doing great, Noe," I murmur. "Breathe. Breathe. Ride the wave. Surf that wave. Don't fight it." Stuff like that. I don't even know half of what I said over the next three hours. Helping your little sister give birth is so intense that there is no brain room left over for storing the experience in your memory banks. It was extraordinary. I've done it twice, given birth naturally, but the thing is, when you're giving birth, you're so focused on just getting through it that you don't (or I didn't) really reflect on the event with your mind; your body takes over, for the most part, and you enter into some paranormal mental zone. Guys got it good, I discovered this time around, because watching the experience of somebody you love giving birth is the best of both worlds: you love her so much you are very much in the experience with her, but without any of the pain.
Finally Noe settles onto a big bouncey ball at the foot of her bed. From her perch there, she clutches towels wrapped around the grip bar over her head and, using them for support, sways back and forth on the ball. Then Noe's eyes kind of glaze over, she rocks forward and rests her forehead against her palms which swing from their grasp of the towel, and goes, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I still need to poop . . . . "
Once the contraction passes, I stroke her back with gentle undulations and tell her she's amazing, etc.
"I just wish I could take a fucking shit," she tells me.
This goes on for about an hour. I'm fanning Noe to help cool her down and Joe is continuously either stroking Noe's forehead with a cool wet cloth or patting it. And the bane of Noe's existence is apparently the large, unmoving turd plugging her up and creating intense pressure.
"Noe, that's the baby," I tell her. "Giving birth feels like you're trying to crap out the biggest bowling ball ever known to man." We had talked about this before today, but talking about pooping a bowling ball and actually trying to poop a bowling ball are clearly two very different things in a laboring woman's mind. This is especially unfortunate for Noe, who would rather have bamboo stakes shoved underneath her fingernails or the bottom of her feet beaten than suffer from irregularity. Several years ago she had to have her back cut open to have her spine fused and was laid up for weeks. Did she complain about the pain? the stiches? the immobility? the helplessness? the boredom? Nope. The only thing she complained about, and quite vociferously, was how constipated the morphine made her. "Noe, how you doing," I'd ask her. "I'd be doing a lot better if I could just take a shit," she'd say. When Noe's 70, she's going to be one of those septgenerians who judges the quality of the day by how regularly her bowels perform.
Anyway. Where were we.
The thing is, Noe wants to push, but Kathleen discourages this because there's no doctor in the room. I understand Kathleen's concern, and at the same time, I think it's incredibly cruel to tell a laboring woman not to respond to her urge to push. It's pointless. So I tell Noe, "Sweetie, if you gotta push, you gotta push. Everything's okay."
I don't know if she heard me--she was clearly in transition, and baby was coming on down the line. But she moved on to the bed, onto her back with her knees up, and started preparing herself for what was coming.
Kathleen paged a Resident, Dr. McAllister, who was amazing. The doctor introduces herself, puts on scrubs, and pulls up a chair at the foot of Noe's bed where the big bouncing ball was before. And remains blessedly quiet, letting Noe's body take the lead. I like this woman.
"I need to----" here we go again, I think, but I was wrong--"push! I need to push!"
"Then push," says Dr McAllister calmly.
And Noe starts to push. The contractions are coming fast and furiously now. Kathleen is at Noe's left shoulder whispering into her ear; Joe is at her right shoulder, soothing her, and I'm next to Joe, at Noe's side, marvelling at the fact that a big baby head is about to come out of my little sister's vagina.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck! Fucking! Fuck! Fuck!" yells Noe as another pressure waves seizes her. Kathleen and I talk her through it. Our main concern is getting her to curl her screams into her belly, chin to chest, rather than let them loose into the sky--they do no good up there, but down here they can help her push.
"Here comes another one," Noe says, and pushes. She decides she wants to lie on her side, so we help her. This position, however, requires her to hold onto her own thigh. Holding on to one's own thigh, curling in for a scream, pushing, and trying to get your baby born: too much multi-tasking. Noe asks to be put back on her back.
She pushes on her back for about an hour, and then I go to take a look. I stand next to Dr. McAllister and peer into Noe's nether regions. I see a canal, an actual birth canal, but no baby's head. "It's still going to be a while" says the doctor.
But eventually the doctor says we're getting close, and the next thing I know, I'm cradling Noe's right thigh in my right arm and her head and neck in my left arm, saying I don't-know-what as she screams I don't-know-what, and I look down at her vagina, and there, right there, in the middle of the push, I see a dome of dark black hair emerge . . . .and then, as the contraction subsides, disappear.
How frustrating!
So now the trick is to get Noe to push so hard that the baby is moving out during the contraction more than she is retracting after the contraction.
"Oh, Nova, C'mon!' yells my sister.
Black hair peeks out; black hair hides again, leaving a swatch of black grass poking out like fringe.
I don't know if she heard me--she was clearly in transition, and baby was coming on down the line. But she moved on to the bed, onto her back with her knees up, and started preparing herself for what was coming.
Kathleen paged a Resident, Dr. McAllister, who was amazing. The doctor introduces herself, puts on scrubs, and pulls up a chair at the foot of Noe's bed where the big bouncing ball was before. And remains blessedly quiet, letting Noe's body take the lead. I like this woman.
"I need to----" here we go again, I think, but I was wrong--"push! I need to push!"
"Then push," says Dr McAllister calmly.
And Noe starts to push. The contractions are coming fast and furiously now. Kathleen is at Noe's left shoulder whispering into her ear; Joe is at her right shoulder, soothing her, and I'm next to Joe, at Noe's side, marvelling at the fact that a big baby head is about to come out of my little sister's vagina.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck! Fucking! Fuck! Fuck!" yells Noe as another pressure waves seizes her. Kathleen and I talk her through it. Our main concern is getting her to curl her screams into her belly, chin to chest, rather than let them loose into the sky--they do no good up there, but down here they can help her push.
"Here comes another one," Noe says, and pushes. She decides she wants to lie on her side, so we help her. This position, however, requires her to hold onto her own thigh. Holding on to one's own thigh, curling in for a scream, pushing, and trying to get your baby born: too much multi-tasking. Noe asks to be put back on her back.
She pushes on her back for about an hour, and then I go to take a look. I stand next to Dr. McAllister and peer into Noe's nether regions. I see a canal, an actual birth canal, but no baby's head. "It's still going to be a while" says the doctor.
But eventually the doctor says we're getting close, and the next thing I know, I'm cradling Noe's right thigh in my right arm and her head and neck in my left arm, saying I don't-know-what as she screams I don't-know-what, and I look down at her vagina, and there, right there, in the middle of the push, I see a dome of dark black hair emerge . . . .and then, as the contraction subsides, disappear.
How frustrating!
So now the trick is to get Noe to push so hard that the baby is moving out during the contraction more than she is retracting after the contraction.
"Oh, Nova, C'mon!' yells my sister.
Black hair peeks out; black hair hides again, leaving a swatch of black grass poking out like fringe.
This goes on for a few minutes.
Suddenly a Dr. Lee appears. This is not Noe's regular OB. Her regular OB (as luck would have it) is on vacation this weekend. This is the regular OB's associate, Dr. Lee, who even while donning her scrubs is already barking orders at Noe like we haven't been at this for 3 hours already.
"Noe, when you feel a contraction I need you to push, push hard!"
You think? I want to tell her how grateful we are for that directive. It helps immensely.
Suddenly a Dr. Lee appears. This is not Noe's regular OB. Her regular OB (as luck would have it) is on vacation this weekend. This is the regular OB's associate, Dr. Lee, who even while donning her scrubs is already barking orders at Noe like we haven't been at this for 3 hours already.
"Noe, when you feel a contraction I need you to push, push hard!"
You think? I want to tell her how grateful we are for that directive. It helps immensely.
A few more contractions, and the baby starts to crown. You know how I know?
All of sudden Noe's eyes open wider than I've ever seen them (and if you are familiar with Noe's expressiveness, you appreciate how widely that must mean they were open) and she goes, "Yeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooow! FUCK that hurts!"
Dr. Lee: "She's crowning."
You think?
We tell Noe to push through the pain, and she does, but, well . . . . I'm reminded of Bill Cosby saying something about pulling your bottom lip up over your head like a hat if you want to know what childbirth feels like. My vagina hurts just looking at Noe's at this point.
"Push, Noe!" barks Dr. Lee. "C'mon, you can do it! Push! Push! Push! Push harder!"
I don't know what she thinks Noe's been doing for the last three hours. Maybe holding back? Maybe savoring an experience akin to a man expelling a pumpkin through the tip of his penis, trying to make it take as long as possible? Maybe she thinks Noe's just been (ahem) pussy-footing around, and unless somebody gets tough, darnit, she'll keep us here all night!
We ignore Lee and keep on with what we'd been doing. Except after a few minutes more of what we were doing, Dr. Lee has another helpful announcement to make.
"Okay Noe, it's really important that you push very very hard on this next one, or I'm going to have to use the vacuum forceps. So push or it's the vacuum!"
That does it. "She doesn't need to hear that!" I snap. "She's pushing as hard as she can, she doesn't need to be threatened---"
Dr. Lee starts to defend herself. Noe tells us both to shut up and help her push.
We help her push.
All of a sudden, the doctor has in her hand a contraption that looks like a little rubber beanie or a deflated whoopie cushion attached to a long plastic tube, which connects to what appears to be a mini-bicycle pump. They put the whoopie cushion on Nova's head, hold it there, and then Dr. McAllister starts to vigorously work the bicycle pump.
"We have to vacuum suction her out, Noe," explains Dr. Lee, expecting resistance.
"JUST GET HER THE FUCK OUT!" shouts Noe.
After some furious pumping, Dr. Lee starts tugging on the cord that is attached to the whoopie cushion that is now sealed airtightly to Nova's head, the majority of which is still in my sister's vagina. Lee pulls . . . easy . . . . a little harder . . . .her brows furrow . . . she throws her upper body into it in order to pull a little harder . . . then it's like Lee and Nova were playing tug of war and Nova suddenly let go of her end of the rope, and Lee almost falls back onto her butt when suddenly the whoopie cushion pops off of Nova's head. So much for the vacuum suction.
"Okay Noe, it's really important that you push very very hard on this next one, or I'm going to have to use the vacuum forceps. So push or it's the vacuum!"
That does it. "She doesn't need to hear that!" I snap. "She's pushing as hard as she can, she doesn't need to be threatened---"
Dr. Lee starts to defend herself. Noe tells us both to shut up and help her push.
We help her push.
All of a sudden, the doctor has in her hand a contraption that looks like a little rubber beanie or a deflated whoopie cushion attached to a long plastic tube, which connects to what appears to be a mini-bicycle pump. They put the whoopie cushion on Nova's head, hold it there, and then Dr. McAllister starts to vigorously work the bicycle pump.
"We have to vacuum suction her out, Noe," explains Dr. Lee, expecting resistance.
"JUST GET HER THE FUCK OUT!" shouts Noe.
After some furious pumping, Dr. Lee starts tugging on the cord that is attached to the whoopie cushion that is now sealed airtightly to Nova's head, the majority of which is still in my sister's vagina. Lee pulls . . . easy . . . . a little harder . . . .her brows furrow . . . she throws her upper body into it in order to pull a little harder . . . then it's like Lee and Nova were playing tug of war and Nova suddenly let go of her end of the rope, and Lee almost falls back onto her butt when suddenly the whoopie cushion pops off of Nova's head. So much for the vacuum suction.
Uh oh. Wearing the startled expression of someone caught dropping expensive china in a store underneath a "You break it, you bought it" poster, Dr. Lee quickly checks my sister's face for signs of alarm at the elevated beanie imprint-in-reverse left on the top of Nova's soft head. Noe's too busy to notice -- and her eyes are squeezed shut--so Dr. Lee chooses to pretend that nothing happened and immediately puts the beanie back on the baby. I guess now that the beanie has a handle to grip onto--the shape left by the last attempt--it sticks better. After pumping this time, and tugging on the cord this time, the baby's head starts to emerge ever so gradually but surely out of my sister's now immense vaginal opening.
Dr. Lee lets go of the cord, leaving the rest to Dr. McAllister, who now takes hold of Nova from under her head and pulls gently. Nova's shoulders are sliding through, and then, with a twisting motion--not unlike coaxing a dry cork from a wine bottle--she eases Nove'a shoulders out of my sister and---
VOILA -- NOVA IS BORN.
Nova lets loose with a cry while her feet are still inside of my sister. Wasting no time, Nova lets us know she is here. So she is definitely her mother's daughter.
The next thing I know, I'm kissing my sister, who is beside herself with joy, and then I hug Joe and then suddenly I am bursting into tears. Nova's wailing, Noe's weeping, I'm weeping. Joe's not weeping, but I can tell he's close to tears. Nova is absolutely beautiful: thick dark hair, a sweet warm brown face, eyes like almonds toasted by the sun. Her bottom lip quivers poignantly when she cries for her mother, my sister.
We look at the clock. Dr. McAllister says, "Time of birth, 1:06 am April 11, 2009."
Happy Birthday Auntie Leilani!
Thank you Noe. Thank you Joe. Thank you Nova. Thank You God.
Dr. Lee lets go of the cord, leaving the rest to Dr. McAllister, who now takes hold of Nova from under her head and pulls gently. Nova's shoulders are sliding through, and then, with a twisting motion--not unlike coaxing a dry cork from a wine bottle--she eases Nove'a shoulders out of my sister and---
VOILA -- NOVA IS BORN.
Nova lets loose with a cry while her feet are still inside of my sister. Wasting no time, Nova lets us know she is here. So she is definitely her mother's daughter.
The next thing I know, I'm kissing my sister, who is beside herself with joy, and then I hug Joe and then suddenly I am bursting into tears. Nova's wailing, Noe's weeping, I'm weeping. Joe's not weeping, but I can tell he's close to tears. Nova is absolutely beautiful: thick dark hair, a sweet warm brown face, eyes like almonds toasted by the sun. Her bottom lip quivers poignantly when she cries for her mother, my sister.
We look at the clock. Dr. McAllister says, "Time of birth, 1:06 am April 11, 2009."
Happy Birthday Auntie Leilani!
Thank you Noe. Thank you Joe. Thank you Nova. Thank You God.
YAY! I love me a good birth story, especially one that involved exclamation point eyebrows and a vagina vacuum. Good work, Noe!
Good piece, Leilani. I've missed your blogging.
Love you!
Posted by: Lynzie | 04/24/2009 at 03:05 PM
That was definitely one of your funnier blogs! I was laughing out loud alot.
glared you shared it!
m
Posted by: mbaby | 04/24/2009 at 03:08 PM
Great blog. Crying and laughing at the same time! Don't know what I would have done without you there!! It's becoming a surreal memory now, rather than a traumatic flashback. I still don't know how anybody does it more than once though.
I love you!
Posted by: Noe | 04/24/2009 at 05:32 PM
That was beautiful and funny (I laughed out loud) and powerful.
And Noe, if you see this....words fail me...good on you...and many blessings :-)
Posted by: Juen | 04/30/2009 at 09:43 PM