SHAHED I. NOYON

It’s 107, a little after midnight, October the 7th at UPMC Harrisburg Hospital, Pennsylvania. My daughter is just born. We named her Alina, meaning light or truth. She was supposed to be born a week and a half later. So what happened?

Three and a half hours earlier…

The night of October the 6th, was as usual at home- some cooking, dinner, and preparation for bed. Around 930 pm, Salma’s body conditions strongly suggested that it was time to go to the hospital, so we heeded.

At 1104, we were admitted to UPMC Harrisburg. Nurses came and gone and did what they were supposed to do and each asked a series of the same questions, “any allergies? any medications? depressions?” and some casual questions, “boy or girl? picked a name yet?” etc. At one point, I started going, “no allergies, no medications except prenatal,” and more as my wife tried to cope with the labor. Why do everyone asks the same questions repeatedly? I understand for the first person to asks as many as needed but the following ones should just follow up with the first nurse who had all the answers entered into the computer. What they have is a patient in labor on an hospital bed after all, not checking in at a resort. Then came the doctor and repeated the same questions.

At 1136, midwife came and checked. She announced, “baby will be born today!” With that things started getting ready for the operating room. She assured us that we had made the right decision and came to the hospital. We agreed.

At 1155, the doctor came again and repeated that we’re having the baby tonight, maybe within 20-40 minutes. We soon left the temporary holding room for the operating room.

At 1236 midnight, October the 7th, I dressed up and was waiting in the recovery room. Anytime now I’d be called to the operating room. It was the exact same recovery room where we were when our son was born.

I stopped recording the time at this point and just anxiously waited. It would be around 1245, a nurse came and said, “Dady, C’mon.” I followed her to the operating room. It was the exact same operating room where our son was born. So the ambience was familiar- a white clock on the wall proudly showing the time on the left, a bassinet with a heating lamp ready to accept and warm the baby on the right, a few machines on the other side, an operating bed in the middle of the room with flood lights hanging from the ceiling and showing the way to the doctors ready with knives, and on that bed Salma laid motionless. A blue curtain was drawn vertically over her body to block the view. I entered the room and sat by her side. There were 7-8 people in the room each with a specific job, except me with no active role in the task being carried out.

My only purpose being in the operating was not because the baby can get stolen but to provide emotional support to my wife, a task I’m never good at, so I mostly watched, just like a silent spectator at a ball game, no cheering or drinking, just watching.

I saw number of electrodes placed on her and connected to the machines showing her vitals, one or two IV was running delivering nutrients and fluids to her body, and tubes inserted into her nostrils to deliver precious oxygen. A nurse was in charge for all of that.

As I sat there, I heard a lot of hissing sound, suggesting fluid is being sucked out as doctors cut through the body on their way to the baby. Besides operating, doctors and nurses were talking amongst themselves about wide range of topics none of which were related to the task at hands as if a group of people driving down a familiar road and talking about their lives, politics, girls, etc. No one is talking about the driving or the car or the road. For them it was like that, for us it was different.

I waited and waited and it seemed it was taking longer this time. It could be that I entered the room earlier or time itself slowed down on me. The nurse monitoring her vitals on the computer screens and responding to alarms time to time poked over the curtain a few times and provided updates to us like “almost done mama, you’re doing great!” I didn’t dare to poke over, it was too halloween for me. I get nervous seeing body cuts or human blood. Glad I’m not a doctor.

And then I heard the baby cry for the very first time and a nurse called the time 107. I looked at the clock on the wall. Another nurse said, “oh! a lot of hair.” “Mama, it’s a little one!” shouted the other. “Well, that’s not surprising. We’re average sized couple. We didn’t expect a giant baby,” I said to myself.

What followed was exactly the same procedures as last time- wiping the baby dry, weighing the baby, measuring the height, checking the vitals, and so on. We then spent a few hours in the recovery room where the procedural things continued including a lot of data entry into the computer. Again, I just watched as my wife rested on the bed and the nurse followed her duties in an uncomfortably cold recovery room.

We were transferred to maternity room and spent two additional nights there before we were discharged and cleared to go home.

I believe every man should go through a childbirth experience when an opportunity comes. Only then will he understand the true power of a woman’s body and the consequences that come with it.