****
“Alright, so are you ready for me to brief this approach?” I ask the Captain as we prepare for the last landing of the night. The stars and moon shine brightly over the somewhat barren landscape of the mountain west. Pockets of lights illuminate the sparsely populated towns but grow in number as we approach the larger metropolitan area where our runway will be.
“Sure, and remember, mountains.” He says and laughs.
The joke, probably not as funny when you aren’t tired, makes me laugh along with him. “Yeah, I get it, I’ll try to miss as many as I can.” A small line of text flashes at the bottom of our flight computer. “Hang, on, looks like we have new weather coming up which is weird because it isn’t due out for another 30 minutes. Runway change maybe?” I pull up the message and have to read it several times. Its contents, only capable of displaying capital letters, appear to be yelling at me.
SCHEDULING REQUESTS FO BOYES CONTACT SCHEDULING UPON ARRIVAL. ACKNOWLEDGE THIS MESSAGE.
My heart races. Months prior, I had given Nicole the emergency hotline number for scheduling. “If something happens or you go into labor early,” I said that night before leaving on a trip, “you call this number, tell them you are going to the hospital and that I need to come home immediately.”
I look up at the Captain who has just finished reading the message as well. This is Day 3 with him and we covered family pleasantries as a subject days ago. His eyes are wide and his teeth shine white behind his smile in the moonlit cockpit. “Do you think...?”
When we pull into the gate, I immediately turn on my phone which is met with a never-ending buzz and ding of messages coming through. My worst fear has been realized. Nicole has gone into labor and I’m in the middle of nowhere on the last flight of the night. I don’t know what to do. On the verge of tears and panic, I call scheduling who releases me from the trip. Not only can I not leave tonight, the first opportunity to get home won’t be until tomorrow afternoon.
I am devastated.
Just before I start tapping my phone to call the hotel van, it becomes impossible to turn on. I can’t see the screen anymore through the...tears? I think they are tears. And then it bursts into flames. I immediately throw it to the ground and watch as it turns into a cat and walks away. “What the...” I ask to myself as I am whisked away from the airport and into an absolute darkness.
I feel the familiar touch of my pillow against my cheek. I remember that it was just last night we were with friends watching the Cardinals in the NLCS and eating pizza. I remember that Nicole is getting induced in two days and that our friends had told us we should do one last nice dinner together before our lives are changed forever. I remember Nicole thinking that was a great idea and I remember going to bed that night knowing I wasn’t going to work again until months later.
When I open my eyes, I see my clock on the nightstand. It reads 06:25. I take a deep breath and let out an incredible sigh of relief. My worst nightmare, I muse to myself, was literally a nightmare.
“Are you awake?” Nicole asks to my back.
“Thankfully,” I reply as I roll over. She has to hear this story. It’s so fu...
She interrupts my thoughts. “I’ve been having contractions since 2 AM.”
One layer of disorientation immediately transforms into another. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you wake me up? How far apart are they? Do they hurt?” Dumb question. I know. Of course they hurt. What I meant to ask was, have they gotten stronger. I have prided myself in doing a lot of reading on the subject of childbirth and know that as labor progresses, they get more intense. Of course, she doesn’t know that’s what I was asking and gives me a look that makes me want to take back not just that but everything I’ve said for two days.
“Well, they don’t tickle! I feel so bad because now we aren’t going to be able to do that nice dinner tonight,” Nicole says to me as she rolls onto her back and picks up her phone. I remember that a few days prior, I had her download on an app for her phone so she could track her contractions. She writhes in pain. It’s one thing to hear that the love of your life is having contractions. It’s a thing that I assume happens before giving birth and that I’ve only seen on TV. It’s an entirely other thing to watch her experience one. My heart jumps into my throat and I lay there, frozen, unsure of what to say or do. So I just watch. And watch. And watch. Sweet Jesus how long do these things last again?
She picks up her phone once more and then looks at me, weary. I resist the urge to ask if that’s a contraction so as to avoid having to take back another several days worth of words. “How far apart I ask,” trying to sound as calm as possible.
“Nine minutes,” she answers and then adds, “Chris, they hurt so much.” I reach back into the recesses of my memories to remember what was said during our birthing class. 5-1-1. Yeah, five minutes apart, 1 minute long, for an hour. And then to a story the nurse told about going and playing cards when she was starting labor. It helped, she had said, to take her mind off the pain.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask.
And in the most loving way tells me, “What were you going to do at 2 AM? At least one of us should be rested for today in case decisions have to be made.” I love this woman so much.
I spring into action. “Okay, how about this plan? How about you go take a nice hot shower, I’ll go right after you, and then if they haven’t gotten worse, why don’t we go out to breakfast in the direction of the hospital so at least we are close,” I proposed. Nicole had made it very clear that she did not want to be dirty going into the hospital and she didn’t want a smelly husband. So that was first. Second was to do something to take her mind off of it. If she is only at nine minutes, they definitely wouldn’t admit her yet.
”Alright,” she says as she rolls out of bed and walks into the bathroom. A minute later, she yells for me to start her timer on her phone. When I open the app, I see the time between the one she is having at present and the one she had in bed were only 4 minutes apart. Oh shit. It ends. Nicole steps into the shower and I start pacing. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
“Chris! Again!” She yells from the shower. Did I really just pace and do nothing for 4 minutes? Oh shit, is that only 4 minutes again?! I run through a checklist in my head the things that we still need to take care of before she goes. I pack a bag for myself with probably too much underwear and not enough shorts. Nicole had packed her “Go Bag” weeks ago so I grab it and put it by the stairs next to mine. Several more times, she has contractions spaced by 4 minutes before eventually, and painfully, walking out of the shower. “Your turn,” she says.
I’m not arguing with her today even though in my mind, I’m screaming DO WE EVEN HAVE TIME!! Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I run into the shower and break the land speed record for fastest shower. By the time I get out, she has had another contraction laying on the bed but laying down seems to make her feel better. And it’s already been 5 minutes since her last one. They are spacing back out again. Nicole gets out of bed and walks down to the living room to turn on the TV. At least, if she is going to be in pain, she can use the TV to distract her a little.
It goes without saying that we aren’t going to breakfast. I carry the bag to the first floor before pulling out the card from the hospital. I dial the Maternity Center to talk to a nurse who quickly and friendly answers the phone. Her demeanor calms me. It is then that I notice my hands are clammy and shaking. After a deep breath, I explain the morning to her.
“Alright, well, it sounds like she is doing great! You tell her that. Tell her she’s doing great. The rapid increase in frequency is very common if this is the first time she’s gotten up. Have her lay down for a little and get her something to eat. They will space back out again if you just have her relax. When they are less than 4 minutes apart for an hour, you guys come on in and we’ll have a room for you!” The nurse explains as Nicole finishes another contraction.
Jesus Christ. I stand in the living room where Nicole has just finished writhing in pain on the couch and speak as softly as I can. “Hun. I just called the hospital. They want you to eat and wait until they are 4 minutes apart for an hour. Can I get you something to eat?”
“Just a granola bar.”
“No, you aren’t eating a granola bar. I’m going to make you eggs. What kind do you want?” She doesn’t fight me on it and puts in her order. I run into the kitchen to make her breakfast, heart racing. I don’t think I’ve ever made breakfast on adrenaline before. Note to readers: I do not recommend making breakfast on adrenaline. I run into the living room with her breakfast while running back into the kitchen to make mine. She hasn’t had a contraction in 8 minutes. The nurse was right. Also, this is going to be a long day.
I put my egg on an English Muffin and hear her having a contraction. Shit, coffee. I rush to make a pot of coffee and before it’s finished brewing, she has another. When I walk back into the room to check on her this time, she is in what can only be described as indescribable pain. Again, remembering back to the nurse in the birthing class, I put my hands on her lower back and try to give her a massage to help with the pain. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Nicole grunts through the contraction. Constructively taken, I go back to just being helpless.
Once the contraction ends, she sits back up to finish her breakfast. I run back into the kitchen where I scarf down my meal and wash dishes. Then back into the living room to put socks and shoes on and to check on Nicole. I sit on the chair right as she was finishing another particularly strong contraction. Reaching down to put on my first sock, I pull so hard the entire sock shreds in half before it gets completely on my foot. I need to calm down. Two deep breaths and some teasing from Nicole before I retrieve another pair of socks.
With the SUV packed, gassed up and moved to the side of the house, I once again walk back into the room mid-contraction. She has apparently stopped watching TV and is in so much pain she can’t lay still. She writhes and rocks from her back to her side through the duration of the contraction. That’s enough. “Okay, let’s go to the hospital. The worst they can do is make us wait a little while but at least we’ll be close.” I help Nicole off the couch and into the car. On the 25 minute drive to the hospital, I figure she should have at least 4 contractions. She only has two. We both really hope this isn’t going to be a wasted trip.
“Okay, I’ll drop you off out front and go park the car.” I tell Nicole as we pull into the hospital.
“No, I don’t want that. We can walk.” She objects. I put my foot down once today. If she wants to walk, she can walk. Of course, she has another contraction walking into the hospital but like the All-Star she is, takes it like a 60 second punch to the gut then, as if nothing had happened, continues walking into the hospital.
Still unsure if they will even admit her, we walk into the Maternity Welcome Center where the nurse smiles and greets us. Once she takes down Nicole’s information, we are escorted to a back examination room where Nicole is, well, examined.
“I started having contractions early this morning but they have been pretty randomly spaced out for much of the morning.” Nicole explains to the nurse.
“Yeah, I remember your husband telling me on the phone this morning. Well, you are 4 centimeters dilated and 80% effaced. That’s good!” She turns to her computer screen, clicks a few times, then looks at Nicole and says, “Looks like someone is going to have a Birthday today!” I don’t know if it’s from the stress of the morning or the excitement to meet our little baby, but both of us turn to blubbering messes.
“Do you know the sex?” She asks us while dialing a number on her phone. We don’t. “Well, you are going to find out soon....yes, this is Bridget in the Maternity Welcome Center....yes, we have someone here who is ready to meet their baby!”
****
For rest of the morning and afternoon, Nicole labored sitting on a birthing ball. Every 6-7 minutes, I watched as she suffered in a pain she would later describe as being the worst thing she’s ever felt in her life. The ball, she said, was the only thing she tried that made it less bad. After she ate her lunch, she suggested I go down to the cafeteria and have a big meal. I agreed. I figured (or was it hoped) things would be getting serious around dinner time. When I returned, she had been moved to her bed.
The baby’s heart rate was acting funny with her on the ball so they moved her to the bed and gave her petosin to get the labor moving a little bit. At that point, Nicole, the trooper that she is, after 14 hours of contractions, ordered an epidural. Minutes after the anesthesiologist walked out of the room, Nicole was asleep in the bed where she didn’t move for the next hour. Hooked up to the monitor, I watched the machine tell me she was having a particularly aggressive contraction. And still she slept.
Between her naps, we both watched Game 2 of the NLCS. And once the game was over, we turned on HGTV. How funny would it be, we both quipped, if we saw our episode in the hospital right before our child was born?
****
“That would be funny,” I laugh as I pull out my phone. It’s approaching 6pm in the evening and aside from the occasional nurse coming in to check on us, it’s been quiet. In what can only be described as the literal opposite of 10 hours prior, with Nicole laying on the couch in incredible pain and me running around the house trying to get us out the door, Nicole is laying in the bed laughing at something a House Hunter was saying on TV and I am laying on the couch trying to find out if they will play our episode today.
“Shoot. I don’t see it. I don’t think they will,” I admit just as the nurse comes bursting in the door. From my comfortable position on the couch, I sit up slowly to see what this commotion is all about. She runs up to the machine monitoring the baby. It’s then that I notice the heart rate has dropped VERY low.
“Roll onto your back. There’s something wrong.” She says, in a near panic. The nurse reaches behind Nicole and places an oxygen mask on her face. I leap to my feet to get the tray table out of the way as the nurse makes her way to the side of the bed I’m siting on. I look at Nicole who looks at me with panic in her eyes, physically unable to talk.
“What’s going on?” I ask the nurse.
“The baby’s heart rate has dropped dangerously low,” she says without looking up or stopping what she is doing. “I’ve called the doctor and she is on her way. I want to break the bag but the doctor wants to be here. I just wish she would let me break the bag.”
My head is spinning. Nicole looks to be panicking. Just 30 seconds ago, we were both laughing. And now...honestly, I have no idea what or where now is. “What happened?”
“I TOLD YOU! The baby’s heart rate dropped!” The nurse said and then stormed out of the room.
To Be Continued
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