Sunday was Father's Day, right?

At 5am Sunday morning my phone rang. I was hoping it's my 6/28 woman calling in labor. Instead it was my old preceptor calling to ask if I could go to a birth. They had two ladies in labor and one of the midwives were sick. I had been hacking the last dregs of a AC-induced cold as well, and noticed I sounded much worse than the sick midwife on the phone (which made me laugh), but I croaked, "Sure, I'll go. Send me an apprentice."
Knowing how conservative this family is, I purposely dressed in a shirt and pants that covered my tattoos, and wasn't remotely tight.
This particular client was a woman I had met 8 years ago when she and I both had our first kids and attended a Natural Family Planning class together.She's also had 2 kids with my preceptors. One of which I attended a lot of prenatals to and did the post partum support. She's a lovely, quiet woman. A very conservative Christian. The long skirts, home schooled kids, and very traditional gender roles in their family. I have a soft spot for these families because they're just about Amish without being Amish~ if that makes any sense.
Maybe something in me longs for such a simple life with very clearly drawn lines.

At any rate, this woman was in labor with baby number 4. Oh, and nearly 43 weeks. Besides getting completely lost in the crazy farm lands for a while, everything was straight forward. Labor was going well and she and her husband were sweet together, not needing any extra support. We were there maybe 3 hours before she started to push. She's a little woman, but has 8 1/2 pound babies no problem. Before too long the baby was crowning. Crowning too slowly for baby #4. A flicker of a worry came across my thoughts. Thinking this head should just pop out in one smooth push. At any rate, the head finally cleared but then sucked up against her bottom tight. I felt for a cord around the neck and there was none. But there were no shoulders there either. The baby's head immediately turned dark purple.
Next contraction came and she pushed hard and the baby didn't budge. I told her she needed to flip over onto hands and knees. Her husband is this big army guy and sensing the urgency in my voice, flipped this poor woman over like she was a toddler. I reached in and the posterior shoulder was right there. No anterior shoulder. I felt around for the anterior shoulder and felt it high behind the pubic bone. I tried turning it into an oblique position, and then I tried the corkscrew maneuver, which thank God, worked. The baby freed up and I swiveled her out. She was such a chunky baby though, her torso was born to her hips and then kind of stuck half way (I didn't want to yank the baby out). So with one big last push, the mama pushed the baby out.

So she's out.
And with a big purple head and a white floppy body. We're all full of adrenalin. I rub and dry the baby and she doesn't stimulate at all. I'm talking to her: "Come on baby, look at me. Breathe baby. Come on..."
I tell the apprentice to grab the oxygen tank and resuscitation board which is right next to us. Seconds seem like minutes though. I put my mouth over the baby's mouth and nose and puff a breath into her. I feel her lungs inflate and see her eyes pop open like a baby doll. "That's it, baby. Look at us, stay here. You guys, talk to your baby, tell her she's safe." The parents and apprentice start talking to the baby. The baby closes her eyes and goes momentarily limp. I give her another mouth to mouth puff and again her eyes pop open like a doll.
At these scary births, when it feels like you're convincing a baby to stay in this world, time feels like it almost stops. There's this brief moment of wonder. Of true, other-worldly transition. You heart leaps when the eyes open. These crazy, timeless and ancient eyes look around the room as if summing us all up. And your own eyes plead for the baby to stay. Really baby, it's all good here. There's a lot of love waiting to soak you up here. As frightening as it is in nanoseconds, it's also truly amazing. You feel like in your hands there is something far more wise than any one else in the room.
With that second puff of breath, the baby not only opens her eyes, but also gains a little muscle tone. She gasps a fraction of a second. I look for the bulb syringe. It's about 10 feet from me. Grr! The apprentice is green and is fumbling. I get mad that the tray isn't closer to me. I leave the baby for a second to grab the bulb syringe. And say out loud, "Fuck! Fuck!" There goes my goodness. So much for covering my tattoos when I'm talking like a sailor.
The baby has eyes open, but is still floppy. I suction her quickly, and rub her up again and this time she cries. "Praise God!" I say. "Thank you God! She's alright, you guys. She's good."
All of this from the time the baby was stuck to getting her to breathe on her own was only 3 minutes.
The mom who was still on hands at knees during all of this, didn't see what was going on, but later says she knew it was urgent from my tone of voice. I apologize for swearing.
Later though when driving home, I pray thanks to God. I laugh and tell him that my mouth may utter bad things at times, but I always try to give thanks where thanks is due. I don't feel bad about swearing. I meant it when I said Fuck and I meant it when I said Praise God.
We're only human.
There's more I could say but I have to go get ready for a long day.