This was my weekly writing prompt from the workshop that I’m participating in at The Other Mother. The prompt was this:
Write about a birth–yours, your child’s, a puppy’s, a star’s–from the point of view of an observer. Be sure to use your senses….
Write for 12 minutes. Welcome to November, everyone!
I stood there behind the door of that unwelcoming delivery room. The walls so white, as if a blanket of snow were upon them. The floors so sterile, so bland. And I watched her. I saw the terrified, what have I gotten myself into, look in her eyes and I immediately became scared for her. I was petrified too on this evening. Tonight was my first night on the L&D rotation.
There were so many people, doctors, nurses, family members rushing about and there I stood, hiding, as if I were on the run and attempting to hide from the bad guys. The reality of it is, I was trying to hide. I was in way over my head and I didn’t know what to do, so I simply found a place to stay out of the way.
Although you could see the scared look in her deep brown eyes, she attempted to be upbeat. I could tell just by the way she laid there while her eyes darted around that she was an energetic girl. I say girl because she couldn’t be any older than 18 or so. Determining her age in my mind sent a wave of new thoughts coursing through my mind like “is she married to the man that is here with her? The one that is more interested in watching TV than focusing on her” or “How will the events of tonight affect the rest of her life?” It’s really none of my concern but I wondered and I took a brief moment to say a little prayer for her. Sometimes I think I get to close to the patients and I wonder if that’s going to elevated or stint my career.
She’s not a pain person, it’s obvious. They just inserted a needled the length of the Mississippi River into her arm and she cried out, screaming, asking them to stop. But once it was in, the smile returned to her glowing face and she began telling the nurses how it once took six doctors and her dad to hold her down to draw blood. “But I was only 6 at the time,” she said, with a smile on her face. The nurses all laughed. Yes, she had a way with people, but not with pain.
The nurses began to crowd around the fetal monitors and I could tell they were whispering. The patient at this point in time was on all fours, like a dog. I wondered if she was uncomfortable in that position, feeling embarrassed or vulnerable. She kept asking for food, as she was hungry. She laughed and joked with the people that accompanied her that the “nazi” wouldn’t feed her because they started their trek to the hospital. I wondered who that nazi was, if it was her mother or his, or perhaps a friend. The nazi apparently didn’t make the trip or stick around for the arrival of the life that she was about to bring into this world.
All of a sudden there were doctors in every square inch of that room. They seemed to have come out of nowhere and the head nurse, the bossy one who had no bedside manner what so ever, leaned down to tell her that she needed to start pushing. The pregnant woman looked at her and tried to be as calm as she could be when she replied, “but I don’t know what to do. How do I push? When do I push? I can’t feel anything.”
The epidural had kicked in, numbing her body and releasing her of her pain. A sign of relief came over me when I saw them administer it. She was such a strong girl until pain was involved. I wondered how this had affected her life?
It was then that I overheard Nurse McMeany (which I only named this because I couldn’t read the miniscule ID tags the hospital provided us all with) say to the doctor that she was having trouble finding the heat beat. My heart sank. This child, this life, must be okay. I began to sweat heavily although I’m sure if was because this was all new to me, coupled with the fact that this baby might not be okay.
How would she take it? Would she be heartbroken? Would she be relieved? I wondered why the nurses didn’t relay any of this information to her, but they just kept watching the monitors, barking when a contraction was arriving, and demanding that she push.
The baby. The slimy, greenish, blood covered baby was here. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Relief swept over the girl’s face when she was finally free of the 7lb 9oz human that had taken up residence within her over the last nine months.
There was blood all around, on the floors, on the sheets, everywhere. I knew that they would examine the baby and then move her to another room., one that was a little more homey and inviting.
They left her alone. Everyone, including those in her family were hovering over the new baby leaving her there to wonder what was going on. She was no longer important. She had done her job and now it was all about the baby.
And that was her first experience on how it felt to be a mother
Until next time…
Heather
PS. 
I am thankful for all of my experiences as a mother both good and bad. And I’m thankful for the intern who hid in the corner of that delivery room. He’ll probably never know that he was my focal point through much of the pushing.
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