Child Birth

So, as I’ve said, I’ve embarked on this pregnancy experiment to try and understand, at least a little, what women go through. My intentions are pure and I’ve approached this experience humbly. And, the more I think of it, perhaps also with a small feeling of guilt and desire to redeem myself. I’ll explain why.

Four years ago, with the hour closing in on midnight, my wife, Michele, and I found ourselves nervously, yet excitedly, heading for the hospital and the momentous milestone of parenthood. After a thorough check-up, though, parenthood for us wasn’t to be that night. Instead, Michele got a hospital bed and I got a bedside chair with a table for a pillow. After a breakfast of pre-packaged pastries and other hospital snack foods — and still no baby in sight — we agreed to an inducement.

My wife was instructed to sit on the side of the bed and lean over so the anesthesiologist could more easily insert the epidural needle. My grandiose job was to hold my wife’s hands during this procedure.

Standing there as still as I could, watching them prepare the needle, I noticed a funny sensation in my legs. Sort of a tingling. Hmmm. I’ve never felt that before. I began to step away as the feeling climbed to my head and an attentive nurse noticed and instructed me to get down on the floor. I would have obediently listened to her on my own, except I really had no choice and hit the floor like a sack of flour. All 6 ft. 2 inches of me. I had passed out. That was a “first” for me, but not exactly the one I had come to the hospital to experience.

I awoke moments later amidst a lot of commotion. I heard the urgent appeal of a nurse call out: “We’ve got a daddy down!” Before I knew it, three nurses assaulted me with orange juice, cookies, and fresh air from a paper fan. My wife was still on the edge of the bed, bewildered, and alone with just the anesthesiologist, as I had siphoned off the rest of the support staff.

On with the show seemed to be the sentiment. So the nurses began trying to help me up. Not wanting to repeat that performance, I resisted. But eventually, I felt better and more confident. I got up and was able to appreciate the rest of the childbirth experience — and our beautiful new daughter, Erin — as a typical new parent would.

Everyone was happy and healthy — except, apparently, my ego. I had fainted! I almost felt better about it after a trip to the cafeteria, where I recounted my harrowing tale to the counter worker. “Oh, don’t worry, “ he said, “That happens all the time.” Boy, I felt relieved. I’m normal. I didn’t chicken out on my wife. It happens all the time!

The relief inspired a new confidence. “Really?” I ventured. “How often?”

“Twice already this month!” he said encouragingly. The depth charge went off. My heart sank. It was already November 23rd. The hospital handles hundreds of births every month. Being one of just three dads who fainted didn’t make me feel any better.

But I lived with it. In fact, for the next two years, it was a story Michele and I would retell as an integral part of “When Erin was born.” And Michele graciously defended my honor with such explanations for my part in the story as, “He didn’t really get much sleep the night before… He slept on a table… He didn’t have much to eat… It was just one of those things…”

So, now fast forward to two years later. We’re in the hospital again — this time for our son. I joked with the anesthesiologist about my last experience. He apparently took it more seriously than I and sat me in a chair — this time with no responsibilities.

But even with me out of the way and his normal support team focused on his needs, not mine, he was having a bit of trouble. In fact, he was now on his second needle and desperately trying to find the right spot. Looking around the room, I realized I couldn’t read the very large clock on the wall, even though it wasn’t far away from me. Then everything started getting blurry on me. I think: I can’t believe this is happening to me — again! This time, I got plenty of sleep. I ate well. Something about this situation is causing me to check out.

I tightly grip my chair, anticipating my impending unconsciousness — and frantically trying to fend it off with happy visions of my daughter, Erin, now three, and all the goofy things we do together. It works! I feel myself returning to clarity, rejoining the scene in that delivery room. Narrowly escaping another horribly embarrassing episode.

Until a nurse, who notices my ghost-white face and profuse sweating, asks me, “Are you alright?” Suddenly everyone in the room was focused on me. Including my now fuming wife who was thinking unbelievingly, “You’ve got to be f' ing kidding me! What is wrong with him?”

Good job, Kevin. Another perfect assist. You were there for Michele in her hour of need and made the experience much smoother for her. Not.

So, therein lies that tinge of guilt. And perhaps partly why I’m so curious about the part of pregnancy that evidently affects me like krypton affects Superman. But whether I emerge on Mother’s Day from a catharsis, or simply with a little more insight into the new mom experience, I will be wiser, if not able to stand on my own two feet in the delivery room.

High School Kids getting in the Spirit

A colleague forwarded me this article about 19 high school kids recently getting into the spirit of trying to understand motherhood. I identify with their journal entries.

After 1 Week

It's only been a little over a week since I started wearing the pregnancy suit, but it feels longer. I've been wearing it everyday in the privacy of my home, hotel room, or at the office among a close-knit group of colleagues. The off and on nature of this experiment is only one of the many ways that this experience does not compare to what an expectant woman feels by having to live through it nonstop without respite. While I get to take breaks during my public outings, I can only imagine what a true pregnant woman must feel — that there is no way out. After just a fraction of that 24/7 experience, I am beginning to tire of this project. However, my commitment to wearing the pregnancy suit through Mother's Day is unshaken.

The 33 pounds of belly have really cut into my ability to sleep. I wake in the morning in a less than chipper mood. I am keenly aware of this and try not to let it affect my interaction with others. But lack of sleep and the weight gain is significant. During day hours, my back feels strong and flexible. But at night, the weight pulling at new angles creates serious stiffness and discomfort.

I have started to add to the experience in a small way by drinking a large glass of water right before I go to sleep each night. The result of this is obvious: I must get up in the middle of the night to visit the bathroom – the bladder pouch makes staying in bed and toughing it out a non-option.

For another man's thoughts, here's an article in BabyTalk magazine about a father's experience wearing a pregnancy suit, also known as the empathy belly.