5:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, I felt my wife’s hand on my leg, gently rubbing me awake.
“Hey love. You ok?” I asked sheepishly, concerned. She’s not one to wake me unless she really has to.
“No, I’m not,” she replied in a calm tone. “I think I’m getting worse.”
She had gone to bed with shivers the previous night, but thought it was due to the cold breeze that creeped in through the slightly opened bedroom window.
“I think we should go to the hospital.”
I got out of bed immediately, knowing what this could be. She was already past her due date and was scheduled to induce birth the following Wednesday. We still had one day left, but it seemed the baby wasn’t waiting any longer. All night, my wife had felt some mild contractions that just felt different from what she’d gotten used to.
So yes, it was best to get to the hospital as soon as possible.
My gracious brother-in-law came to give us a ride after waking up to my missed call. Our hospital bags had been packed about a couple of weeks prior, so he found us ready to hit the road.
“Good luck. All the best,” he said with a hug after dropping us off at the hospital’s main entrance, and heading back home to get ready to go to work.
My wife and I walked in through the main entrance and casually made our way up to the eighth floor of the Ottawa Hospital, where the triage and birthing unit is. Soon after sharing her concerns at the reception, we were ushered into a room where her baby bump was strapped with a fetal heart rate monitor.
Baby’s heart rate was a bit high and there were two possible reasons for this; Mummy was either dehydrated or had a fever. Came to find out it was both, hence the chills throughout the night. She had to be given an I.V. and be monitored until baby’s heart rate stabilized. Blood was also drawn to test for possible infections causing the mild fever.
We waited a few hours as the monitor’s occasional beeps and the sound of our baby’s rapid heartbeat kept us ‘entertained’. We wondered, “Will we be going home only to come back tomorrow to induce labor? It seems this baby’s ready to come.”
And indeed she was.
The young, gentle nurse who tended to my wife finally came to let us know, “We’re going to move you to the birthing unit and continue to monitor you there, as you are in labor,” then led us to a larger private room that would be the birth place of our daughter. It was afternoon by then.
There, a nurse and anesthesiologist came to discuss the pain management methods available during labor…and also brief us on the possibility of a c-section, which we were not up for at all. Unless it was God’s will, we had prayed, declaring and believing in agreement, in Jesus’ name, for a vaginal birth with no complications whatsoever.
Among other things I had prayed for and declared throughout the pregnancy was a delivery room filled with the nicest of nurses and doctors who were passionate about their job. This would ensure that my wife is well taken care of, treated delicately and not as just another patient.
Also, as the BabyCenter app on our phones gave us weekly updates of our baby’s growth and development in the womb, I had spoken God’s excellence in knitting every piece of her together, declaring strong and fully functional limbs, muscles, organs…you name it.
…
From the start of the countdown to the due date, my excitement had grown by the day, and the dreams had begun. Every other night, I’d dreamed of playing with my daughter, although her face was always blurry because I didn’t know what she looked like.
Every now and then, I’d daydreamed, staring into the distance as I praised God under my breath for keeping my wife healthy through her pregnancy, and for the precious gift He was handing us. In those moments, my heart had gotten overwhelmed and I wouldn’t help but cry tears of joy and gratitude.
…
In the delivery room, several hours into the late night, two rounds of antibiotics through the I.V. and a seven centimeter cervix dilation later, my wife was officially in active labor after one of the doctors manually broke her water before leaving us with another gentle nurse, who’d just started her shift, to continue monitoring my wife until it was time for the pushing.
By then, I was exhausted, dehydrated and starting to get a headache, but knowing I had to be by my wife’s side through it all gave me strength to push (No pun intended…well…maybe) myself. My curiosity to witness what has caused many other men to pass out might also have given me an extra kick of adrenaline.
Finally, the crowning stage was upon us and it was time to start pushing. The warm nurse turned to a motivational coach as she encouraged my wife, “Push push push push push,” every time she got a contraction, and validated her by telling her, “You are doing great!”
About an hour of tedious pushing later, it was time to call in the doctor on duty that night to deliver the baby.
“This is it,” I thought, my heart rate starting to need a monitor of its own. “My baby will be born any minute now.”
“Stay calm.”
“There’ll be no fainting in Jesus’ name!” (Just kidding)
The doctor came in, confident and ready to deliver the next baby of the night.
“I’m gonna need you to push hard, Mum,” she said in a firm yet friendly tone as she prepared her tools and asked the extra nurses she came in with to position my wife for the final set of pushes.
A few more pushes later and the red carpet rolled out as my daughter was pulled out and laid on my wife’s chest, where she let out her first cry.
“Beautiful cry,” the doctor said, satisfied and confident that the baby didn’t swallow anything harmful on her way out of her mother’s womb.
A few minutes in, as they tended to my wife, they handed me a pair of scissors and showed me where to cut the umbilical cord. As surprised as I was by the rubbery texture, I was in awe of what I witnessed.
When my baby was finally in my arms, my heart was instantly filled and my mouth opened as I looked into her eyes, and I started speaking to her.
“Recognize me?”
“I see you, baby. You made it.”
“Galy. That’s your name. You’re so beautiful.”
My very first face to face, in the flesh interaction with my first-born, my daughter, my gift from God. A surreal moment that should have brought tears to my eyes, as overjoyed as I was.
It’s not until a couple of days later when an uncle of mine texted in the family WhatsApp group saying, “I’m sure Gael cried,” that I realized, “No, I actually didn’t cry!”
It was strange, because just like my uncle, I thought I would too.
But I didn’t!
So I asked God, “How come I didn’t cry? I cried many times before in prayer and anticipation for this day.
And He said,
“Exactly. You’d already been in that delivery room…in the spirit.”
Selah!
…
Thank you for reading.
I’m a husband and first-time Dad looking to support his family, writing real life stories and testimonies to encourage others.
I’m also compiling more stories from other Dads for my first e-book.
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Thank you and God bless you.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean? | My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me | The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex | The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence |
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Photo credit: Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash