[ymurad]

Hello, everyone!

This is a note from Vonnie and Jon...

As I type this, Vonnie is breastfeeding our brand new little boy -- MacArthur Timothy Murad. He arrived on Tuesday night, April 15 (like an early tax refund!), and weighed in at 6 pounds 9 ounces.

At 4:30pm on the fifteenth, Vonnie -- who was still at work at her office -- felt her first contraction, but was a bit uncertain if it was what she thought it was. When another came at 4:45 she thought, "hmmmm," and called me. I told her it was probably nothing but assured her I'd pick her up when I got off at 6pm. This was a whole ten days before the due date, mind you, so I figured it was a false alarm. I was also kind of busy. But when she called back at 5:00 and said "Jon, you need to get here NOW," I realized that maybe I needed to rethink that.

I'm working down at police headquarters, so I don't have the same access to cars with lights and sirens -- so I did what any New Yorker in a hurry would do; I hailed a cab. I met Vonnie in midtown at about 5:50, and, even though the pain was coming every six minutes or so, we figured we'd have time to get to our apartment in Riverdale. Why go straight to the hospital? After all, we had none of our gear, we were both in business clothes, no one had walked the dog -- all of those very "important" concerns. What dopes!

By the time the cabbie dropped us off in the Bronx (a bit later than half past six), Vonnie's contractions were five or four minutes apart, and they were getting stronger. We called our physician, who said "Oh, really? And you're still at home? Uh, yeah, you should be at the hospital now."

We raced to Columbia Presbyterian, and were greeted by absolute apathy at the desk. Be forewarned -- this may be the most intense experience of YOUR lives, but the admin gal behind the desk has been there done that and therefore her personal cell phone conversation will take precedence over getting you into triage in a timely manner.

Once we got to triage though, at about 7:20pm, the doctors were very helpful. The first question they asked Vonnie was: "On a scale of one to ten, how strong would you say the pain is?" Vonnie held up her finger, as if to say "wait a sec," and then huffed her way though a contraction. The doctor looked at her face, looked down at her chart, and said "That would be a ten, then." The doctor then gave a quick exam and found her to be at seven centimeters (already!). Vonnie said that she wanted to forego the epidural and go natural as long as possible, and they were cool with that. No one tried a soft-sell on the painkiller thing, which was nice. By 7:45 we were hustled off to a birthing room.

And there we began to put our childbirth class in Park Slope to good use. Vonnie and I groaned low together, massaged and squeezed, exercised our right not to be hooked to the monitors (and thus chained to the bed), slow danced, and visualized space roses floating in and out of each other. Our hospital-provided birthing coach was very good and encouraging, and that was helpful (her name was Nana -- pretty appropriate, right?).

Most of all, Vonnie was amazing. She took the pain and swallowed it, rolled with it, rode its wave as it crested, focused past it -- whatever technique worked during each given contraction.

So now we're at 9:05 or so, just as our doctor arrives (well, actually a colleague of our doctor, because invariably the doctor with whom you've developed a relationship will NOT have call the night your little one decides to make an entrance). As the doctor enters, Vonnie feels a change in the quality of her contractions -- "I feel like I need to squeeze," she said -- and the doctor says "you're probably ready to push." She had Vonnie climb back up on the bed, and did a quick check -- yep, ten centimeters! -- and told her to go to it. "Take a deep breath and then bear down as long and hard as you can, and start over as often as you can, until the contraction ends."

And so Vonnie pushed and strained and put forth the most incredibly effortless tremendous effort I've ever seen -- she made it look easy, even as she worked harder than (she says) she had ever worked before.

And at 9:54, less than five and a half hours after it had begun, our little MacArthur found himself on his mom's chest, turning his head towards her voice, and sorta opening his eyes -- it was an utterly quotidian miracle. People have been doing this even longer than the species has been around, but it's still the newest, most incredible thing in the world. And babies -- they're all over the place, and everyone was one once, but each new one wears possibility draped on his (or her) tiny shoulders like a golden cloak. It's like inventing the wheel, again and again.

A few notes, with regard to Anna's class and the stuff we all learned.

First of all -- before the class, we had really expected to go the anesthesia route. My brother's a doctor, and he told me that, when it comes to childbirth, you only have to know four words: "I want my epidural." There's obviously nothing wrong with using drugs if it's your choice or if events conspire against you -- but I hope Vonnie's experience can present an example. We were lucky, no doubt -- no complications, everything went as it was supposed to, and for reasons no one can know it was remarkably fast and smooth (I won't say "easy," 'cause Vonnie worked her a** off). But we were very happy to be able to do it all without having to use Doctor Elk and his narcotic drip. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the encouragement provided by the class, we probably wouldn't have done it.

(After Anna's class we also asked more friends and family in more pointed ways about their birth stories. I think it turned out that more people than we had realized had gone the natural route -- you just don't hear about it as much, maybe because moms who make it that way feel like braggarts if they tell people, and maybe because more traumatic stories involving drugs or c-sections are the ones we inevitably talk about more frequently.)

Second of all -- while we did ask for some things (e.g., asking not to remain on all the monitors), we went along with others. Our doctor put Vonnie up on a bed for the pushing and that worked best for Vonnie anyway, so we rolled with it. Similarly, although we gave MacArthur to Vonnie before he got his eyedrops etc, he WAS wrapped up -- no immediate skin-to-skin contact. (Honestly, Vonnie had a hospital top on, and Mac was a bit slimy -- and they got plenty of skin-to-skin a few minutes later, after his second Apgar, and before Mac went down to the nursery.)

(Columbia Presbyterian allows moms and babies to stay in the labor-and-delivery rooms for about an hour after birth. They cuddle, try to nurse, get to know each other. Then the baby is taken to the nursery for a few tests and such -- dad accompanies him on this -- while mom goes down to the post-partum rooms. After the quick tests, baby is brought right back to mom if that's what she wants.)

Third -- Vonnie and Mac were able to get a good latch very quickly, and were able to complete a tentative first nurse while still upstairs at the labor-and-delivery room. This was due in part to Anna's class and also to an afternoon-long breastfeeding workshop we did in Manhattan. If you intend to breastfeed, a workshop like that would probably be helpful. It's certainly good for explaining the physical mechanics of the act, as well as the feeding patterns (duration, intensity, etc) that you'll encounter when you get home.

Ooooh-kay -- THAT was long! But it's our story.

I'm in no way discounting luck -- we were fortunate beyond measure -- but it was equally a matter of Vonnie saying "I can do this" and really BELIEVING.

Five and a half hours, no drugs, a beautiful baby boy, a relatively quick latch -- we were blessed.

And we both hope hope hope and pray that you all will be, too!

All our best -- Jon and Vonnie