| Mum Said/Dad Said: Dads in the labour ward |
| Written by Jayne Kearney and Chris Howe | ||||||||||||||||||||
| Wednesday, 02 June 2010 14:32 | ||||||||||||||||||||
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With cigar in hand and a frazzled look in his eye, Ye Olde-Worlde Dad was usually seen pacing the hospital corridor awaiting the announcement of his child’s birth. How things have changed. Today’s dads are de rigeur in the modern labour ward. But is ‘Dad as Birthing Partner’ a non-negotiable part of the parenting package? Jayne Kearney and Chris Howe tell their (very different) stories.
MUM SAID... I don’t know when we decided that my husband’s presence at the birth of our children was optional. But somewhere between the pregnancy test and that first terrifying antenatal class, we struck out against modern parenting wisdom. Of course, most people were shocked when we told them he was not going to be a spectator. “Oh, it’s a beautiful miracle. He has to be there!” they declared en masse. But before long we felt the rumble of an underground swell of support. A friend furtively confided to my husband that he had been pressured into being present at his son’s birth. His wife needed an episiotomy and he admitted, with a rather haunted look in his eyes, that his defining memory of the experience is the sound of flesh being cut. I know it’s very un-PC to admit it but maybe some men are not equipped to deal with the nuts and bolts end of a pregnancy. And, in the same way, not every woman is of the ‘share-everything’ variety. In hushed tones, at least one midwife admitted that she thought we might be on to something. Especially when my very slow first labour sped up when Luke left the building. By the time my second labour rolled around I was taking no prisoners. I remember being 20 hours in and having just received a begged-for shot of pethidine. As I turned my head to the side of the bed in order to vomit elegantly into my hair, I spotted a pair of familiar shoes at the doorway. “If that’s my husband,” I said in my best imitation of Linda Blair in The Exorcist, “tell him to GET OUT.” The fact that another man in a white coat would soon place his hand inside my body to break my waters really didn’t matter - after all, I didn’t have to look him in the eye over breakfast for the rest of my life. Luke and I are definitely in the unfashionable minority and we would never suggest a retro conversion to days of yore when dads were relegated to the waiting room. But the word ‘choice’ comes to mind. Should being present at the birth be an option rather than an expectation? In the months after our kids were born Luke was occasionally made to feel as if he had somehow missed out on something. But I beg to differ. Although Luke first saw our kids as they were being weighed and checked he could not have been any more blown away had he seen them two minutes earlier, exiting my person. The look in his eyes merely confirmed the “Can you believe what we did?” awe which was spilling out of me.
DAD SAID... On hearing the wonderful news that my wife’s water had broken and my first child was to arrive imminently, I threw up. Now, it’s not like I wasn’t excited. I was. However, the impromptu ‘Chris is going to be a Dad’ drinks consumed the night before (which were still hovering around like unwelcome in-laws), did not mix well with said delight. So, on receiving the news - news I wasn’t really expecting to hear for another two weeks - my hangover recovery was interrupted with a pounding heart, a litre of adrenaline and, unfortunately, a churning stomach. Not perhaps the most inspiring start to what would be a little over fifty-six hours of labour. But one that was probably necessary to sort myself out; clear the decks, as it were, to prepare for the all-important job of being The-Dad-in-the-Birthing-Suite. Jas was due in September. I had joked that as September was footy finals season my wife couldn’t rely on me being available. My wife pointed out that as I supported the South Sydney Rabbitohs, a finals berth that year would be unlikely (same goes for any year, she was also fond of adding). The assumption was that I would have ample free time. My attendance, it seemed, was not only mandatory but unavoidable. But seriously, I suppose I had assumed, like any Dad these days, that I would be there. What I would actually be doing in the birthing suite may have been somewhat less clear. The midwives suggested that the main thing I had to do was simply to keep out of the way, but I reckon that a Dad’s job consists of just two other things: having your hand crushed in a vice and lying through your teeth. The hand crushed in a vice part is relatively self-explanatory: in the interests of sharing, your wife attempts to pass on what she’s feeling through touch. As a Dad it is your job to interpret these loving squeezes. A soft press for ‘I’m slightly apprehensive’, vice-like grip for ‘I’m getting nervous’ and a bone-crusher for ‘I think contractions are starting’. The compression gets more intense from there, but you won’t feel anything; that is until the blood flows back down your arm later that day. The ‘lying through your teeth’ part is most necessary during foetal monitoring. The two straps over your wife’s belly record the contractions: the higher the number, the stronger the contraction. But the straps often slip and strong contractions record low numbers. Never state this out loud. For any Dads-to-be out there, I’d practice saying the following, “Highest one yet, darling. It think the machine may have maxed out. Obviously, your contractions are the WORST in all medical history.” Was it fun? No. Was it horrifying? Well, yes. Seeing the love of your life scream blue murder from pain without being able to do anything is a nightmare. Was it, in the end, worth it to see my firstborn, born? Absolutely. Was it magical? Err, let’s not push it too far. For me, the magic faded around twelve hours in. I’m glad I was there though. A Rabbitoh’s Grand Final win would have been excellent, to be sure. And memorable, yes. And probably more likely to be discussed in blow-by-blow details with mates over beers than the specifics of my wife’s labour, true. However, had I not been at the birth I would have missed that first moment of my daughter’s life. I wouldn’t have seen the tired, glowing smile my wife gave me after all her effort. Plus, I got to do the cool Dad stuff like the first bath. And, as rare as Grand Finals are, being present at your child’s birth only happens once. I wouldn’t have been anywhere else for quids.
What the experts say: FOR: If dad wants to be present, but isn’t sure that he’s up to the task alone, it may be time to call for reinforcements. If you feel you need more support, you might consider asking your own mother, a close friend or hiring a doula to provide assistance during labour. Professional birth attendants or doulas have proven results in reducing intervention rates in birth, including decreased rates for Caesareans and forceps use and increased statistics for shorter labours. AGAINST: “The ideal birth environment involves no men in general,” he said. Their presence at the birth produces adrenaline, according to Dr Odent. Adrenaline inhibits the production of oxytocin, a hormone vital for effective childbirth, and can extend the length and increase the pain of labour, or result in a Caesarean section. Some fathers are at risk of a widely unrecognised condition similar to post-natal depression as a result of witnessing the birth, and sexual attraction between a couple can disappear and lead to divorce. “The best environment I know for an easy birth is when there is nobody around the woman in labour apart from a silent, low-profile and experienced midwife” said Dr Odent. RESOURCES: Baby Belly.com "Supporting her in Labour"
“‘Do dads belong in the labour ward?’”
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Comments (5)
Heidi
said:
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... Oooh boy  I have to say that having my (then) husband present was THE. WORST. DECISION. I. EVER. MADE. Having him there just stressed me out. Until the pethedine kicked in, at which point he could have been a purple spotted polar bear and I would not have cared. So very glad my mum was there also to regularly usher him out "for a break" and to take over as support person. Here's a hint guys: we do not want a detailed description of what's going on at the business end, and certainly do not need to be told how gross it is *rolls eyes* My now hubby and I are trying for a baby and we have already agreed that he can be there if he wants BUT he will not go past my shoulder. Or he dies. Painfully. Either way I want my Mummy  |
LisaMaree
said:
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Do I look fat in this? With 2 emergency 'C' sections, the choice was taken out of our hands. My response to this Hip Hip Hooray! I am not convinced men in general are really equipped for what goes on in that room. Women instinctively know what to do when giving birth and really just need the help of that low-profile, experienced midwife. My husband still got to do all the first special things with our babies and in fact he saw them before I did so he had an amazing experience. Men cringe when faced with the question 'do I look fat in this?' what would possibly make them think they can do or say anything right in a birthing suite!! |
LisaMaree
said:
|
Do I look fat in this? With 2 emergency 'C' sections, the choice was taken out of our hands. My response to this Hip Hip Hooray! I am not convinced men in general are really equipped for what goes on in that room. Women instinctively know what to do when giving birth and really just need the help of that low-profile, experienced midwife. My husband still got to do all the first special things with our babies and in fact he saw them before I did so he had an amazing experience. Men cringe when faced with the question 'do I look fat in this?' what would possibly make them think they can do or say anything right in a birthing suite!! |
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