you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
~Psalm 139
As Nathaniel approaches his first year in a month, I get teary with every tiny thing he does. Feeding him before bedtime, cradling him in my arms before I lay him in his crib, drinking in his curious babbling, resting next to him and the husband on our Queen-sized bed on Saturday mornings… I praise God for each and every one of these moments – as much as I anticipate many more moments to come.The day Nathaniel came into this world – last year, on Mother’s day, at 10:41 p.m. – is still so vivid to me. The scenes play like a movie in my mind…
I realized in retrospect that I had been experiencing contractions at least a week before Your arrival. I just didn’t know they were contractions. Sharp, shooting pain jabbing at my lower back. I simply thought that as I was approaching the fortieth week of pregnancy, You just really wanted to remind me that You were in there.
Saturday, the day before Your arrival, Lee and I went for a stroll in our neighbourhood. Lee had to take tiny steps because I was walking like a penguin. We saw a sign, “Open House,” on the lawn of one of the houses on our street. We jumped at the opportunity to stick our noses in someone else’s house, just to see what it looked like. When we left the house, the real estate agent wished us the best with the baby. When is the baby due, she asked. Any day now, we replied.
As we walked on the street, a dog jumped out of an SUV on one of the neighbour’s driveway. It started running toward me, barking loudly. Afraid of big dogs, my heart leapt, and at that moment, You kicked me real hard. That’s how connected we were, Nathaniel. You reacted to my fear.
In the evening, our College & Career small group met at our house to plan for programs for the next quarter. I volunteered to take the minutes. As I was writing, I told everyone that I would have the minutes typed out and sent to everyone during the week. A wise member of the group responded skeptically–and I, naively–said that I still had five days before the baby was due.
As I was writing the minutes, I felt that sharp, shooting pain in my back again. I winced, and I recall a member of the group saying to my belly, Don’t hurt your mommy, okay?
Late Saturday evening, before bed, Lee and I were in the bedroom. I was organizing the closet, or folding laundry or something. Suddenly, I came out of the closet, looked at Lee, and told him that I was feeling that sharp, shooting pain in the back again. Soon after, I returned to whatever chore I was tending to. I must have repeated this action two or three times, before Lee said to me, I think you’re in labour. I was skeptical. So Lee took out the five-dollar stopwatch he had bought at Wal-Mart weeks earlier for this precise moment, and said, Tell me when the pain stops. Now, I said. Then I tell him when the pain starts again. We did this several times. The pain was occurring consistently twelve minutes apart.
It’s amazing how much the psychological has to do with the pain you’re feeling. Because the moment I realized I was actually in labour, the sharp, shooting pain jabbing at my back felt even more acute (or maybe because I knew that, as I had learned from our prenatal class, that they were only going to intensify in time).
We turned off the lights and went to bed. I laid on my side, holding a pillow, squeezing it for dear life every time the contractions came. The pregnancy book said that if labour began at night, that the mother ought to try to get some shuteye beforehand because she was definitely going to need it for the actual labour. I would like to know what woman was ever able to sleep through contractions!
For hours, well into the morning, I was either squeezing the pillow or squeezing Lee. Needless to say, Lee didn’t get much sleep that night either. I smile at the irony now, but I recall Lee remarking that night, “At least when the baby comes, the disturbance won’t be every ten minutes!” (Boy – how little we knew!)
What I remember of Sunday was how much Lee took control of everything and how the pain I was feeling had caused me to somehow lose all common sense. Once again, I failed to follow the pregnancy book or the prenatal class advice –go for a walk, watch a movie as you go through contractions, anything to keep your mind off the pain. What did I do? I sat on the family room couch from morning until afternoon, telling Lee when to start and stop the stopwatch. At some point, Lee said, Go take a shower. We’re probably going to the hospital soon. I replied, No, initially, believing that I still had a lot of time. Eventually, he persisted, and pretty much ordered me to take a shower. So I did. The shower took a while. Every one of my movements in the shower was accompanied by my needing to take a breather.
That Sunday afternoon, our family had actually planned on going for lunch to celebrate Mother’s Day. I called my mom at church, during her Sunday school class, and told her it wasn’t going to happen. The baby was on its way. We didn’t tell many people. But the next thing we knew, Lee’s dad called us from Hong Kong early that afternoon and said, I heard you had the baby. It was hilarious. I had only begun to have contractions. How did the news circulate all the way to Hong Kong that the baby had already arrived?
I called my sister a number of times, and she called me. I kept describing to her the pain I was going through and how far apart the contractions were. She told me to call the Assessment Desk at the hospital so that they could determine whether I was ready to go to the hospital. Being the passive person that I was, I kept saying, No, it was too early, the contractions were inconsistent. Eight minutes apart. Then six. Then seven. Then five. Then four. Then six again.
I’ve always been a by-the-book kind of person. I find safety in rules, and I expect that when I follow the rules, things will go according to what is expected. The pregnancy book had said that one was not ready to go to the hospital until the contractions were consistently five minutes apart.
Lee kept on telling me, Let’s go to the hospital. I kept saying, No. The intervals aren’t consistent.
I was afraid that once we drove all the way from home down to the hospital, that the nurse at the Assessment Desk would send me home. I recalled my sister telling me that she had been sent home twice with her first one. I didn’t want to waste any time or be embarrassed at the hospital that I had got it wrong.
But at around 3:00 in the afternoon, when the contraction intervals were still inconsistent, Lee said, We’re going to the hospital. I’d rather be sent home than sit around here and take a chance. Lee loaded the car with our big gym bag of stuff, the pillows, and I put on a brown, hooded sweater. It was May, but the weather was rather cool.
As Lee was driving down the highway, I squeezed the seat as each contraction came. When we arrived at the parking lot at North York General Hospital , he found a parking spot quite far away from the hospital. I had preferred walking the distance with Lee than to be dropped off and not have him beside me. As we made our way toward the hospital entrance, I had two contractions. Each time, I had to stop, and Lee held me and waited for the pain to disappear, then we began walking again. The second contraction took place right at the entrance door of the hospital. Lee held me again. Some people walked by us, looking in our direction, then going in.
When we got to the Assessment Desk, I started to tell the nurse what I was feeling, but the pain was so intense I couldn’t finish my sentence. (Probably a sign that I was ready for labour since the pregnancy book said that not being able to speak was a sign of it!) I gestured to Lee, signaling to him that he had to finish my sentence. The nurse sent me into one of the partitions, and I waited at least ten minutes before she assessed me. Before then, she had heard my breathing from behind the partition as I had each contraction. She came in. You are breathing way too fast, she said. You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing like that. Slow it down. (Sadly, I had been breathing wrong for fifteen hours! So much for remembering the lessons taught in our prenatal class.)
At around 4:00 p.m., I was told that I was five centimeters dilated. They were going to assign me to a delivery room right away. I remember being so thankful that Lee knew what he was doing all along. Had I listened to my instincts, we might have arrived at the hospital too late.
Before sending me to the delivery room, the nurse asked me whether I wanted the epidural. I didn’t hesitate. I nodded. Yes, please.
When the nurse came in to instruct me on what was going to happen in the ensuing hours, she stopped herself, realizing that I was actually going through a contraction as she was speaking and wasn't listening to her. My silence surprised her. Other mothers, I guess, screamed or made sounds; I responded to the excruciating pain by tightly squeezing onto the bed rails and closing my eyes.
It wasn’t until 5:45 p.m. that the anesthesiologist came in to administer the drug. Before pregnancy, I remember seeing the size of the needle on the Learning Channel and being freaked out about it. But I never saw the needle. The doctor asked me to sit up on the bed, and told me to tell him when I was feeling a contraction. Next thing I knew – he said he was done – and I felt one more contraction before all the pain I had felt for the past nineteen hours completely disappeared. (I admire all those mothers who do it naturally – which include my sister – but boy did it feel wonderful to no longer feel any pain!)
Within seconds I finally was able to utter a normal-sounding sentence to Lee, Are you thirsty or hungry? Lee looked at me incredulously upon witnessing the drastic change in my disposition. The nurse reassured Lee. She’s okay, I’ll take care of her. So Lee left to get some food. (One thing we didn’t anticipate was our being at the hospital on a weekend when the cafeteria would be closed.)
Lee returned with our bag of belongings – we had only packed granola bars and dried mango. (Poor Lee, he was so hungry.) The nurse came in and caught me munching on dried mango, and said, Nobody told you that you aren’t allowed to eat? I shook my head. The epidural in my system meant that my body wasn’t going to be digesting anything. Oops. I put the food away.
The nurse came in every half hour to check on me. In-between, Lee watched the monitor, which was the only indicator of how intense my contractions were. Amazed by the erratic zig-zaggy lines sweeping across the screen and my composed demeanor, he remarked, So why don’t people take the epidural?
There were some benefits to taking the drug—other than being free from the pain. It meant that I could have a real conversation with Lee without being seized by gradually escalating contractions. It meant that I could take a nap and rest.
At some point, I looked at Lee in utter bewilderment, Can you believe we’re having a baby tonight? At some point, we bowed down, and Lee prayed for our family, and our anticipating of Your arrival. It was exhilarating.
Late in the evening, I had a very strong contraction, so I was told. It was so strong that You did not respond well to it. The nurse said that your heart rate dropped, and I had to wear an oxygen mask. I had to wear this mask pretty much until You were born.
I asked the nurse late that evening whether there was a chance that You were going to be born on Mother’s Day. The nurse smiled, I think so. You’re getting close.
At around 9:45 p.m., I was told that my OB wasn’t going to make it to the hospital on time (he wasn't supposed to be working on weekends but he wanted to deliver my baby; by the time he reached the parking lot of the hospital, however, it was all over.) Another doctor came in to deliver the baby. The doctor didn’t speak much to me—I guess maybe because he must have done this thousands of times. Then came the scary stirrups and the overwhelming bright light shining on me from the ceiling.
The nurse began to count—and as she counted, I was supposed to push as hard as I could. As I pushed, all I could hear was the nurse yelling, Go! Go! Go! Then came a brief resting period before the nurse was counting and yelling again. (As it turned out, the prenatal classes in which Lee was taught how to coach me for labour really wasn’t necessary. The nurse did all the work anyway.) With each interval of pushing, for some reason, I began to think back to my softball days. As I was pushing, I pictured myself running around the bases on the diamond – I was pretending that I had to run as quickly as I could in order to reach home plate. By the time I reached “home,” the interval of pushing was over. It kind of worked because before I knew it, You were here!
It must be noted that there were many, many people in the delivery room. I remember that prior to labour, I had fretted about how many people were going to be witnesses to the delivery. But just as my sister had told me, It doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters that day (that is, no degree of self-consciousness), except the anticipation of the baby’s arrival.
Nurses were on sight, doctors, even a pediatrician—it was all precautionary measures because of the fact that your heart rate dropped in those final hours. Although the nurses made me wear an oxygen mask and had to repeatedly come in to check on You—for some reason—I wasn’t too worried. You were in God’s hands—and the medical staff was doing their best to ensure you were okay.
Everything was a blur after you came out—You’ll have to ask your dad about the rest. While the medical staff was handling You, Dad was on the other side of the room snapping pictures, and I was lying in the hospital bed, being told by the doctor and nurse what kind of pain I was to expect once the epidural wore off (that wasn't fun...) and what procedure the doctor had administered during the labour. (When you came into the world, the first thing I remember was the nurse saying, She’s here! She’s here! To which I exclaimed, She?! I mean, he, the nurse said, HE. Sorry, I didn’t look, she said apologetically.)You didn’t cry right away upon entering the world. We had to wait a few minutes. They put You on the little cart, and the pediatrician gave You a check-up. At some point You began to cry, which brought us such joy. They put a faded yellow hat on You to keep You warm, and there You were, suspended in the air in the nurse’s hands, before they put You on my chest. Skin-to-skin, the nurses kept telling us—the best way to ensure your health. Nothing but the closeness of Mommy and Daddy.
(By the way, Nathaniel, Dad took a picture of your lifeline for nine months if you’re ever curious– the placenta—I have it hidden behind one of your baby pictures in your album. Don’t want to scare unwitting viewers with what Lee describes as a “big steak.”)
TEARS. TEARS. TEARS.
Fast forward eleven months and I must say—Nathaniel—Your birth, Your very existence, Your precious little being— is no less Miraculous than the day you were born.
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