Bundle of Joy

There were sounds everywhere. Beeps in synchrony with the baby’s heartbeat. Little did she know about the holy process of giving birth. This was her first pregnancy.

And without warning, her waters broke and she was rushed, with the machine recording the heartbeat still attached to her pregnant belly, into the labour room.

Nurses gathered around the young lady, trying to motivate her with all sorts of sounds and tales of glorious women. Taking names of gods. But, it didn’t matter to her. She was in deep pain, unbearable. So painful that even the eyes stopped tearing. But the walls of the labour room didn’t care. They had seen one too many. They stood indifferent. The pain soared with every contraction of the womb. Doctor came running. There was very little time for gloving. Yet, the experience showed its qualification. The senior doctor gloved and I joined her in assistance.

After a quick assessment of how much the baby has descended, we realised that it was almost midway. We eagerly waited for the head to appear. Someone from the back, in a serious tone said–“Any moment now!”

On one contraction, all hell broke loose. There was blood everywhere and the head crowned. We decided that her skin needs to be cut to prevent any tears. Her parts were anaesthetised quickly and an episiotomy was put. Blood oozed from the freshly incised wound. She screamed of pain. Not because of the wound. The head was finally coming out. She was persuaded her to push the baby out–to a point of irritation. Tired of pushing for what seemed like an eternity, she said “I can’t” in a giving-up tone. Soon, another contraction and the pain started again. she screamed with pain, her face was red, veins glutted and she was sweating. And, with one last hard push, head was out. The doctor held the head by the jaws and pulled the baby out. Still connected to the mother by cord.

The cord was clamped and cut. A nine months’ journey of togetherness came to an abrupt end. There were no adieus. The cut marked a new bond–one that was to be the most precious–mother’s love.

One nurse, waiting with a tub to catch the baby came near and the baby was gently placed in the tub. There was blood everywhere, yet, in the midst of all the crud, a faint cry was heard. Although faint, it said I’m a warrior! Those tiny hands and feet moved with every breath and soon the baby was pink in all its cuteness. The bundle of joy had finally arrived. The room was filled with delight. Laughs and cheers everywhere. With the anecdotes of senior nurses that the juniors eagerly listened to. Baby was sifted to another room to be put under a warmer.

We sutured the incised wound and waited for the placenta to be expelled. Once we were sure the mother is fine, we washed-out. I was excited to see the baby. In my student-years, I had seen deliveries. But, this was the first time I assisted. The epiphany of seeing and doing are two different things was wearing away.

I entered the other room where the baby was kept. It was silent. I could only see cars through the tightly shut window. The room was over-lit. White walls made it seem brighter. In the middle of the room, underneath the huge incubator lied a small thing. A small thing with tiny hands and feel. A small thing with life.