Labor and Delivery

Labor and Delivery

Searching for passports, birth certificates, wedding license…

               Frustrated on the short road to frantic.

Found them in an old valise with other valuables

               Now safely inventoried, distributed, stored.

Then, a treasure…my labor coach notes from the birth of each son

               On curled and stained paper titled “From the Church office.”

Steve, 1:30 a.m., January 3^rd, 1985: First contraction

               2:05, Bloody show (hey, I took notes during Lamaze class)

               2:13, Water dripping

               2:16, Bloody stool

Twenty second contractions every four minutes until 3:13

               Steve has been in a hurry ever since

               Then a change in handwriting—what in the world was I doing?

               Right, I was getting the car and calling the hospital

               We’d had a false alarm once—this time we were going to be sure

In the hospital 3:45, contractions up to forty seconds

               No screams—just that tightly concentrated jaw

               A walk at 4:33; vomit at 5:04

               Still every four minutes but now 60 seconds in duration

               Not much rest time in between

Vomit at 6:25 on the way to the delivery room and

               By 7:10 a.m. Stephan George Hennigs, Esq., was hollering for help.

               Doctor lived on the other side of Storm Lake

               Barely made it to catch the little guy on the way into the world.

And she smiled with such joy, relief, triumph and hope.

Twenty-five months and we were at it again.

               A little leakage at 8:30 a.m.

               Doctor didn’t want a late night call.

               Let’s get started he said,

               We didn’t argue—what did we know.

By 10:05 HUGE contractions every four minutes

               Who knew we were in for eight hours of this

               No screams, no complaints—just determination

               And love.

A walk at 11:04 and at 11:47.

               Big bangers now

               Squeezed my arm until the blood dripped

               (from me)

               Every four minutes, forty seconds long, like a piston thumping away

Shoulders shaking from the effort

               Eyes dripping tears from the pain

               By 1 p.m. contractions were up to 90 seconds

               I got headaches just waiting for them to end

               An hour later we couldn’t tell when one ended and the next one started

She looked at me and said, “This is your fault, you know.”

               I was in no position to debate at the moment.

               2:20 panting

               3:09 over two minutes twice in a row

               And again at 3:20 and 3:36

And at 4 p.m. on the dot, February 6, 1987

               Gregory James Hennigs, Esq., was hollering for help.

               Same doctor still lived on the other side of Storm Lake

               Barely made it to catch the little guy on the way into the world.

And she smiled with such joy, relief, triumph and hope.

It was a night in the ICU

               In Lincoln, Nebraska, twenty three years later

               I saw that face on her face

               Of determination and power

               Eyes dripping with pain

               Jaw clenched in battle

And the two hospital rooms merged for a moment

               It was labor and delivery all over

               From one life to the next

               From pain to relief

               From fear to hope

Welcome to the New Life, my beloved.

It was my honor to be at all your births.

This Helped Before

When my wife, Anne, was dying in the intensive care unit, I wrote about the experience on carepages.com.  That was so helpful and healing for me (and for all of us) that I have looked for a way to continue that writing in this new chapter called "Widower 101."  I think this is as close as I can get to that prior experience.

A few things I know to start:
--I'm too pigheaded and opinionated to benefit much from electronic advice of a theological, psychological or "encouragement" bent.  Writing helps me process, but it isn't really a request for information.
--When I do need information or help, I'm pretty good at asking for it.
--This experience isn't "like" anything I've ever experienced.  Nor is it "like" anything you've ever experienced.  But I'm interested in what other widows and widowers have to say, because that's as close as anyone will get to what's happening to me.
--This is not to say that you shouldn't respond.  Feedback is one of the things I crave.  I suddenly have lost my primary dialogue partner, and that loss feels like starving to death a little at a time.  So help me process.  I need Anne, not answers--and that won't happen.  So your honest reflections will be the next best thing for now.

So, here I am this morning.  I re-arranged my bedroom to make more room because I don't need to access the bed from two sides.  Being one isn't the same as dividing two in half.  Thus the title of my blog.