Seventeen

Seventeen years ago today, I had a date with Bro Bro for lunch. He was going to accompany me to my doctor's appointment, then we would go eat. I was nine months pregnant, due to give birth in two days.

The night before our luncheon, I got up as usual at 3 a.m. to use the washroom. I had been getting up at 3 a.m. for about 5 months by that time. On this night, I had the longest pee ever. I had no control over the stream. When it was finally done, I crawled back into bed and shook The Man awake. I said, "I think my water just broke."

He said, "Will it still be broken in the morning?"

"I guess."

"Let's deal with it then." Then he rolled over back to sleep.

Lying in bed, I tried to recall what my doctor told me about water breaking. I was pretty sure I was supposed to go to the hospital right away. But did my water break? I hadn't splattered all over the supermarket floor or soaked the bedding like I had read about women doing. I thought, maybe this baby is just extremely considerate and let me break my water during my pee. No, no, my water didn't break. Where's the mucus plug that was supposed to show two days before? I hadn't noticed being unplugged. So I went back to sleep despite muscles tightening around my back and abdomen.

At the doctor's office the next morning, I told him I was leaking. He examined a sample of my fluid and said, "This is text book amniotic fluid. I have never seen such perfect fluid." Then he called all the doctors, nurses, and medical trainees into his office so they can look into the microscope to see the perfect sample.

When done, he said to me, "Yes, your water broke and we need to check you into the hospital right away. You should have come in last night."

Bro Bro took me into the maternity ward then phoned The Man.

This is what I remember of that afternoon: I was dilating too slowly so the doctor prepared to induce labour. But before they could apply their induction procedure, I went into labour on my own. The contractions came fast and furious. The Man called for drugs twice. I received two epidural top ups. I watched the needle on the pain monitor go off the metre with each contraction.

Even drugged, my pain was piercing and excruciating. I remember thinking, if this is the olden days, I would be one of the statistics of women who died during childbirth. My doctor ordered me several times to open my eyes and push. I remember weighing which I wanted more - die right then or live to raise the baby.

Then suddenly, I felt two bumps glide through me and the pain stopped. I heard, It's a boy. They took away a thing covered in white. The doctor in residence continued pressing down on my abdomen. I said, "What happened? The pain stopped. Was that the baby? What are you doing? Is it over?"

He said, "That's the baby. They just want to make sure he's breathing properly. I am helping your placenta fall out."

Then I heard a baby cry in the room.

"What's that?" I said.

They placed on my chest this little thing with most of the white stuff wiped off. His eyes were wide open, looking around. I looked at him, trying to weigh which was more pronounced - my disbelief at his existence or my lack of feelings for him. "How come he's not wrinkly?" I asked no one in particular.

My doctor said, "He's beautifully smooth. He looks like a cesarean baby."

The resident was filling out a form. He said, "Check. Check. Birth...uneventful."

"Surely that was a huge event," I said, referring more to what I just went through than defence of the baby I didn't quite have feelings for.

"That means nothing bad happened to you or the baby during birth. Uneventful is good."

They took the baby away again to clean him up, weigh him, prick his heel, etc. When they brought the baby back to me, he was swaddled in blue flannel, with his arms tucked in. "He just got born, don't tie him up," I said to the nurse.

"That's so he can't scratch his face."

Then they wheeled us to our room. Lying on the stretcher, I looked closely at the baby beside me and thought, I could easily be a surrogate and bear a baby for someone. I have no feelings for him.

That night, I was wide away. At exactly 3 a.m. I heard a baby howl from the nursery. I don't know how I knew, but I knew that was my baby crying. Then I heard wheels being rolled down the hall and the baby's cry coming closer. I thought, that's my baby for sure and they are bringing him to me. The nurse came into my room, lifted the baby out of his bed, and put him beside me.

"I'll set you up so you can try to nurse him," she said.

The baby cried and cried on my bed. I soothed his furrowed brows with my finger and said, "Hey there baby. Hello and welcome to my world. If I run a few names by you, will you give me a sign which is yours?" It was an astonishing thing. The baby stopped crying when he heard my voice. The nurse froze for a moment to stare at us. He seemed to recognize my voice and looked around as if searching for me. I think that was the moment I felt the connection with him and called him son.

Happy 17th, son!