There and Back Again: An Uncle’s Tale of Childbirth

The tears didn’t come for me until the moment I cut the cord: the moment that Liam Harper Kolker was first physically separated from his mother, and became his own contained little person, capable of breathing for himself and gathering nutrients from the world around him. Why did I cry then, in that moment? Liam’s journey from inside to outside began the night before, on October 15, 2012, at 11pm. I had flown down to San Diego from the Bay Area (on October 13) to be with Michelle and the family in the day leading up to Liam’s due date, both as a support and also in the hopes that labor would come while I was here, thus insuring my chances of being in the delivery room as a witness. As the due date came and went, the family pointed out that the only way to get Michelle to go into labor was for me to return to the Bay Area, where Murphey’s Law would indicate she would go into labor as soon as I boarded the plane and fastened my seatbelt. Sure enough, a mere 1.5 hours after I landed in Oakland, Michelle’s labor began. Adding to the uncertainty of that night was the fact that I had left my phone charger back in San Diego, and that my phone was on the verge of dying. I borrowed a friend’s phone for the night, and at 3:45am I was awakened by Michelle’s call, alerting me that contractions were 12 minutes apart, and that it was time to get my booty back on the plane to San Diego. At that point I had been back in Oakland for 5.25 hours, which felt like long enough. I booked a 6am flight, called a taxi, and stumbled toward the airport with 3 hours sleep and my phone about to die. Luckily I was able to purchase a charger at the airport, which also means I now own three phone chargers. As a side note, I like to think about how the circumstances surrounding pregnancy and birth facilitate connection with strangers. On my journey back home I told numerous people about my sister being in labor and my plan to watch. My favorite response was from a security guard who had just patted me down. After I told him I would be in the delivery room he smiled and said, "Dude, I don’t know about that." After a brief fog delay my plane departed at 6:50am, the time I would normally wake up to go to work. I arrived in San Diego at 8:15am, was picked up my mom, and we then headed to Michelle’s. We walked in the door at 9:30am and chatted with Barbara, her doula, about how things were going. At that point she (Michelle, not the doula) was 6cm dilated, had been in labor for 10.5 hours, and was wanting to stay at home as long as possible, both because a) being at home is more comfortable than the hospital and allows more freedoms, like eating, and b) Michelle wanted to try giving birth without an epidural, and knew at the hospital she would likely accept one. As we sat downstairs I asked Barbara some questions about her 900 births she had attended. She told me stories like the time she gave birth to her own child in a car in Germany, then was dropped out of the wheelchair by a small German nurse. We also discussed the differences between midwife philosophy and hospital philosophy, which was fresh in my mind from having just read a book called Midwives by a famous midwife named Ina May. When we arrived at the hospital I got to see some of these differences in action. Once Michelle was 8cm dilated and in a lot of pain, her and Barbara decided it was time to head for the hospital. We loaded up our car, with Michelle reclining in the backseat like it was Passover (the difference being that instead of the seder, she was moaning over the pains of childbirth). She requested the radio be turned on to 93.3FM, a hip-hop station I used to listen to in 7th grade. I was vastly amused that we were listening to pop hip-hop songs as she went into painful contractions. I guess it just wasn’t what I imagined when I went to sleep last night. Michelle was understandably impatient for us to get to the hospital at that point, so she began what I call "backseat labor driving," which means that had we actually listened to her advice, we surely would have caused a 5 car pile-up on the freeway. My personal favorite moment of the drive was when we were the second car in line at a red light, right near the hospital. Michelle screamed from the backseat, "You’ve got to me fucking kidding me, this guy’s stopped here for like 18 minutes, go the fuck around him!" To which Matt and I gently replied, "It’s a red light." To her credit, Michelle said she thought it was a stop sign, and acknowledged running the light and speeding around him would not have been a good move. At Mary Birch Hospital I parked the car while Matt and Michelle went to "triage," where Michelle was first checked to be admitted into her own delivery room. When I finally was allowed into the room with Barbara, it was about 1pm and it was probably the low point for Michelle’s delivery. She had just been checked by the nurse and informed her cervix was 6 cm dilated, instead of 8cm, which was a blow to her expectations of how far along she was progressing and how long until she was would deliver Liam. Interestingly, cervix dilation is very subjective; instead of being measured with a small ruler, as I had imagined, nurses/doctors/midwives learn to measure with their own two fingers. Thus the 8 vs. 6cm difference could have been because Barbara measured her at 8 and the nurse Sheila measured her at 6. It could also be that Michelle felt more comfortable at home versus the hospital, which can also reverse your dilation progress. At that point Michelle decided it was time for an epidural. Unfortunately for Michelle you first need to set-up at I.V. Looking back it's almost comical that it took the nurses/doctors 5 times of sticking her to actually find her vein. It's hard to blame them since she was in the midst of contractions and sitting on a bouncy ball while they were trying to find the vein. Eventually the anesthesiologist himself came in, found the vein, and administered the epidural. Matt and I had to leave the room for this part, and when we returned, it was like night and day (literally, because Michelle had requested we turn down the fluorescent lights and close the curtains to make for a darker, more peaceful delivery room). Whereas before Michelle had been in extreme pain, crying out that something was wrong with her body, that she couldn't do this, that things weren't going well, she was now laying down calmly, in minimal pain, and more assured things would be okay. Our body's natural response to pain is that something is wrong, which poses a unique challenge when it comes to childbirth; the pain is actually telling us something good (most of the time), that your body is moving your baby down the birth canal. Though there are certainly issues an epidural can bring up, it is certainly a blessing that women like Michelle can have the epidural as a tool to ease the pain of labor. As Michelle felt calmer we went around as a group of 4 (Michelle, Matt, Barbara and I) and said hopes we had for Liam, for their family, and for the actual labor. One hope I said was that Liam would bring something unique and different to their family. Another obvious one that was spoken was that he would be born vaginally, and be Michelle's 2nd VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean.) Which reminds me, by the way, that in some hospitals they don't even allow VBAC's due to malpractice or health concerns. In the Cole family tradition we must give credit where credit is due, to Michelle for not taking the easy way out and having not one but two vaginal births after her first cesarean. And even more, that she took the birth experience into her own hands after being disempowered in some ways during her first birth experience. From writing affirmations to watching birth videos to hiring doulas, Michelle empowered herself and created the birth experience she wanted for herself and her children. Though it was often just the four of us in the delivery room, much of our family was there in spirit. We listened to Beirut, a band Adam had introduced to Matt and Michelle. We listened to the Beatles, our dad’s favorite band. Mom sat with us for a while at one point, and we consistently sent updates to our community of family and friends. We knew his first name would be Liam (a tribute to his late great-grandfather Len), but he didn't yet have a middle name, just the first initial "H," which would be to honor Hubert, his other late great-grandfather. Matt jokingly offered the name "Horatio." I then thought of one of my preschool children named "Harper," a name I have always liked. I suggested it, and everyone there decided it felt right. Thus Liam Harper Kolker's full name came into being. We then researched what his various names meant. Liam is of both Hebrew and Irish/Gaelic decent. In Hebrew it means "my people," and in Irish/Gaelic it literally means "helmet of will." We found this funny because Matt and Michelle had both said they hoped for a calm, laid-back third child. We'll see if he is as strong-willed as his name would imply. Harper means entertainer, as well as a news-bringer or historian. At 4:45pm Dr. Riley came in to check Michelle, and she was told she was fully dilated, and all that remained was for the baby to descend more (which had been an issue in her first two labors, and was still a matter of concern for Michelle). 10 minutes later Michelle told us she felt ready to push. We told the nurse, who called the doctor, who said she could start pushing! This was the revelatory moment of my day, month, and perhaps my life. As she began to push the baby's head became visible. At first I simply couldn't process what I was seeing (this is also because I thought it looked like a fish, which makes sense because we evolved from fish). After about 5 minutes of pushing and making slight progress with the head, Dr. Riley came in and performed an episiotomy to make more room for the baby's exit. Another 5 minutes of pushing and the head was out. We were all in slight disbelief when he said, "Who wants to catch the baby?" Not knowing Matt's aversion to blood, Dr. Riley brought Matt's hands toward the emerging Liam, which prompted Matt to nearly pass out from the sight of the blood. As Matt recovered on the floor nearby, assisted by midwife Barbara (whose job, as she reminded us, is to watch out for the whole family, not just the mother), Michelle pulled her own son Liam out of her vagina, assisted by the doctors and nurse. I have seen some beautiful moments, but this is easily the most beautiful: watching Michelle sob as she pulled Liam out of herself, and held him to her own skin, easing his transition into this world. The relief, exhaustion, and love in those sobs is a warmth and memory I will always carry with me. And the memory of mother embracing child, moments after his emergence into the world, will forever be my image of pure love. With Matt on the sidelines the coach (doctor) gave me the go-ahead to cut the cord. I was excited and nervous, and in that moment before my scissors created that first physical rift between mother and child, my eyes brimmed over with tears. Why did I cry? I know now why I cried. I cried for myself, once as small, helpless and innocent as baby Liam. I cried for Michelle, who had undergone the ultimate labor of love for the 3rd time, and brought yet another healthy Kolker boy into the world. I cried for Liam, now his own person, with all the joys and sorrows that will bring. And I cried for life, that it could be so beautiful, so simple, so simultaneously painful and joyful. My tears were the same tears as the birth water that carried baby Liam into this world. Tears of pain, and also tears of healing. I want to thank Michelle and Matt for trusting me enough to share this experience with them. I want to thank Barbara for being a tireless advocate for Michelle and Matt throughout the labor. And I want to thank all mothers out there, for without them there would be no us. We have to pass through them to become ourselves. It was an unbelievable blessing to witness Liam's entry into the world, and I am eternally grateful to be able to say to him, "I was there when you arrived." May joy follow you wherever you go. Love, Ryan