We continue with our initiative Dad, tell us your story, in this case with a story that touches me very closely ... How Mar his father lived.
We look forward to receiving more stories from our readers., of all those parents who read us and who would also like to get their story to the rest. They can tell us how they lived during pregnancy or childbirth, their feelings when they were together with the baby for the first time or other topics such as their opinion about breastfeeding, their day-to-day anecdotes with their children ...
Anyway, we will be happy to receive the stories of other parents at the address [email protected]. Now I leave you with the story of an exciting moment: a first-time dad lives the arrival in the world of his baby in a very special way.
Naturally, for a father, the moment of the birth of his first child is something that is recorded in his memory forever. It is a cluster of sensations not experienced until then and new feelings; nice sometimes, distressing others. I would like to share with you how that special situation was for me.Our girl, Mar, decided to stay for a while longer in her comfortable habitat, regardless of her parents' impatience to see her face. So, a week after the date they gave us for their coming into the world, we were still waiting for it. And that despite the long walks (about two hours a day) and the hard exercises with which my girl crushed after.
Our gine resolved, with discretion, to make the decision for her and induce labor, thus setting the great moment for three days later, that is, on October 10. The night before, Tuesday, it was memorable: unable to sleep, nervously, checking again and again the contents of the basket ("Do we carry everything? Are you sure?" "Have we put the pajamas? Are you sure ? ”), Trying, finally, to have everything under control. And it arrived on Wednesday. We left for the hospital, taking everything we needed, including goodbyes and good wishes from our relatives. We walked the journey without haste, quietly (pity: I always wanted to go at full speed, waving the white handkerchief through the open window and shouting like a riot). We made the admission to the clinic, we went up to the plant and the medical staff began to come and go to initiate the protocol: blood collection, drippers, rupture of the amniotic sac and others. From time to time, the midwife came to check the centimeters of dilation. Everything was on wheels and oxytocin perfectly performed its function (facilitated by previous work). The point is that in something like two hours they decide to get us down to the delivery room: the great moment is in the making. While they gave my wife the epidural, they invited me to change my clothes, since I had decided to witness the birth and cut the umbilical cord (if I didn't pass out before). And there I was, dressed entirely in green, as if I were a doctor from a television series (since it only seemed externally). Immensely worried, wondering how it would go and wishing everything would happen according to the script. However, the script had been modified and I had not heard. Although calm: the changes were just trying to give more dramatic emotion to the scene. The point is that Mar, following her tonic, was made to pray. Despite the complete dilation and labor contractions her mother had, the girl seemed to have no intention of showing her head. Since the monitor indicated that both were perfectly, gynecologist and midwife decided to wait. But of course, it was time to eat. The health staff was coming and going every so often, between bites. After each scan, the reaction was the same: -Well, still not going down. Well, we keep waiting. At about three o'clock in the afternoon, the four (gynecologist, midwife, my girl and I) had a nice talk: "Well," said the gynecologist, "I'm from Zaragoza." -Anda, because the day after tomorrow is the Pilarica. - Too bad I can't be. Look, do you know what I say? We're going to change plans - and I wasn't talking about Zaragoza anymore. The doctor observed on the monitor that something had changed. The baby's beating began to indicate a certain degree of fetal distress. The wait was over. The changes in plans consisted of, of course, practicing a C-section. My face and my face changed completely. It was something we had not considered as a possibility. Perhaps only in the course of preparation for childbirth, when we discuss the issue. The tears on my girl's face denoted her total dislocation; I kept asking repeatedly: "And what do I have to do?" He had learned to breathe, to push with the diaphragm, in short, to face childbirth ... but not caesarean section. I crossed a glance with her, trying to convey security and confidence, while trying to find them in her eyes. Kindly the midwife made me leave the delivery room and they led me to a small room. There, alone, I thought that the waiting time would become eternal. I tried to imagine what would be happening at that moment a few meters further, in the same way that, on countless previous occasions, I had tried to visualize what would happen when I was present. Despite the concern, I couldn't get rid of the idea that I was missing my daughter's birth. That was when the door of the room opened and a nurse appeared saying a few words that took me a moment to process: "You can now see your daughter." It was impossible; it had only been fifteen minutes. I walked a vaguely familiar corridor (have I been here before?), And they took me back to the room that minutes before I had to leave. Upon entering, the midwife was dressing the girl under the light of a red lamp. I was already here. It was tremendously exciting to see her for the first time ... but I will share this with you on another occasion.
