Say I see a head - what do you want me to do with it?
A birth story. Not the one we planned.
5:00 a.m.
“Babe, I think I’m having contractions.”
The bag had been packed for weeks. We were ready to head down to the car and drive to the hospital.
While Lital got herself together, I called the friends who’d been on standby for a month to take one-year-old Yan.
“Whenever it happens, call us. Any hour. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
He didn’t answer.
I called his wife. She didn’t answer either.
Screaming from the bathroom.
Lital had become a pile of pain and screams.
I realized there was no way we were getting her down to the car.
What do we do?
This is a medical situation, I thought. Call an ambulance.
I explained that I thought my wife was giving birth in our bathtub.
“Check if you can see the baby’s head.”
“Say I see a head - what do you want me to do with it?”
They told me to stay calm. It was a natural process. An ambulance was on the way.
I hung up and tried our friends again.
Still no answer.
The paramedics arrived.
“You’re delivering here at home, right?”
“Absolutely not. We’re taking her to the hospital - a sterile delivery room, all the proper equipment.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tommy was born.
On a stretcher.
In the kitchen.