Aug 24 2004
We are Three
Mia Ogata Rollins (海愛みあ) was born at 18:30 on Friday, August 20th, in Kumamoto, Japan. Healthy she is, and very happy to enjoy her new, more spacious quarters. Mother is fine as well after an arduous day and a half of labor, and is recovering nicely in her well-appointed room at a local hospital.
And me? Fine as well, just as you might expect from the happiest man in the world.
I got the call at around 2 AM Thursday morning. Rie’s water had broken, and the hospital had told her to come in and be admitted. She left for the hospital shortly thereafter, and I began furiously packing and cleaning house. I was ready go about four hours later, and left for Haneda airport to catch the first flight out of Tokyo to Kumamoto.
Foolish me, I was laboring under the misapprehension that I might get there too late and miss all the action. Nothing could have been further from the truth, however, as I was to realize soon after arriving. At noon on Thursday things were, in fact, just getting started.
I won’t go into to too much detail here, but suffice to say that the labor was extremely long and difficult, lasting until six PM the next day. We passed the time enduring contractions that grew stronger and more frequent as the hours passed. Time seemed to move in slow motion. Neither of us could sleep, of course. Rie for the contractions, and me because of my role as birth partner which kept me very busy massaging her back and legs, bringing food and drink, helping her get and stay comfortable, etc.
I watched the minutes tick past on the large clock on the wall, still visible in the dim light of the labor room we occupied (and thankfully had to ourselves). Time moved forward in 5-7 minute increments, waiting for the next contraction, and then waiting for each to pass. It took a huge toll on both of us, and obviously more so for Rie than I.
The hours passed like this until Friday around noon, when we were moved into the delivery room. I thought that was a good sign that birth was imminent, but was sadly mistaken. Things weren’t moving forward as quickly as anyone expected. Finally the sensei–the only male physician among the staff of five of so who looked after us throughout the ordeal–asked for our permission to use oxytocin to strengthen the contractions and speed things up. We gave it gladly after discussing the benefits and potential side effects.
It did its job and things began to get moving again. We now had the undivided attention of one of the senior midwifes, a Ms. Tsukamoto who was a real life saver for us with firm guidance, strong encouragement, and first-class midwifery skills. We were extremely fortunate to have her.
When the time came for the final push, as it were, the doctor returned and was joined by two more midwives. Unfortunately, Rie was completely exhausted at this point, and mustering the necessary strength to push was beyond her. But then the senior midwife–and tall, confident woman possessed of an irresistible disposition–reassured her with full certainty that the strength would come when she needed it, and that we had to do this thing now. Too tired now to even respond, she nodded her understanding, and pressed on.
For anyone who has never been in the delivery room for the last 20 minutes of a difficult delivery there is no real way to really grasp the pain, fear, anguish and drama of the experience. For those who have, if you’re anything like me it still makes you shudder. And if you think about it too long, you find yourself fighting back tears.
Rie lay on the delivery table fighting with the last shreds of her strength to bring our baby–now so close, so unbelievably close–into the world. I stood at her side, gripping her hand and trying not collapse as my legs buckled and shook with fatigue and shock and fear. Every three minutes a little more of our child would appear, the nurses would demand more pushing, and Rie’s screams would grow louder and more desperate. For my part I’m a complete wreck, and can only stand there, holding her hand and repeating encouraging things about it all being almost over while tears stream down my face and my lungs spasm with the sobs of a five-year old sent to bed early for misbehaving.
But then the head emerges, followed shortly thereafter by a shoulder, then another, then a torso and suddenly this endless baby is appearing inch by purple inch onto the delivery table… and then it’s over. (Well, almost over.) Rie is almost unconscious by now, but I’m telling her over and over again, “You did it! Oh my God, you did it!” She makes a faint smile without opening her eyes.
The nurses take the baby and begin cleaning her up, then she’s placed on Rie’s chest.
At this point there are tests to perform and a brief observation period of two hours. I take the opportunity to go out and tell Rie’s parents, who have been waiting all afternoon for some good news. Dad isn’t around but Mom is, so I tell her. She’s happy, and says,
“Everything is fine, then? The baby is okay?”
“Yes, the baby is just fine. Beautiful, even,” I say.
“And Rie? Rie is fine, too?”
“Yes, exhausted, but she’s fine.”
“Great, that is just so good to hear. Say, are you hungry?”
“What?” I say.
“Food. We’re famished. Let’s go get some dinner!”
It’s like that with them. Anyway…
Call me biased, but I think our daughter is completely beautiful. Gorgeous. Stellar. She is, as they say (and after Rie) the light of my life. What a star!
Anyway, I’ll close here and leave with some snaps from the past three days. Meet Mia, and come by and say hi when you have time. She’d love to see you…
