BBA

Ultimately, this is a happy post. In many ways it is an angry post. In a (sotto vocce) sense it is the most awesomest thing evar!!!111.

To allay any concern, I present my second-born, Henry Dobson Smith. Named after Patrick Henry (both of my sons are namesakes of Revolutionary War figures) and my grandfather Jesse Dobson (JD) Long, he is pictured here with Deirdre. Henry was born on 3 November 2006 at 1707 (GMT), weighing 8 lbs. 7 oz., in my living room, with Dr. Read Something-Somewhere, attending, who daylights as a corporate and securities lawyer and is in no way qualified to deliver babies, but who has strong opinions (weakly held) on most matters, so that has to count for something. Apologies in advance for the relative lack of photographic evidence, but we were busy at the time.

In fair Fulham, where we lay our scene, Deirdre was 41 weeks pregnant and not happy about it. Nat, our firstborn, had been 2 weeks early, and had caught us unprepared. So this time around, we had set up the new baby's furniture. I had scaled down my work to be able to hand off at a moment's notice. Volunteers had been lined up to babysit Nat. In short, everything was ready. Except the baby. On 26 October (2 days before the due date), we had visited the clinic and Deirdre got an somewhat non-standard membrane sweep (an unpleasant procedure that can induce labor), which did nothing. A week later on 2 November, she got another one.

Two hours later, at about 1600 on 2 November, Deirdre's contractions graduated from Braxton-Hicks contractions to proper contractions, about 15 minutes apart. We warned the Newns (our next-door neighbors whose son, Arthur, is Nat's best friend), that we would probably drop Nat off that night. The contractions immediately stopped, and I went back to reviewing a draft prospectus. Around 2000, they started back up again, and rolling the dice, we took Nat next door, promising to get him before 0700 if nothing happened. Once again, the contractions stopped. But at 0300 on 3 November, they started up again in earnest, and we took a cab to Chelsea & Westminster (the hospital where Nat was born). Recall that I had been dining out for years on the fact that we took the No. 14 bus to C&W during Nat's birth. I proposed taking the night bus to increase our street cred even further, but was outvoted.

Once we got to C&W, an internal exam showed Deirdre to be a mere 1-2 cm dilated. Just like coffee is only for closers, a bed in the labor ward at C&W is only for folks who are serious about giving birth, and 1-2 cm (less than she was at the clinic the day before) just wouldn't cut it. We went home in disgrace, and £15 poorer for the experience (I knew I had been right about the night bus).

The morning of 3 November, I took Nat to Monkey Music, a toddler's music class. Certain of the other moms later reported to Deirdre that I had apparently enjoyed myself more than Nat (guilty as charged, I do enjoy singing silly songs). When we got home, Deirdre was in bad shape. Around noon, she called the labor ward, who kept to their story ... no admittance without contractions every 5minutess (meaning 5 minutes elapse between the beginnings of each contraction). At the time, Deirdre was having contractions every 10 - 15 minutes, but they were lasting 2 - 3 minutes at a time. The labor ward told her to have a bath and a nap, which she duly did. I spent the afternoon running around and generally neglecting Deirdre.

Around 1500, Deirdre was in even worse shape. A second call to the labor ward was futile, without the frequency they wanted, we would be sent home again. By 1545, we still didn't have the frequency, but Deirdre was begging for drugs. The labor ward finally relented, and told us to come in in an hour or so. I took Nat next door (again), got our bags ready and called a cab at about 1605. By 1630, the cab still hadn't shown, and Deirdre demanded that we call another cab (which I eventually did, after some delay, obfuscation and hemming and hawing). At 1640, I noticed a cab down the street. Intending to steal it, I ran down, waving a £20, only to find that the cab was mine and it had been waiting for a while at the wrong address. Tossing our bags into the back, I had him circle around to pick up Deirdre at the door.

Inside, though, I found Deirdre leaning over a chair in the living room. Her waters had broken. I got a towel and bustled her toward the front door (the cab driver had no idea what he was getting himself into). As we got into the hall, she dropped to the ground, and said, "the baby is coming now, call an ambulance." I really didn't want to be that guy who couldn't get his wife to the hospital in time and tried to persuade her that going to C&W was a better bet, but Deirdre dropped trou and said, "this baby is coming!". [The next bit is not really for the squeamish]

I finally called 999 (the UK equivalent of 911), and just then, I saw Henry's head crowning. The 999 lady told me to keep my hand on the head to slow down his arrival. I asked whether or not any harm would come to the baby in the birth canal (so we could wait for the ambulance), but the 999 lady said she couldn't give any medical advice. Taking that as a yes, I dropped the phone told Deirdre to push like crazy. While I somehow managed to remember the importance of massaging the perineum, I did forget that you can only push during a contraction. In any event, 4 pushes later, and Henry made it out at 1707. I swept his mouth, smacked his rear, and put him on Deirdre's chest, and he gave us an annoyed cry.

Three minutes later, the ambulance service arrived, and they gave Henry some oxygen (he looked a little gray) and clamped the umbilicalal cord so I could cut it. At Nat's birth, I didn't want to have anything to do with the business end, but this time around I didn't mind so much. A while later, the midwife from C&W came and delivered the placenta (we were close to having to go to the hospital to have a c-section done just for the placenta). After some more checks, and what turned out to be pointless blood work, we were left alone, with a family of four.

So, what else can be said after 1,200 words of what I hope is a reasonably faithful recitation of the events? First, I didn't really do anything other than catch. Deirdre was the one who went through what amounted to the first stage of labor basically alone and through the shooting match without any pain relief at all. Deirdre was the one who knew it was better to have the baby at home than in the cab (which was what would have happened even if the cab arrived at a reasonable time).

Second, I'm pretty enraged at C&W, but in a pretty inarticulate fashion. I understand their cost pressures and the needs to keep beds free, but C&W should have been much more apologetic (Deirdre, I'm sure will discuss the bloodwork fiasco at a later date). But since it's an English institution, very little will ever come of that rage. At most, I could complain to our MP, or perhaps write to capital letters.

But, in the end, we were very lucky, and I have Henry, Nat and Deirdre safe and sound.

BBA = Born before arrival. The notation on Henry's records. We will have lots of legal trouble because of this, but that is the subject of another post.