A visual record of Owen Parris' birth
Babies, Doctors, Midwives, labouring women and waiters don't like flash photography. So very few of these photos were taken with a flash. There are some side effects from this, like longer exposure times (sometimes causing motion blur) and yellowing of the subject (because they're generally taken under halogen lights). Please forgive.
Like an idiot, I left the camera's autofocus off. Anyways, labour started at 2005-09-24 05:30am, apparently. Officially, the labour started much later. What's the difference? The offical labour is called "observed labour".
Anyways, we showed up at the hospital late for our 8am appointment to induce labour (details below) - we figured that wouldn't be necessary now that Cathy was now in labour. So here's Cathy, in the delivery suite, labouring away. Not really like on TV, is it? Smile for the camera...
At this point Cathy could happily chat away, even in the middle of a contraction - they were irregular and weak.
That Cathy was experiencing contractions was a little bit of a surprise to the staff, so they hooked her up to the machine that goes 'ping' in an attempt to confirm things. Actually, it didn't go 'ping' much, more like 'beep', and it didn't do that much either.
It's a fetal heart rate (left trace) monitor coupled with a maternal uterus monitor for watching the contactions (right trace). The baby's heart rate was kicking along at a healthy 150bpm, a bit like techno dance music. Small mammals == high heartrates.
A doctor, a sonographer and a midwife walk into a birthing suite...
And bring a pile of machines with them, and take all sorts of measurements. I can't for the life of me remember why.
Anyway, Fergus, our lovely doctor from Ireland, reiterated that the hospital would prefer the baby out sooner rather than later given the size of the swimming pool he was currently paddling around in. The Royal Women's wouldn't let us into the Family Birth Centre to deliver given her swimming pool volume, so we figured that we may as well let them induce the labour.
So Cathy was induced, in spite of having contractions already. I'll leave description of the induction technique to the textbooks. Let's just say it involved rubber gloves.
Almost immediately Cathy's contactions became regular, and they started increasing in strength. Sometimes she'd even have to stop speaking while experiencing one.
They just can't let go of the measurements; here we are checking blood pressure again.
It around this point Cathy cracked and asked for pain relief. A couple of Panadol (write that down).
Everyone who wasn't on the medical staff was relaxed about the whole labour thing. This is Pam, Cathy's Mum. She and I acted as Cathy's birth assistants, which as you can see involves reading...
... and going out to lunch on Lygon Street. Cathy had the gnocchi, I had a small pizza and Pam an omelette (which, whilst not only coming with a side salad and fries, was enormous and fabulously tasty - I confiscated a sample). Yes, Cathy was out having lunch whilst she was having contractions.
Sorry about the flashwork, I haven't got "the right accessory flash", I've borrowed my Dad's - it's about 30 years old; quite a decent flash, even now, but they didn't have computers built into them back in them there days, and it would have been preferable to have a rotating flashhead. Due to the low light levels, I've cleverly spoiled the shot by focusing on the chairs in the foreground rather than Cathy and Pam ordering lunches. But you get the idea.
Anyways, more labour. Cathy found that walking offered a reasonable distraction from the labour pains. And she was in a sufficiently good mood to smile at her stupid partner running around like a papperazzi.
Not long after this, we fronted back up at the birth suite, and "observed labour" begun.
Food. Cathy likes food. Fruit salad and ice-cream - yummy dinner!
Cathy is here standing rocking during the labour - the contractions were easier to deal with standing. Notice how she's hooked up to the machine that goes 'ping'. The pansy-arsed doctors followed hospital protocol and were shooting for continuous monitoring of the fetus, looking out for distress caused by low amniotic fluid levels. It did a lot of beeping, especially when Cathy stood up; beeping indicating that the child must have died because it couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore. Each time a midwife, normally Lesley, would rush in and hold the sonic transducer closer to her belly and the machine would stop beeping - 'Oh, no, stop panicking, turns out the kid isn't dead,' says the machine. This machine, built by Hewlett Packard, was the single most annoying piece of crap in the whole labour.
This is the easy bit?!?
So, labour progressed fairly quickly from here, but there was more vomiting, plenty of blood and other bodily products. It's a lot less messy adopting.
Shifts change at 22:00, and that's when Christie became our midwife for the remainder of the labour.
You can see, Cathy still has that stupid monitor strapped to her.
For the record, observed labour was 4:30 1st stage, 0:44 2nd stage, 0:07 3rd stage, for a total of 5:21; our figuring of labour time was something around the 18 hour mark. You pick one.
Christie got Cathy and me through the transition and then second stage labour without pain medications. Cathy's cumulative pain management medication (you did write that bit down earlier, right?): a couple of Panadol. I stand in awe of her. Mental note: never cross Cathy. Owen's time of birth: 2005-09-24 23:29 EST (GMT+11:00).
The first photo of Owen (as opposed to above, the family).
I don't want to talk about the technical aspects of this shot. Stupid camera.
Clean up, shower, etc, and then we shipped down to the Family Birth Centre; I was the last to hit the hay, after completing appropriate paperwork and doing various fetching and carrying duties. I think it was 4:30am.
The FBC is kind of a hotel run by midwives - Cathy, Owen and I stayed in the same room, going through Parenting 101 learning to care for our new charge. It was just like being at home together - Cathy and I even slept in a Queen sized bed together - except with an unending supply of clean laundry, all meals provided and advice on tap on any aspect of childcare. It was a wonderful opportunity to bond together as an extremely tired family.
To the left is the cot that Owen spent a couple of hours at one point so that we could catch up on our sleep.
Our room.
Unfortuately, you won't be able to stay in the Family Birth Centre, as we did, because there are plans to not have one in the new Royal Women's Hospital (compeltion: 2008). Instead, you'll have the women sleeping in the ward in a shared room, and the new father will go home around 21:00.
If you don't like the sound of that, and you want the FBC option to be available to you, write to:
The Director of Women's Activities,
Royal Women's Hospital,
Melbourne
and outline your concerns. I'd really encourage that, because you will miss out - big time.
Eileen's holds her first great-grandchild like a pro. I'm impressed, and a little surprised. Owen is the first great-grandchild on either side - mine or Cathy's. So of all the cousins Cathy and I have, we're the first to start breeding.
Number one! Number one! Number one!Thank you All-American cheersquad. Owen's arrival has started drawing the cousins out of the woodwork, and that's good to see; over time the importance of family connections is growing for me.
The McDonald family stands around, using their mobiles in blatant disregard for the hundreds of little signs saying "No mobiles, turn you mobile off, don't use your mobile, you'll kill people"
Pam and Peter have elected to adopt the monikers 'Grandma' and 'Grandpa'. Robert has had 'Uncle Bob' foisted on him, and Ellen (off screen - a little to the right, and back from the camera by 12,000 miles) will be 'Nutti Ellen'. Ellen's man refused to be Uncle Luke; quite rightly too - Luke was the nephew, Owen was the Uncle, as all Starwars fans know.
Some people aren't impressed by their new monikers. They should have thought about that before... ummm...
The Parris' first grandchild; Dorothy has gone for 'Doidy-ma' and has announced that Keith will be 'Omm-pa-pa'. Keith has announced he will be henceforth known as Keith.
A little to the right and 11,500 miles back from the camera is Rachael, whom for consistency we'll call 'Nutti Rachael'. Her husband I think will get 'Uncle Carsten', but you never know.
Some people aren't impressed by their new monikers.
A bunch of gifts. Great thing about having babies, people love them and give you a bunch of stuff for free! Which is great! And the gifts have been wonderfully thoughtful and generous; might I also add warmly received, even though in our sleep-deprived stuppers it probably looked like we were ignoring them.
With so few babies around, when people look at baby clothes they see the sizes and say "No way could any human ever be that small. Size 0000 is clearly for premature babies. I'll get this size over here," which means you'll have plenty of clothes for when he's 12 months old, but his arse will be flapping in the wind as a newborn. People, people, people: Babies are tiny! Otherwise giving birth would be more like pooing out a basketball than pooing out a rockmellon. As an amusing side story: we anticipated getting no clothes, so we stocked up on several sizes, including 0000 and 000; having brought Owen home, a search of every part of the house couldn't locate this carefully hoarded clothing. So, to restore his sartorial splendor, Josh had to go out shopping for that stuff, all over again.
Now, all I need is a little spare time to write up the thank-you cards...
Hearing test: pass
Which I knew he would, because he had been reacting to sounds around him. But he's now got it on his record that there is a family history of hearing problems - due to Daddy's congentially small eustation tubes. I hope he got a good set.
DJ Owen.
I've never been sleep deprived. Sure, I've stayed up all night playing computer games, gone to work, stayed up all night playing computer games, and then phoned in sick. I've travelled to the other side of the planet, on the cheapest tickets possible, personally carrying an insane amount of luggage, from one arbitrary point in a metropolitan zone to another without getting a wink of rest. But I've never been sleep deprived.
Until now.
Sleep deprivation is apparently used as a torture technique, and I now understand why. I'd tell anybody anything they wanted to know at this point, provided they promised me a half hour's rest.
Sleep deprived is having a headache from not enough sleep that doesn't go away when you get sleep. Sleep deprived is laying in bed not being able to sleep because you are just too tired to. Sleep deprived is letting some random stranger take your baby, the third most important person in the world (and clearly the most helpless), from your arms on the mere promise that they will bring him back to you when he's ready for a feed - and being happy rather than cautious, because now you can go to bed. Sleep deprivation is having hour after hour whittled away from you, while you look on powerlessly.
Owen is the single best thing I've ever had a hand in.