I was in the delivery room for my daughter’s birth…

I’d seen it a million times before, I thought to myself, so what’s the big deal? I did suffer from a bit of jealousy, though. I mean, I wasn’t really enthusiastic about everybody else being all up in my business, if you know what I mean. There she was, legs spread wide open, looking quite swollen down there. I thought to myself, damn! That’s pretty big!

I tied my mask on while maneuvering my way around to [____]’s side. Frankly, I don’t think she was totally aware of my presence. The pain she was dealing with had most of her attention, I’m sure. Our doctor had mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to perform the delivery because of the hours he had already put in. He told us about ten minutes before they brought her into the delivery room. I understood, but I was still salty about it.

The substitute doctor, he assured us, was very competent and we shouldn’t have any problems with the delivery. For some reason the word “shouldn’t” stood out to me.

The staff in the room were all strangers to me. I didn’t recognize any of them. They were busy making their preparations when the substitute doctor came in like she was ready to hurry up and get this over with. When she saw me, she stuttered. It felt like she didn’t want me there. I remember when they were wheeling [____] to the delivery room, they waited until we were right outside the doors to tell me I couldn’t come in without a smock on.

It took me about ten minutes to rush down the hallway to the room they pointed at, find the cabinet with the smocks, put it on and then make it back. When I got to the delivery room, they had the door locked. My knuckles sounded very loud on the glass. Ten minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, but when you’re expecting your first baby - it can seem like a half-hour!

The substitute doctor looked over her shoulder and seemed a bit irritated by my presence. There was no connection between us. She definitely lacked that “bedside manner” that separates good doctors from great ones. As I reached for [____]’s hand I overheard the staff saying that every time [____] pushed, the baby’s heartbeat would slow. There were complications. I was paying attention to everything.

The water had broken earlier that afternoon while [____] was talking on the phone. There was no mad rush to the door. Everything went smoothly. Nobody was panicked. We made it to the hospital and I made my phone calls while [____] waited in a room until she was appropriately dilated. It was after seven in the evening when they wheeled her into the delivery room. She still wasn’t quite fully dilated but everyone was becoming impatient, including [____].

[____] was on the table looking like a woman ready to have a baby. I mean she was really bearing the discomfort and pain when the doctor decides she wants to feel around a bit to see if she can unwrap the umbilical cord from around the baby’s neck. All I can say is that the manner in which she did it was the difference between getting a gentle, lubricated, two fingered intrusion and having a fist wrapped in unlubricated rubber shoved up your ass!

I was shocked! Speechless! I couldn’t believe that I was witnessing this callous treatment!

[____]’s groaning, moaning and grunting is killing me. It was like listening to a cow suffering on the side of the road after it had just been hit by a semi-truck. I felt like Darth Vader looking at the Emperor giving the business to Luke Skywalker. My head went back and forth from the doctor to [____] like I was in a daze. Finally I can’t take it anymore. It dawns on me that the doctor is hurting [____]. Unacceptable!

I take a step forward, completely out of my mind, and shove the doctor back. She falls back on her butt and slides across the room into the wall, looking at me wild eyed. I too am wild eyed, my heart beating hard and erratically, my face twitching.

“Don’t you put your hands on me!” the doctor yelled at me incredulously. The staff had backed up and looked at me like I was a madman.

“You hear her…!” I bellowed. “Be gentle!”

The doctor gets up from the floor and composes herself. “Do that again and I’ll have you thrown out of here. Do you understand?”

“Be gentle.” I said firmly.

She stares at me for a moment and then gets back to work. I’m looking.

The next couple of minutes, I can barely feel my feet on the floor. They’re in their cutting and soaking up blood and getting [____] to push. I wasn’t queasy, but I was in awe of the moment.

When the baby was finally pulled out, they held her in the air for me to see, the umbilical cord still attached. It was purplish, greenish brown - translucent - like freshly strung sausage. The baby was pale, silent and still. My first thought: it’s dead.

The devil on one shoulder was doing back flips and shouting for joy. That side of me was relieved: I was still a free man.

The angel on the other shoulder was praying in earnest, asking God that this life be allowed.

In that moment I had an epiphany.

Early in the pregnancy I had made all this wild and immature statements about what I expected, what I would do, and how that depended on if it was a boy or a girl. Out of ignorance, ego, and fear I had claimed things I had no right to claim, expected things I had no right to expect, and wanted without knowing what it was I asked for.

As I saw the baby before me, with what turned out to be swollen labia I mistook for testicles, I realized that this life didn’t belong to me; that this child wasn’t mine - but that I was honored with the solemn responsibility and privilege of parenting this precious life.