Jai and Peter

Up until about 2pm this afternoon I was still feeling pretty raw, and let's face it, pretty damned sorry for myself. I was sitting at work, having read all of the available out of date gossip magazines, 2 newspapers (one current), and a good couple of chapters out of my textbook, waiting for the magic bingo ball in the sky to drop so that a little baby currently hiding in its Mum's belly would decide that *today* would be the day. The giggling gods instead sent Cletus and family who all had their 2 bobs to say about the miracle of labour and were not very much help to the poor labouring woman in the middle.

Mrs Cletus was not considered a good candidate for me to assist, and so I sat, chatting with obstetricians and midwives and assorted other staff, while catching up on 3 month old gossip about Hollywood *stars*. And I brooded a bit. Or a lot. Or more than a lot even. But basically had far too much time to think.

Then I asked if I could check the primip who had arrived and apparently was less than 1cm dilated. She was coping OK, but her contractions seemed to her to be worse than what the machinery was telling us, and there was some debate as to whether she was actually in labour. I had a major sense of deja vu watching her though, and in spite of the comments of the midwife, I thought that something was happening. When she suddenly became VERY restless, even with pethidine on board and was jumping up repeatedly to go to the bathroom I thought that a VE was a very good idea when the midwife suggested it.

Barely 2 and a half hours after she had been assessed as barely in labour, this beautiful woman had fully dilated - passed transition pretyt much on her own, and was just about to get a few latent minutes before second stage hit good and proper. We quickly assembled trolleys, snapped on the latex and headed on to the business end, where with the consent of the midwife I again was able to become primary accoucher (catcher). In record time the head was on view, and with coaching a little blue face carefully slipped out into the world. Feeling for anterior shoulders and then at the neck we found the cord wrapped around. We waited for the next push and the shoulders, first anterior and then posterior were delivered and a slimy floppy entangled body came soon after.

It was a little difficult to untangle the cord from the neck as I was on the opposite side to the wrapping, and although he was perceptibly moving, the little baby was not crying, or mewling, and the cord was barely pulsating. My heart was absolutely in my throat as we rubbed him dry and placed him in his mothers arms - concerned about the decels we'd seen on the trace, and the horrible floppiness of this tiny perfect little boy. I watched him as he opened his eyes - still not crying and willed him to yell. The midwife quickly clamped and cut the cord, vigorously rubbing him and he coughed - mucus streaming from his mouth and nose. But still no cry. We rubbed some more and then he squeaked, a tiny little mouse squeak. Not enough to perfuse his veins and stop my heart hammering in my throat.

"Oxygen?" Queried the backup midwife who'd come in...

"Yep" concurred the primary midwife as she quickly briefed the parents and picked up the little blue baby from his mother's arms. And at that second, separated from his mothers arms, the little boy decided to yell. A good yell. A "put me back in my Mummy's arms this instant" scream. And so we did. And there he stayed for over an hour except for a quick weigh and measure. And watching this perfect new family with my blood pressure slowly returning to normal, it was all I could do not to cry or to smile. I was part of that, I helped in that, I was there for that. The first person to see the face of a new little person on this Earth. Born beautifully and powerfully and dramatically.

And suddenly all my own issues were bundled up into something small and manageable again. I looked at them, looked at my own hurt, and thought about the fact that it was insignificant in the scheme of things. That all that mattered was still finding beauty in things. Of seeing the precariousness of birth and realising that my own fragility is self made.

So to Jai, whose birthday it was today, welcome to the world little man. May you grow strong and tall and healthy and give your parents always the love that they shared this afternoon. And thank you for pulling me out of my slump. For making me see the bigger picture and gifting me perspective.

And to Peter, I'm sorry. I hope sometime you can talk to me again. I miss you.