Birthing Rumi - Part 1

The next many blog posts will chronicle my most significant journey yet - of becoming and being Rumi's mama. I considered starting a separate blog but then decided against it. While there is a lot to be said, my identity as his mom is not separate from the rest of me. In being his mama, I have become more of me. And in embracing this with the rest of me, and finding and resolving the contradictions, I have felt more myself than ever before. So I chose to put this here. Where the rest of my life and memories live.  

“This is pressure, not pain.” A simple mantra I kept repeating as I went through labour. My waters broke at 3.30 am as Loi (the father to be) and I binge watched Bridgerton. I was one week overdue at this point. We had tried nearly every trick in the book to get baby out. The latest was eating a spicy labour inducing burger (yep, there is such a thing), taking a bumpy ride and eating extremely spicy daal. I had been having contractions (false/real who knows?) for weeks. 

A wager was on. The entire family had bet on what day Rumi would officially grace us with his presence. 15+ people had picked dates starting Dec 6 to Dec 27. When Bade Papa (my grandfather) picked Dec 27 we had all mocked him. Exactly why would the baby be born that late? (For the record my own date was Dec 6.. So much for mothers intuition!) 

Cut to Dec 26, 3.30 am. Bridgerton had been switched off and Lohit was trying to massage me to sleep. Finally as I was able to hit sleep land, I felt a gush of water. Total movie style. I was pretty sure movies were not how it would be for me. But I was wrong. After soaking three towels and trying (unsuccesfully) for a few hours to rest, we finally rushed to the hospital at 9.45 am. My midwife, Gillian, asked us to reach by 10. She would conduct a non stress test and then induce me if labour hadn’t begun on its own. 

This was my third time to the hospital with a possibility of a baby at the end. Even though it felt much more real this time, part of me was afraid that this time too I would be sent back home to wait. No one warned me that waiting for the baby to actually arrive would be so difficult. 

After a quick evaluation, Gillian, gave us two options. She could induce the labour. But we would need to have the baby out before 6.30 am on 27th Dec. There was no paediatric cover at the hospital after that. Or she could shift me to another hospital and we could wait and watch. 

Now, here is the thing about giving birth in a pandemic. Suddenly logic doesn’t start with what’s the best medical decision, it starts with, where is the risk of getting Covid the lowest. What a funny time to be going through the toughest (or so I thought) day of my life. 

We quickly decided that we would stay at the Peace Arch Hospital. We knew there was no NICU and possibly no paediatric cover starting 7 am (in about 20 hours from then). But with an uneventful pregnancy, no family history, and Covid for a backdrop, the decision was simple. Stick to the warm, friendly, safe, community hospital. 

Mom, who spent many weeks preparing to be a doula! Yes, Doula! My CEO mom who has run many a large hospital systems back in India, who has delivered hundreds of babies, and who has taught thousands others on how to manage their lives and careers, was left in an alien system with only one choice. Want to attend your daughters birth? Become a certified support person. The pandemic needs for a certificate to attest that she can join me in the labour room. Alternatively, I could pick her instead of Lohit. Who wants to make choices like that? 

So she spent most of October and November reading up, training and learning how to be the best Doula known to man. And there she was finally allowed into the room with me. In that moment it all felt worth it. 

I consider myself blessed to have these options. Even though in any other year these choices would have sounded ridiculous. Pick either your mom or your husband to join you? In 2020, the fact that I could have not one, but two people I loved in the room with me, made me feel like the luckiest person alive. 

We spent the next many hours (6 to be precise), mostly hanging out and talking about life and things. My only complaint during these hours was not being able to munch on all the yummy snacks mom had packed along and Lohit had diligently ferried up from the car in many rounds. 

Gillian had graciously offered to provide nursing to me since the hospital was short on nurses. This allowed us to spend the whole day under her loving care. You know what they say about bedside manner? Gillian showed me that a loving person who genuinely cared could make contractions seem like fun. There was no room for fear or panic in the room. It was as if my pain kept increasing without me even noticing. 

And then hit 4 cm. I believe it was around 5pm? I have no clue at this point to be honest. I asked Sunny, my truly sunny nurse and Gillian, “If I am at a 4-5 on the pain scale now, where will I get to by the time he’s born?”

They tell you over and over again about birth - every birth is different. No one can really tell you how you will feel, how worse it can get, where we will end etc. But who wants to believe that? Who wants to hear that no one seems to have a clue? So I kept pressing Sunny and Gillian until Gillian said.. “Well let’s assume it will reach 10.”

At this point my foggy with pain (pressure!) brain reminded me that I didn’t need to be a martyr. That no one would give me an award for doing this fully naturally. That my son wouldn’t be any less proud of me and my birth story wouldn’t be any less meaningful if I got an epidural. I looked at Lohit. I knew his take on this already. My wonderful husband had been telling me for weeks that I didn’t have to go through that pain. That I should chose to be comfortable over feeling everything. 

I then went to the loo with mom. And asked her, "should I get an epidural"? Turns out she had been thinking the exact same thing and had written to Anjila aunty (my long distance angel who is a gynaecologist by day) and Deep uncle (an anaesthesiologist in India) to ask them what they thought. They had both told mom that I should take the epidural. So mom said yes and I rushed out to tell Gillian to get me the pain relief. 

I was anticipating disappointment and judgement. Perhaps even an attempt to change my mind. But to my surprise, Gillian quickly got into action, confirmed that the doctor was coming to the Maternity floor in a few minutes to see another patient and I would in fact get my epidural very quickly.

What you can’t anticipate about pain like that is how it slows down time to a trickle. Apparently I had to wait only 20 minutes or so. I remember Loi and mom massaging my back non stop in turns and me asking every few minutes where the doctor was. Why wasn’t he here already? 

As per protocol the doctor arrived and gave me a full low down on the risks. I could get paralysed, have a headache permanently, etc etc. I already knew these things. I had read everything there was to read on this topic and I knew the risk I was taking. I knew it was low. But I was also afraid that I would be that odd person that actually ends up with a sad outcome. Funny the way our brains are wired to protect us. But the immediate concern of not feeling that horrible pain triumphed. Funny how a rational me would never make that trade off. But when you are in the throes of labour, I guess rationality isn’t your strongest suit. 

The epidural half worked. My left side was numb, right was partially numb. So I still felt pain but much lesser. In a few hours, around 7 pm. Gillian finally announced that I was a 10cm dilated. This meant it was baby time! I had read that it could take 2-3 hours post this point. But sometimes it happened within a few minutes. This announcement gave me renewed energy. In between pushing and contracting, I was cracking jokes and laughing. Everyone around me was a bit surprised at how calmly I seemed to be doing this. (Turns out my third phase of labour would actually last much longer than the average).

In all honesty, I did feel calm. I felt at peace - in a way that is hard to describe. Just knowing that I was being able to do this and it felt … easy! … was deeply fulfilling. 

At some point I developed a fever. I remember Gillian asking Sunny to start the fever protocol. 

There was a running joke - another woman was trying to give birth at the same time on the floor and I had announced that Rumi and I would beat her to it. (Those that know me, know that I am always in for a good competition). There was also the wager - Rumi had to make his great grandfather happy. Which meant we had to wait until midnight before baby and I were ready to share what we already knew (a limitless love) with others. 

Somewhere in the next few hours, they saw his head. With hair! Everyone was super excited about the hair. They offered to put a mirror so I could have a peek. They offer this so the mother feels energised to push more. I declined. I just wanted to feel my baby fully on my chest once he was born. Seeing parts of him emerge was not my thing. 

Come midnight, Gillian called in the Gynaecologist. Apparently it had been too long since my waters had broken. Also the fever I had developed was a bad sign. There was a high risk of both baby and me developing an infection. So they wanted the baby out sooner rather than later. Enter the unfamiliar male doctor. I don’t know in retrospect if it was the moment that made everything seem wrong or if this doctor was just in such sharp contrast to the warm Gillian, but I suddenly felt like my birth story was tainted. He insisted on talking only to Lohit, dismissed mom when she answered his question about using vacuum to try and deliver Rumi and essentially didn’t take even a moment to say something familiar or friendly. We tried. Even pointed out that we were from the same country. But he pretty much rushed through irrelevant conversation. In his defence, he had to get to the other woman who was being rushed for a C-Sec. And he possibly hadn’t anticipated that we would decide so quickly. Especially not after he had blandly told us that a vacuum assisted delivery could lead to permanent brain damage for Rumi. 

In retrospect, I don't blame him for being taken aback when we decided in under 5 seconds and told him to proceed with the vacuum. I mean, how is one supposed to make those choices? It is hard enough to make such a decision with your mom being a doctor (who incidentally had quickly typed Vacuum? to Anjila aunty and had received in a few microseconds Y followed by a longer explanation). How do those that don’t have a background in medicine or no one they can fully trust decide such things? In that moment, I found a renewed empathy for everyone that must go through the conundrum that is healthcare without any map to navigate it. 

And as I pushed that final time, Rumi popped out. I am told that his head got stuck and he was blue. My mother who was looking closely threw her phone and started praying at this point. Lohit was holding my hand tight pressing himself against me. The doctor inserted his full hand inside me and turned Rumi’s shoulder and freed him. 

(The doctor quickly left for the c-sec. I was left with the tear on the bed. He came back an hour or so later and completed the suturing. Looking back, I ofcourse almost forgot this hour even existed.)

The first thing I said was, “Why isn’t the baby crying?”. And as I asked, he broke into the most beautiful cry I have ever heard. Perhaps even the sweetest sound. I immediately looked at Lohit and told him to go to the baby. He sweetly asked me, are you sure? I said YES. 

Lohit tells this story well. How he walked to the baby warmer. And said “Rumi”. And Rumi turned his head and quietened completely. We had read that babies recognise voices they hear in the womb but we didn’t truly believe it possible until then. While Lohit spent a lot of the pregnancy talking, reading, singing, telling stories to Rumi, it was in that moment that he truly became his father. 

The moment they brought Rumi to me and I held him, I first asked what his Apgar score was. Some of my reactions truly amuse me. My brain needed to know what my heart already knew - Rumi was perfect. 

And in that moment I felt like everything was worth it. Including that horrible tear, the exhaustion, the numbness, the fear and everything else. 

Lohit and I slept. Mom insisted on staying on the sofa and letting Lohit sleep. How could someone endure so much and be so giving even after? Only parents can truly know how. 

Later she told me how she held onto Rumi for the next many hours. As they tested and poked him, it turns out his fever wouldn’t come to normal. It was constantly on the lower side. Mom of course understood the implications of this better than anyone else. Newborns with infections can quickly de-escalate. The risks were far too many. 

They say giving birth is the toughest thing a woman ever does. I thought so too. Until next morning.