Looking through the Viewfinder

A few years ago, I was asked to be the birthing partner for one of my girlfriends, Nicole, a single mom at the time, to help keep her calm, feed her ice chips and hold her hand during the birth of her first child. Not having any children, nieces, or nephews myself, I had no idea what to expect, except of course, the common misperceptions that pop culture puts forth to us about water breaking and driving 90 mph to the hospital. All of this is happening while the expectant mother screams for you to drive faster because she is about to deliver the baby on the back seat of her red Nissan Sentra.

When Nicole called to tell me to meet her at a pre-scheduled time at a local hospital, (6am) I have to admit I was a tad disappointed when the doctor decided to induce her into labor. However, I’m sure she was happy it was going to be a controlled situation, (and frankly so was I!). Being a novice birthing coach but experienced cheerleader, I wanted this to be a textbook delivery for her and the baby’s sake (and mine).

So the day after Thanksgiving, I arose early on that dark November morning, showered, packed my video camera, left my sleeping husband and met Nicole and her family in the hospital. We walked through the quiet, tan corridors to her birthing room and helped her settle in. She changed into a hospital gown, the nurses hooked her up to the monitors and we began to wait. After the doctor broke her water, I started checking the battery to the video camera every five minutes and looking through the viewfinder and began interviewing everyone who entered the room about the immediate, impending birth. Finally after hours of sitting on ready, a nurse told me to save the battery that the baby wasn’t coming out for a long time.

I have to admit Nicole made childbirth look easy. I had braced myself for all the agony the women portrayed in the birthing class film. (I swore to myself right then and there, that if my time ever came, I would try to be as strong and courageous as she was being. Anyone who knows me knows how hysterical I can get, should be proud of me for saying “TRY”). Nicole never let on that she was feeling any discomfort, but the nurses knew. One look in her eyes and they would help her change positions. I never even got to dole out any ice chips either; she was pretty self-sufficient and doled them to herself.

Mainly, I just sat on a stool next to her bed and read aloud the latest and greatest issue of our favorite People and Glamour magazines to her. We had some good laughs when the nurses came in to help Nicole move the baby in the right position. Her long legs were being pushed and pulled in every unimaginable position and I outloud I had to praise her mom’s foresight of forcing Nicole into 12 years of tap dancing, Pointe and especially for the time being, acrobatic training. At this moment, it was all paying off I told her and she begged me not to make her laugh.

She lay there looking so beautiful and composed, her long brown hair flowing over the pillow, and she was totally calm with the fact that in a few hours, her life was going to change forever, and in so many wonderful ways I knew it would never be the same.

What an honor it was to be her friend that day, when I was allowed the privilege of watching her become a mother. Not only was I honored that she was sharing such an awesome event in her life with me, but that she was allowing me to witness these precious moments as she was transforming into a new person. She was walking over the bridge to womanhood while I was standing over on the other side wanting to yell, “Nicole, wait for me!”

Then after hours of waiting, the magical moment of birth came, the cozy “birthing” room transformed briskly to the DELIVERY room. I’ve never witnessed anything so efficient. In a matter of seconds the stirrups came out of the table, the bottom of the birthing table disappeared, a closet door opened to reveal shiny silver instruments. And where did all those blue sheets come from? Someone was putting a surgical gown on me and Nicole’s mom asking if we felt okay (we? What about Nicole?) Lamps were switched on and the obstetrician appeared right on cue. Then, the plastic baby isolet was wheeled into the corner.

Somehow in the midst of the excitement and the crowd of nurses gathering into the room, I couldn’t get to my video camera, but it really didn’t matter at this point. I stood at Nicole’s side and then took one step back and found myself standing next to Nicole’s mother Debbie and we just held each other and cried tears of what I can only describe as pure joy.

There was a sensation in the room, a pulse I could feel that something wonderful was about to happen. The nurses looked happy that the baby had turned, they had done their job well. The doctor, self-assured with the heart monitor results, began to gently pull the baby’s head out, and Nicole was still amazingly at peace. This was going to be an easy birth.

And then the moment we had all been waiting for, for so long it seemed all day, happened so fast . . . Nicholas appeared turning and twisting so naturally into the open hands of the doctor, crying, dark hair matted to his head and so, so beautiful. Someday when he’s grown into a young man, I know that I’ll still be able to remember that first wonderful glimpse of him.

The doctor put him on his mommy’s stomach (she became a mommy in the blink of an eye – how cool!) He cried the cry that baby’s emit when they enter the bright world, but the moment Nicole took his hand in hers and spoke softly to him, his crying ceased in an instant and he looked up at her. I’ll never forgot that moment, like borrowing a line from the popular children’s book by J.P Eastman, Nicolas seemed to proclaim in that glance, “You are my mother!” For a few more moments in time before the umbilical cord was cut, they were still one.

My Thanksgiving happened to come on the day after that year, when I was lucky enough to be there when this sweet and special child came into the world. I was a willing eyewitness to one of life’s most magical, most precious moments. I didn’t need a viewfinder or a video camera, just my eyes and my heart to register, record and most importantly, remember the magic and magnitude of his birth. For that I will always be thankful.