Childbirth Can Be Painful
• Thoughts of an Average Joe
Jul 23, 2010 – When Jack, our first child, was born over 30 years ago, the little woman and I were, needless to say, quite excited. We did all the right stuff and read all the right books to be sure we were totally prepared for the parenting experience. Don't laugh yet; it gets funnier.
One of the things we did was to take a Lamaze course so that our little bundle of joy could enter this world in a natural, drug free way. Winnie was about five months along when we started our classes and, while I thought I'd already done my part to get her to that point, I agreed to attend.
So, every Monday night for a month, we sat in a circle on the floor of the Smalltown High School gymnasium and practiced heavy breathing. There were deep, "cleansing" breaths and quick "hee hee hoo" breaths (for those untrained readers, that's "hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hoooooooo"), all designed to, I think, calm the expectant mother and entertain the expectant father. It seemed to me that the delivery was going to sound a lot like the conception but, being a sensitive guy, I kept that to myself.
I had my doubts about how effective all that huffing and puffing was going to be, and it concerned me, a bit, that I was missing TV coverage of four Red Sox games for Lamaze classes. But, as I was learning, parenthood means sacrifice, and I was determined to do my part. So, I listened to the games through a hidden radio earphone. Winnie wasn't too proud of me when I yelled "Yes, Yesss!" in response to a Yastrzemski homer, just as the rest of the class was exhaling "hee hee hoo" breaths. Ooops.
I did pay enough attention so that I became quite adept at "hee hee hoo" breathing which is, by the way, also helpful for belly pain after an all-you-can-eat bean supper down at the American Legion Hall.
Finally, the big day came and, as soon as the Patriots game was over, I drove the little woman to the hospital. "Remember honey, Doctor Braley said most couples get to the hospital too early. We don't want to inconvenience him by arriving before we need to, do we?" I helped her with the heavy breathing every ten minutes, or so, and for the first three hours of Winnie's labor, the Lamaze techniques were working fairly well. That all changed in the final moments before the blessed event. There I was, inhaling deeply and puffing away and, as always, being generally supportive when it all fell apart. The little woman seemed to be in a bit of pain, so I did what I'd been trained to do.
"Breathe, honey, breathe; hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hoooooooo," I coached her.
"You breathe, you idiot! You did this to me! Get me some drugs . . . NOW or you'll never touch me again!" she yelled. She hadn't been so mean, or looked at me with those scary, Linda Blair Exorcist eyes when we'd practiced these relaxation techniques at home.
I knew she didn't really want those unnatural drugs. "Just breathe, honey. It can't hurt that much. Lots of women do this every day." It seems that wasn't the best choice of words.
Winnie got her drugs and it all worked out alright. We have some lovely photographs to prove it—group pictures of a tired mommy with sweaty hair, wrinkled up baby Jack, and a proud daddy with a black eye.
