The birthing of Isaac Jonathon Baker Evens

February 14th, 2007.

It was only two days before that Samantha had woken from regular contractions and we had trundelled down to Frankston Hospital for observation. Of course, nothing happened so we drove home again, but today was different.

Samantha woke around 6:30am from regular contractions, after trying to ignore them most of the night. By 7:30is we were walking out of the bungalo, past my dad, who was watering the lemon tree, saying, "we're going down to the hospital", which, on reflection, was incredibly vague. But I was fairly sure this was just another false alarm. My dad threw me an unsure look, but I didn't elaborate or anything. Later on he said that he didn't realise what was really going on, and wasn't expecting his fourth grandchild by the end of that morning.

We jumped in the car - well I did. I think Samantha wasn't feeling that great with the regular contractions. And we were both tired, too. And made it down to Frankston Hopital in 5 minutes or so. I did the usual, dropping Samantha off at the front entrance and then went to find a carpark - sometime difficult, but not a problem at 8am. Actually, I got a really close car park that morning.

By the time I walked upstairs to maternity ward, Samantha was already in an observation room and the nurses were setting up a fetal monitor. Quickly, I could see that the contractions were real, intense and unerringly regular - it looked like we were having a baby today. I said to Sam, "maybe I should go call the parent to let them know this is looking serious". So I trundelled off downstairs to go outside were I could use the mobile phone. I spoke to mum for a short while and then on my way back inside stopped at the stall at the bottom of the stairs. They were selling hand-made soaps and they looked pretty good, and cheap too. I perused the soaps for a while, chatting with the shopkeeper, finally deciding on a large block of olive oil soap, and two small blocks, one mango and the other mixed fruit or something. The mango, the woman had informed me, has Shea butter in it and is a great moisturiser and great for shaving.

I walked upstairs, hoping I hadn't lingered too long.

When I walked into the room, pulling back the barrier curtains, Samantha was crying and had a distressed look on her face. I sat down thinking, I'm in trouble now, but she just kind of blubbered, "we're going to have a baby today". I was a bit surprised by this. Not that we would have a baby, but that she was crying about it. Wasn't that why we were here in Australia? hitting the pause button on our lives in Cambodia for four months? Anyway, I figured she was emotional about it. After all, the labour affects her far more than me. Apparently the nurses were prepping for a caesarian right then.

I went back downstairs and called mum again to confirm, "yes, we really are having a baby today".

Sure enough, within twenty minutes or so, Samantha was being transfered by a hospital orderly down to the operating theatres.

When we arrived at the operating suites, Samantha and I were separated. She went on in first, and I had to 'suit up' into what looked like an abattoirs uniform - white overalls with a hair net. I was then escorted to a seat to wait while Samantha was prep-ed for the C-section.

As fate would have it, I was sitting next to an old guy in his seventies, who had broken his arm about three days before. He was lying on a gurney and had been waiting for his arm to be set since he broke his arm. Each time he was about to go into theatre they would tell him, "sorry, we've got an emergency", and he'd have to wait some more. He seemed in good cheer about it. I would have been spitting chips. But I felt bad for him. Samantha was technically having an 'emergency' operation so we were bumping him yet again.

Finally I was called into theatre and seated by Samantha's right hand side, just behind her head. She was laid out on a table, all dressed in white. A technician was shaving the top of Samantha's pubic hair. Neither Samantha or I could see much because the staff had hung a sheet over her chest, blocking the gorey view. Quickly, surgeons entered and began working.

We had been told that even though a c-section takes about an hour to complete, most of that is stitching up the wound, so the baby comes quite quickly. This I found to be pretty accurate. The staff did their jobs quietly - extremely quietly. None of the tv OR chatter I was expecting. The anaethetist talked with Samantha about her other children. And within ten minutes, I guess, waters were breaking, forceps were being used and finally a tiny body emerged from Samantha's abdomen.

When I first saw Isaac, and infact for quite some time, he wasn't moving at all. He looked kind of lifeless. But I think he was just asleep. After 30 seconds or so he whimpered and cried a little, but was silent for the most part. Not like Patrick, who chattered like a chimpanzee.

Isaac was very pink, but slimy with plenty of blood smeared all over him. But I thought he looked pretty healthy. I was anxious until I heard him cry the first time. And, I guess because a c-section is a little easier going for the little guy, he came out without a blemish.

The nurses took him to the newborn baby station, which I guess has a heater on it, and cleaned him up, then they asked me to come over and cut the cord, which I thought was pretty silly as the surgeon had already done that. But I guess they wanted me to feel involved. Well, I think an involvement scale of 1 to 10, this was a 1, as the surgeon did it all. But soon I was holding him and Samantha was able to see him.

I opened up my meat-work suit so that the baby could touch my skin. Given Sam was still 'open' that might have been a no-no, but I didn't care, and no one opposed me. Sam was able to hold Isaac on her chest for a bit and even tried breast feeding, but decided to wait till she was out of OR.

Finally, Sam was zipped up and I was escorted to the recovery area, where some confusion ensued. The nurse, or whoever, who was guiding me asked me whether I could go in to the recovery room or I had to sit out. I replied that no-one had said anything about it to me. She looked worried, confused and concerned and conferred with someone from recovery. He said, "sure, come on in". And I sat in a chair with Isaac in my arms, waiting for Sam to come out.
I didn't find out until later that the staff had initially told Sam they would take the baby until she was back in the hospital ward. At that, Sam burst into tears. This shook the staff up, as she was already on the operating table, and I guess they didn't like the idea of their patient crying hysterically through an operation. After some quick deliberation they decided it would be o.k. to keep Isaac with her after all. Du-uh.

When Sam came to recovery, she tried feeding Isaac, who took to it straight away. No problems. The recovery guy was really happy and encouraged us saying, "this is really natural". And the midwives were very excited - "this has never happened before", they kept saying. It wasn't until Sam told me about her crying that I realised the significance of what had happened. This was the first baby EVER, to have been allowed to stay with it's parents throughout the whole procedure! Hard to believe, but true.

We actually weren't in recovery very long. 10 minutes perhaps, and then went back to the maternity ward. Isaac was our very new baby boy.