The birth of our son
One lesbian couple’s path to happy parenthood — a story told in the first person.
Part 1. Pregnancy in a same-sex family Part 2. 38 weeks of waiting
With sincere gratitude for the help, the support and the wise advice of our friends — wonderful moms: Liudmylka, Katenka and Natasha.
In childbirth preparation classes they always discuss what giving birth means for each couple. Some rather significant definitions and emotions come up. In our group the answers were: a natural physiological process, pain, anxiety and so on. To put us in a positive frame of mind, the instructor reminded us that labor is our baby’s birthday — and therefore an important celebration for every family.
Choosing a maternity hospital and a doctor
I deliberately moved this section into this part of our story, because it is from the moment you choose your doctor that the countdown to the birth really begins — that is, to the process of bringing your long-awaited baby into the world.
Broadly speaking, there are two approaches to choosing a doctor and a maternity hospital: an early, deliberate choice of a doctor (and, as a consequence, of the maternity hospital where she works), or giving birth wherever the ambulance takes you. The second option is typical of people with very limited means or with an indifferent attitude toward life. Believe me, there are plenty of them. Their reasoning: “I’m not going to pay for childbirth. Doctors are obliged to deliver my baby.” Yes, that is true — doctors really are obliged to deliver a baby when a woman in labor arrives by ambulance. There is only one question: how that birth will go for the mother and the child.
We chose the first option: we asked all the moms we knew in advance, found out who had given birth where, in which maternity hospital and with which doctors, and whether they had been satisfied. In our classes we were also told about all the maternity hospitals in Kyiv. It turned out that our friend Liudmylka had given birth three times at Maternity Hospital No. 7, and that our friend Katenka and her friend had given birth at No. 7 as well. The reviews of the hospital were positive. We took the contacts of both doctors and first called Nataliia Mykolaivna Kolesnyk — she is the head of the delivery unit at Maternity Hospital No. 7. From my friend’s account it was clear that she would not stand on ceremony, but we decided to meet her in person to understand whether it was a “yes” or a “no.” After the meeting it was clear: “yes,” she was right for us and we would be giving birth with her.
These days you can also choose a doctor differently — from reviews online. Many moms write reviews on the internet; it is enough to type into a search engine, for example, “kolesnyk nataliia mykolaivna maternity hospital 7 reviews” — and you can find reviews and even ratings. I wrote a review too, and I tried to make it detailed so that it would be easier for other couples to make their choice. My review can be found online (I posted it on several sites), but for convenience I am reproducing it here.
Alona, Zhenia and Aloshka, September 2, 2014
A review of Maternity Hospital No. 7, Nataliia Mykolaivna Kolesnyk
We gave birth with NM on a friend’s recommendation and were very happy with it. Our heartfelt thanks!
We came to meet her and waited a long time for our audience downstairs in the lobby, but when we got up to her office we received clear, concise information: the symptoms of the onset of labor and an exact understanding of when to head to the maternity hospital. Nothing more was needed. We had attended childbirth preparation classes, so the information she gave simply let us orient ourselves more precisely.
By the second visit (filling out the paperwork) it turned out that our baby was suspected of having a heart defect (coarctation of the aorta) — which is very serious. As NM had asked, we did not call her before 8 a.m. (a patient must respect her doctor’s sleep, and vice versa), even though we had been in the admissions room since 6 a.m. To my surprise, at 7:30 we saw her in the unit — it turned out she had been called in during the night for a delivery.
We were placed in a separate delivery room. At first both we and the orderlies got told off over the streaks of blood on the floor (in case anyone doesn’t know — cervical dilation is a fairly bloody process) — the room has to be kept in order! We took the point.
In the delivery room, especially at this stage, the presence of a partner is very important: to wipe things up, to hand over water, to breathe together, to keep track of how much time has passed since the last dose of epidural anesthesia and so on. Knowing our diagnosis, she said: if the child is unwell, it is very important to deliver without intervention. She came in quite often, and because the contractions were extremely painful the decision was made to give an epidural. Besides her, the medical staff came in — to ask how things were going, to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. One person I remember especially is a lovely young woman, the intern Dasha.
During the birth itself NM directed all of us constructively, everyone had their own job; a whole team of doctors delivered our baby, because the baby’s condition was the priority. We delivered in 12 hours (from the first contractions), with the pushing stage itself taking 1–1.5 hours. The outcome: our child was born healthy (on the third day of his life, at the Yemets Cardiac Center, the diagnosis fortunately was not confirmed — the aorta had widened). NM was sincerely happy along with us at the discharge.
We tore a little during the birth, NM stitched it up — all without any problems: no fever, no complications, although recovering from the epidural was hard — heart palpitations, weakness, dizziness, and it was very difficult to stand up.
On the whole, the big minus of Maternity Hospital No. 7 is that they did not teach us how to care for a baby at all! Shift after shift said: “The previous shift should have explained that to you.” Until I caught the head nurse before the discharge and wrote down, word for word, what to do. I consider this my own big miscalculation — in the classes you shouldn’t listen only to the part about labor; the most important thing is to get into baby care. The maternity hospital has work to do here too. It is better to spend 20 minutes and dictate the key points to new parents in their room than to have them chase down every shift afterward with small questions — I understand that their job is not an easy one: at the time of our discharge there were 54 babies in the unit!
It is easier for those who give birth with their mothers around — a mother will at least share her experience, while the two of us, with no experience at all, found ourselves in a very difficult position. And again — a partner is irreplaceable after the birth: to ask, to call a nurse, to raise a question, to warm up the formula, to run to the pharmacy and so on.
I recommend Nataliia Mykolaivna Kolesnyk for people who are internally organized. If at least one of you (the one giving birth or the partner) listens to her (you can ask questions — she answers clearly and to the point), everything will be fine. What matters is that she genuinely loves the work she does.
Nataliia Mykolaivna, our warmest greetings, our best wishes and many healthy and beautiful babies to you!
Alona, Zhenia and Alosha (born on February 14, 2014)
Packing for the maternity hospital
Packing for a maternity hospital can’t be compared to anything — not to a vacation, not to a camping trip, not to a business trip. It is a separate process that can take quite a lot of time. We started on it after the 30th week of pregnancy, and the packing lasted about a month. Of course we weren’t doing it non-stop for a whole month — it was analyzing the list and making shopping trips to maternity stores and pharmacies. Unfortunately, we could not find a store where you can buy everything at once. Yes, you can find ready-made maternity hospital kits online, but Zhenechka analyzed the offers and rejected them — not optimal and expensive.
A rather good list of things for the maternity hospital was in the handbook from the “ABC for Parents” classes. So what is this mysterious list, and why did it take so much time? It is packing for a small but very personal “self-sufficient expedition.” The better you prepare for it, the less running to the pharmacy at the maternity hospital you will do later. I’ll try to explain what these things are actually for in practice.
What to take to the maternity hospital:
Clothes for the birth Why: To give birth comfortably. Everything below has to be loose, and on top something convenient that opens up the breasts for feeding. It can be a very long T-shirt or a special nightgown for labor. What definitely won’t come in handy is woolen and very warm things, because maternity hospitals are usually terribly hot. What we took: We bought a set especially for Zhenia — a nightgown with detachable nursing straps plus a light robe. A very good option in practice. It was at least 28 degrees Celsius in our room — and that is despite the fact that we aired it out constantly.
Disposable hygienic underwear + special maternity pads + wet wipes + disposable bed padsWhy: After the birth these are very important items. After the birth the uterus bleeds heavily, so you need large sterile pads. When changing pads it is not always possible to keep the underwear clean, so disposable ones are a convenient and functional option. Buy disposable underwear at least one size larger than you usually wear: it should not press. To take it off you don’t even have to bend over — you can simply tear it at the side. Don’t even think about taking fancy underwear with ruffles or thongs to the maternity hospital — useless, unnecessary things. What we took: My Zhenechka arrived at the maternity hospital in a thong and left in my boxers. In between there were only disposables. We bought big packs of wet wipes for newborns — everyone used them at first, until Zhenia was able to get up and take a shower on her own. Disposable bed pads will come in handy for a new mom in the first twenty-four hours.
Bras + nipple cream Why: You need (at least 2) special nursing bras with clasps that unfasten at the front of the cups. Choose the option that is comfortable for you in terms of design: cups, straps, shape. They write that you should take a cup 1–3 sizes larger than your usual one — when the milk comes in, the breasts can grow considerably. This is your best friend for the coming months. It is mega-important to have something for cracked nipples with you. Unfortunately, cracks appear in 95% of women, and as research shows, it does not depend on preparing the breasts but rather on physiology. What we took: Katenka gave us Purelan to take with us. It came in very handy, because the pain from cracked nipples is very substantial, and by the second day after the birth the cracks from nursing had already appeared.
Shoes for mom Why: Slippers that are comfortable to walk around the room in, and rubber slippers you can wear into the shower. What we took: We took ordinary house slippers + rubber flip-flops + disposable shoe covers.
Personal hygiene products for mom Why: You will need towels, toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap or shower gel, toilet paper. The rest of the details have to be thought through individually. What we took: We took a hairdryer with us — that appliance is definitely not there.
Household items Why: A kettle, large rolls of paper towels, cups, spoons, forks, plates, a deep bowl or a camping bowl. A 6-liter bottle of drinking water. Garbage bags. It is mega-important to bring your own bed linen (several sets). First, a mom gives birth on her own sheet, and her own sheet is used to cover her and the baby after the birth. Second, she sleeps on her own set. The linen should be functional rather than pretty — there is no point in buying new, because with almost 100% certainty all of it will be covered in bloodstains in one place or another by the time you get home. The rest is individual. What we took: Liudmyla’s advice about bringing our own electric kettle came in very handy. Mega-convenient — you can make tea for mom and warm the supplementary formula in a water bath. I remember that we forgot sugar — and Liudmylka came to visit us with a package of sugar in little sachets.
Entertainment for mom Some people write: “Take an iPad or an iPod with you to keep yourself entertained in the maternity hospital.” Complete nonsense. First, there is no wi-fi in the maternity hospital. Second, objectively there is no time for anything. Third, if a new mom does find 10 free minutes, it is better to spend them on rest, and better still on sleep. The only genuinely useful device is a phone charger plus topped-up mobile accounts for both partners. Possibly a camera, provided there is someone to photograph mom and baby.
Clothes for the partner I packed for myself. For the birth I needed light shorts, a T-shirt and flip-flops. Over all of that — a disposable set of gown and shoe covers bought at the pharmacy. Since maternity hospitals are terribly hot and this uniform is quite stifling, I recommend assessing how well you tolerate high temperatures and choosing your clothes for the birth accordingly. Since I spent all three days in the maternity hospital with Zhenechka and slept on an inflatable mattress on the floor, I needed my own bed linen — a sheet, a pillowcase and a duvet cover. As for clothes — those same flip-flops plus a few T-shirts.
Clothes for the baby A very important point. I’ll give the basic list and go into the details later. You will need hats, socks, swaddling cloths, footed pants (in cold weather footed onesies are convenient, in warm weather kimono-style undershirts) — 3–4 sets, the first one will get dirty right away. For the discharge you will need something warmer: a snowsuit or a blanket (a bunting). A pacifier (also known as a soother) came in handy for us personally while we were still in the maternity hospital.
Personal hygiene products for the baby A very important point. You will need a pack of Newborn-type diapers for 3–5 kg (there are a great many manufacturers, but we were advised to choose diapers with a low waistband so that the diaper does not press on the umbilical stump). Wet wipes specifically for babies, disposable thin and warm swaddling cloths, baby powder, diaper rash cream (Drapolene worked for us). Cotton swabs, cotton balls, baby soap. Special baby scissors with rounded tips. A first-aid kit (hydrogen peroxide, brilliant green antiseptic, sterile gauze, cotton wool, a dropper, a regular thermometer and a digital one, disposable gloves, calendula tincture or alcohol). It is important to wash all the baby’s clothes in advance and then iron them thoroughly on both sides. Old sheets washed, ironed and torn into pieces in advance were a great help.
Food for the maternity hospital Tea, sugar, water. Food for the partner. Everything a new mom might need.
This is far from a complete list of the things that may come in handy at a maternity hospital — we simply tried to explain the point of each item.
Credit where it is due: Zhenechka prepared the packing wonderfully. As they were bought, all these things were assembled into kits and packed in a separate place in the apartment. When the time came to go, I simply picked it all up and carried it to the car.
The birth and our stay in the maternity hospital
For me it all began completely unexpectedly — on an ordinary, unremarkable night. I was used to Zhenia getting up to go to the bathroom 4–5 times or waking up at 3 a.m. to watch movies on her iPad (unable to fall asleep). I would usually wake up now and then and grumble at her to sleep. This time it was roughly the same. It was just after 3 a.m., only she was not lying down as usual, but sitting. I muttered “lie down” and turned over onto my other side, wanting to fall asleep. But Zhenechka did not lie down — she said her lower abdomen was pulling and she was going to keep an eye on it; she told me: “Sleep.” I fell asleep, but about an hour later — around 4 — she woke me up. I found her sitting on the bed with a stopwatch. I woke up fast. We sat on the edge of the bed and counted together — these were contractions every 3–5 minutes. We turned on the light and Zhenia gave the order: “Let’s pack and go.” Since I am almost never parted from my cell phone (it is my phone, my email, my calendar, my notes and my internet), I still have my notes from February 14 and 15, 2014.
The birth
5:59 — we arrived at the maternity hospital (I raced from the parking lot home at 120 km/h in places). 6:00 — the alarm clock went off (funny, really). 6:02 — we were asked to come to the examination room; a young woman came in, apparently a doctor; I heard that dilation was one finger, but the contractions were coming every three or four minutes. 6:24 — apparently we are being admitted; the indifferent woman who had been collecting the information all this time turned into a businesslike office worker at a computer. 7:00 — we took off our coats and shoes, changed and went up to the second floor. 7:05 — they wheeled a woman with her baby past on a gurney; she was smiling, though she looked tired; the dad looked more worn out. 7:15 — they wheeled another woman with her baby past. 7:16 — good morning, Nataliia Mykolaivna. It turns out a birth had just finished. She told me that we were only at the very beginning. 7:33 — one more wheeled past with her baby. The babies are funny: their little eyes shut, wrapped in blankets and always on their mother’s chest.
At that moment Zhenia was already inside the delivery unit. Then I was called in, and I tried to run quickly to the car and bring the rest of our things (and that was the right decision, because nobody lets you run back and forth out of the delivery unit anymore). Zhenia met me none too warmly: “Where have you been? I’m covered in blood here and I don’t even have anything to wipe myself with!”
A first-person account (Zhenia): “The orderly came twice and asked where my things and the pads I was supposed to put on were. Instead of bringing everything, Alona decided to sort through it all at her characteristic “super” speed; as a result I am losing blood alone in the room, I got scared that something was wrong, I even went out to ask the nurses on duty in the corridor (they said the doctor would come and take a look shortly). There is nothing in the delivery room, not even toilet paper. So it all ran onto the floor. Instead of going for the things right away, Alona sat and watched what was going on in the delivery rooms for a whole hour.”
Everyone got told off by Nataliia Mykolaivna over the streaks of blood on the floor: Zhenia and the orderlies alike.
In reality I was sitting in the corridor outside the delivery unit, waiting for someone to tell me anything at all, worrying about Zhenia — her cell phone was not answering. Now and then I would run up to the door, but I was told: “You can’t come in here, you will be called.” And only some forty minutes later, probably the same orderly who had been told off came out and said: “Bring the things in and come in.” But the things were in the car — and there were a lot of them. I dashed off for them like an arrow (or so it seemed to me), but for Zhenia time was passing differently. When I came in with the things, I tried to hand everything over to Zhenia quickly, and the ladies quickly wiped everything down while I was changing. It was around 8 a.m.
The delivery room at Maternity Hospital No. 7 is a large room, about 20 square meters, entered from the corridor. It has a partitioned-off bathroom (shower, sink, toilet), and there is also a separate sink for the doctors right in the room. On the right there is a bed, and next to it a large corner leather sofa. There is a birthing ball, and an ordinary chair as well. A clock hangs on the wall. The heat is terrible. At first I put on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and a disposable gown over them. Half an hour later I realized I was going to die. I changed into lighter clothes. I was also allowed to take the gown off, as the partner present at the birth. But all of this was happening very, very fast, because the atmosphere was extremely tense. Zhenia was in a bad way, her contractions were very painful. She did not scream — she just doubled up often and moaned. Watching it from the outside, knowing that your beloved is in severe pain, is very hard. My attempt, as we had been taught in class, to massage her pressure points and stroke her did not work out: she would not let me even touch her. I felt like a useless log.
Time passed very slowly, but someone looked in fairly often. We waited. Nataliia Mykolaivna came, examined Zhenia and said: “There is nothing I can do — the dilation is very small, you have to hold on. When it is three fingers, I will be able to give you anesthesia.” Understanding that Zhenia was suffering, in the moments when it let up a little I carefully started suggesting things — moving to the chair, changing position, breathing together — and she began to listen to me. I simply tuned myself to her rhythm; in the moments when she felt bad I lived through it with her, trying to encourage her: “it will pass in a moment, it’s already easing, hold on a little,” and so on. At some point my cell phone rang about work. I angrily switched off the sound and put it away (I had texted my managers at 8 a.m. saying that I was at the maternity hospital with my sister — that was our cover story).
It was half past ten in the morning when Nataliia Mykolaivna came to examine her again: “We can do the anesthesia now.” In our classes we had heard different opinions about epidural anesthesia, especially about its downsides, but with pain that insane (I want to emphasize that Zhenechka can endure far more pain than I can) we did not even consider continuing on our own. Ten minutes after the epidural, Zhenia was finally able to lie down, after four hours doubled up. During that time the lovely intern Dasha came often to measure the baby’s heartbeat — a special device was attached to the belly for it.
We were told: “Rest.” It was an incredible relief for both of us. We were finally able to talk to each other, and Zhenia told me what she had been feeling. At the same time we could hear squeals, screams and cries coming through the walls from the other delivery rooms. Zhenechka and I also discussed the fact that screaming is not constructive.
Epidural anesthesia is topped up as needed roughly every 1–1.5 hours. The downside of an epidural (we did not know this) is that you can no longer get out of bed; to use the toilet, they bring you a bedpan.
Somewhere around the third dose we started to feel sleepy. And we dozed a little — she on the bed, I next to her on the sofa. It was a very good decision. Our sleep was interrupted by the next examination, around one in the afternoon: “Full dilation, no more anesthesia!”
It was very sudden. Dasha explained that we were going to have the baby now, how Zhenia needed to turn over, how she needed to push — and Zhenia tried to do as she said. Dasha started coming in more often, and at some point she came together with Nataliia Mykolaivna, who said: “I can see the head.” It sounded like a submarine captain’s command: “Surfacing!” The delivery room immediately burst into motion: the lower part of the bed was transformed, wheeled carts with various instruments were brought in, a lot of people arrived — the anesthesiologist, the midwives, the head of the pediatric unit. The contractions continued, but Zhenia had barely felt them while the anesthesia was working; now she began to feel them again. Probably out of surprise, Zhenechka was disconcerted by that many people (Zhenia’s note: they turned me over, and getting through the contractions on my side and pushing was much more comfortable than on my back with my legs pulled up), while Nataliia Mykolaivna was briskly discussing the moment with the midwife and Dasha: “Well, I did not imagine it. There was a head! There definitely was. So where is it?” The head appeared again. The contractions grew stronger and turned into pushing. Everyone took their place — the midwives there, Nataliia Mykolaivna on a special step by Zhenia’s belly, so as to be higher than everyone else and at the same time to see everyone. One of the doctors stood behind the midwives.
Up to that moment I had been off to the side and had not even tried to look over there on purpose, and now I was given an order: “Stand at the head of the bed and support her head. Repeat to her everything I tell her to do, because she might not hear me, but she has to hear you.” As Zhenia told me later, even if you are told how to push and you try, it is still not easy to do. At some point everything went crisply: an order — and it is carried out. At certain moments it is important to breathe or not to breathe. I tried to repeat every word, to encourage her and to hold Zhenia’s head with all my strength. The midwives said the baby’s head was large and could tear Zhenia. They discussed among themselves what to do — whether to cut the perineum or not. Silent until then, I spoke up: “Please, let everything down there stay beautiful!” I don’t know what they thought of me at that moment, but they stopped discussing it — and NM gave the order: “Let her try on her own.” A few more pushes and suddenly: “The head is out! With the next push you will deliver,” NM said. And indeed: I could already see the baby’s little hairy head and cried out in delight: “Zhenia, I can see his head!” But for some reason the pushing froze for a moment. From their faces I could see that the situation was not routine. NM glanced at me — I was calm and not panicking. It was clear that she was a little worried. She gave the order: “Zhenia, can you hear me?! The head is already out. You need to gather yourself and try very hard. You have to deliver on this push!” Zhenia was exhausted, drenched in sweat, but she answered: “I will try, tell me what to do.” When the push came, NM put a hand on her belly and directed where to push. Zhenia gathered herself — and the head came through! You could see that this was a great relief for everyone. It seems the midwife turned the baby around his axis. One more push — and he was born!
Honestly, at that moment I was interested only in how Zhenia was, I was trying to assess it, but she immediately asked: “Where is the baby, why isn’t he crying?” I rushed over to him, and at that moment he was in the hands (gloved, of course) of the head of the pediatric unit — she quickly suctioned the mucus out of his nose and mouth with a special device, put on a hat and socks, clamped the umbilical cord and quickly cut it. I was not even offered the chance, and I would not have agreed anyway. At that second the umbilical cord did not interest me at all — I was interested in how the baby was. I saw that he was moving his little arms and legs, squinting at the light and whimpering — and I announced to Zhenia in delight: “We have a boy!”, even though we had known that since the second trimester of the pregnancy.
Here is what I wrote in my notes that same day: “We were born on February 14 at 2:50 p.m. in the big, noisy company of the best doctors at Maternity Hospital No. 7. We were born with a bluish little face, but they quickly suctioned out the mucus, wiped us down, dressed us and gave us to mom, onto her chest. From the head of the pediatric unit we received a high score of 8–9 on the Apgar scale.”
We spent about 1.5–2 hours in the delivery room after the birth. Half an hour was needed to deliver the afterbirth (that is what the placenta is called), stitch Zhenia up and put everything in order down there — NM did that herself (with local anesthesia; against the backdrop of childbirth you don’t feel any of it). The baby was placed on Zhenia’s chest immediately after the birth (then he was taken away and given back again, already dressed) and we were told that he had to be put to the breast (so that the milk would come in faster). Around five or six in the evening a gurney was brought — which meant that it was time for us to move to the postpartum room.
I want to note separately what a newborn baby looks like. What they show in ordinary movies is complete fiction. It is a good thing that our homeopath had told us what babies usually look like after birth — otherwise I would have had a fit right there in the delivery room. Our baby was born a purple-blue color, covered in vernix and blood-tinged fluid, his skin wrinkled, his little face and scrotum swollen. But within a few minutes the blueness started to fade and the color changed to a brownish red (like a person after a steam bath). Gradually his skin took on a lighter shade, and by the time of the discharge it was a natural color.
This maternity hospital has quite a few rooms like that — they are single rooms designed for one mother; the room has a sink, a chest of drawers with a changing table and a small baby bed on wheels. For extra money you could take a two-room ward, where the second room has a second bed — but we decided that one room would be quite enough for us.
In a maternity hospital every unit is a separate country with its own laws. So right after we arrived in the postpartum room a doctor came and explained what Zhenia had to do: change her pad every 2 hours, keep track of her temperature, keep track of how she was doing. And it was also important to go to the bathroom on her own soon. Then a pediatrician came, examined the baby and measured his oxygen saturation (the oxygen level in the blood, measured indirectly by the pulse on each little arm and leg). She said to watch his temperature and to call the nurse on duty if anything happened. Over the next 2 hours doctors and nurses came in to see Zhenia about three more times, looking at and assessing the volume of bleeding. Nobody even attempted to put underwear on her that day (not even disposables), because everything down there hurt and was bleeding and had to be monitored constantly. Zhenia was given some injections (they explained to me at the time what they were and why, but I no longer remember) — so that there would be no inflammation. Someone came to us with an offer to vaccinate the baby right away, but we categorically refused. We agreed only to a vitamin K shot.
Since the preparation for the birth had been carried out with full homeopathic support, the birth and the postpartum period were no exception. We went into the birth with specific remedies and an understanding of what to take in which case. When the contractions were happening (before the epidural), I gave Zhenia the prescribed pellets every half hour. Likewise, right after the birth I made sure to give them on time and out of the doctors’ sight (why invite unnecessary conversations).
The moment of truth came when Zhenia wanted to go to the bathroom — but the attempt to get up failed. Since she had been lying down for more than 6 hours and the epidural was still working, trying to stand brought on a sudden weakness and a racing heart, almost to the point of fainting. Getting up was not my initiative, the medical staff required it by protocol. They came and politely “hovered over her,” but at the same time, seeing her condition, they encouraged her and gave her Corvalol — and on the third attempt to stand (it was already late at night) the nurse and I took Zhenia under the arms and got her to the bathroom (one bathroom, which is also the shower, for two rooms). I worried about her a lot, because I could see what every movement cost her. It all ended successfully, but Zhenia said with horror that it felt to her as though “everything down there had been sewn shut.” In that time our baby had dozed a little and started whimpering; Zhenia began putting him to the breast now and then (as we had been told). The hungry child grabbed the breast sharply and very painfully for Zhenechka (a sharp suck), but nothing came out of it.
By evening we had texted our friends with our news. I was invited to celebrate, as people usually do. In theory I was not against it: a ton of exhaustion, a lot of nerve cells spent, I wanted a (moderate) drink and to lose myself in sleep. But having assessed Zhenia’s condition and understanding that she could not yet get out of bed on her own, pick the baby up to feed him and put him back, I made the decision to stay. Since there was no second bed and no folding cot either, we decided to bring a tried-and-tested camping option into the room: a thin inflatable mattress and one more set of linen plus a pillow for me. The list quickly grew with a few more household things for me. They let me out; I drove home — and 2 hours later, when it was already night, having fed the cat at home and left her a supply of food and water, I came back. We fell asleep quickly: Zhenia on her bed, I on the floor, on the mattress. But not for long — the baby started whimpering. I no longer remember how the night went, but by the third or fourth waking it became clear that there was no point in moving the baby into his own bed — when he is warm, he is a bit calmer.
That same night, in the room next door through the wall, another baby cried the whole time (we found out that it was a girl), and the neighbors ran from their room into the corridor and back all night and talked very loudly, as ill-mannered people do; there were 3 or 4 of them there. I sincerely wanted to kill them, because any sound after twenty-four hours of that kind of strain was very painful — but I could not find the strength in myself to get up. When I asked the nurses on the next shift what needed to be done for the baby, they answered: “Nothing; if he whimpers, put him to the breast. Tomorrow they will tell you everything.”
I remember that the morning (when all three of us, worn out by the night, were finally asleep) began with the door being flung open unceremoniously: a nurse came in, then an orderly to wash the floor, then somebody else to ask what Zhenia wanted for breakfast. We had no food with us at all (only cookies), especially for Zhenia, so I asked whether I could join in — they said: “Yes, of course.” Then a nurse ran in and told us to tidy up, because rounds were about to start. How unceremonious it all was! Any other time I would have thrown everyone the hell out and forbidden them to even come near the door — but we depended on them, because we had no idea what we needed to do and when.
“Rounds” sounded like a solemn Soviet flag-raising. Rounds are a ritual for the doctors that takes place at 8 a.m. At a certain moment a crowd of people (5 or 6) barges in with a knowing look, quickly examines Zhenia, quickly asks questions (without much desire to discuss the answers they get) — and just as quickly runs off, closing the door. And you stand there (you can’t sit, of course — it’s rounds!) in complete stupor, processing what that even was and wondering how to make it more comfortable for yourself. On the other hand you are glad that they came at all and that after the examination they did not say anything bad. While you are collecting your thoughts, a new crowd barges in — the pediatricians this time. They ask you to undress the baby (the first time I said that I did not know how to do it properly and asked them to show me), measure his oxygen saturation, listen to his heartbeat and his lungs, look at his navel. We immediately got told off by the pediatrician on duty for not washing the baby’s hair and for the hair being matted under his hat after the birth. And for not doing his morning hygiene routine — nose, ears and skin folds. I objected strongly: first, nobody had told us that this needed to be done; second, we don’t know what to do or how — let somebody show us. The pediatrician grumbled sternly that this should have been explained on the previous shift, and said that the children’s nurse on duty could show us after rounds.
I was very upset, because I really did not know how to approach the baby or what to do: I was afraid to pick him up in case I damaged something — he was so tiny. A couple of hours later I did catch the children’s nurse, and she came. The explanation went at the speed of a tongue twister; just as fast, but truly masterfully, she washed his face, wiped part of his skin folds, treated his navel and quickly told us how to wash his hair — added “practice” and left. It got a little easier, but not much. These procedures fell entirely to me, because they are convenient to do on the changing table, and Zhenechka still could not get up and stand.
At 11 a.m. my dear Liudmylka, an experienced mother of three, came to the rescue — together with delicious home-cooked food. She cheerfully picked our little guy up, and when I shared my problem of “how to wipe his head,” she answered easily: “Don’t worry, we’ll wash him right now!” She quickly undressed him and carried him to the faucet of the sink. We (especially Zhenia) were in complete shock — our defenseless little guy, and under tap water! But Liudmylka commented briskly: “Don’t worry, do you think they wash them some other way? Exactly the same way, under the faucet; you just have to keep the navel dry. Don’t worry — I washed mine the same way. And he will be clean and washed: you’ll never get his head that clean in a basin.” The procedure took 5 minutes at most. Our little guy tried to squawk, but quickly understood: no use. His head was washed with baby soap, and his hair and body were washed clean of the vernix as much as possible. The baby was changed into all-new clothes (right then we understood why you need several sets of baby clothes for the maternity hospital) and fell asleep almost instantly.
We (maybe only I) ate the home-cooked food calmly and with great appetite and exchanged our fresh impressions of the birth. The world took on positive colors. Euphoria and the joy of being alive arrived. Liudmylka stayed with us for a couple of hours, and our little guy slept the sleep of a hero for three or four hours. Zhenia managed to take another round of congratulations from friends on the phone. And then our beloved friend Ira came to see us. We had a wonderful talk, until the baby woke up. Then feeding, then the next evening examination. The long-awaited evening arrived. Our exhausted bodies were ready to fall asleep in a millisecond, but it was not to be: our well-rested little guy demanded food, of which, as before, there was almost none.
That night we understood how wrong we had been in the choices we made during the day. I had heard about the kind of torture where a person is not allowed to fall asleep — and after a while, for even 5 minutes of sleep, they are ready for almost anything. That night I understood what that is. Terrible exhaustion turning into anger at your own helplessness, the desire to run away and hide in a distant quiet corner. It is a terrible psychological state. Now, looking at that situation from the outside, I am completely calm about it — because with a small child in the family the concept of “your own peaceful sleep” almost entirely disappears; but at the time it was terrible withdrawal. The baby cried all night — something must have been hurting him, and we could do nothing for him. Only toward morning, nursing at the breast, did he doze off a little…
And then the morning wake-up call repeated itself. My morning routine before rounds “freshened me up”; I tried to prepare questions for the arrival of the “honored guests.” Once breakfast was over and the baby had dozed off a bit, we were in our beds within a second. We no longer needed anyone to explain that the most important thing during the day is our sleep. In two seconds we were out for 1.5–2 hours. Then there were guests again (colleagues from Zhenia’s work). Then the whole saga began of supplementing the baby with newborn formula — that is what the doctors told us to do, because he was hungry and there was still no milk. So that he would not refuse the breast, on the doctors’ advice we did not give him a bottle with a nipple, but gave him formula warmed in a water bath to room temperature. We did it with a 20-cc syringe (without the needle, of course), pouring the formula into his little mouth drop by drop. The process took at least 20 minutes and our son did not like it at all, even though at most 2–3 ml had to go in. This saga repeated every 2–3 hours after he was put to the breast.
It was Sunday, the second day after the baby was born. Her breasts, unused to such treatment, were completely worn out; cracks appeared, pain appeared. I called Katenka, and she reminded me about Purelan. It got a little easier, but not much. By evening Zhenia was practically sobbing as she nursed the baby. Realizing that another difficult night lay ahead, our mood dropped sharply. It was almost 9 p.m. when Katenka called and said that she was downstairs and had brought various things for the baby. I went down and persuaded her to come up — although she knew every corner of that maternity hospital herself, since only 4 months earlier she had given birth to her daughter Sashenka in that very place. We took our minds off things with conversation a little — and when she saw the state of Zhenia’s nipples, she offered to nurse our baby herself. It was brilliant! Real milk came as a complete surprise to him; he ate properly and fell asleep. We were fabulously grateful to Katenka, because a 4-hour break from nursing let the nipples heal a little — and our baby was able to sleep peacefully at night, and we along with him, at least a little.
Monday came, and with it the hope that there was a chance we would finally be discharged that day. In the morning we went to the Cardiac Center to check the state of the baby’s aorta on an ultrasound. We were very worried — it is a very important parameter for the baby’s health and for the functioning of the cardiovascular system. Fortunately, the ultrasound showed that the aorta had widened to within acceptable limits, and we were told: “Your child is healthy.” There were no limits to our happiness!
We came back to the maternity hospital — and here we discovered that a second bed had somehow been squeezed into our narrow room (there was no bed for me). We learned that over the past two days 54 babies had been born and the head of the maternity hospital had decided to move one more mother and baby into each of the single rooms. I did not like the idea at all: I did not want my child to be a meter away from somebody else’s germs. I tried offering money, I asked NM — but nothing worked. We agreed to take in another mom with her baby (and, as it turned out, with her husband) — so that this woman would not have to lie in the corridor. We understood that we would be discharged that day anyway and would spend the night at home. Fortunately, that is exactly what happened.
Zhenia gradually started moving around on the second and third day — and by the discharge she was already able to put on her own clothes. We had to gather all our things and carry them to the car (there were a lot of them, I made three trips); the car had been parked outside the maternity hospital the whole time, and I essentially did not leave the building for three days — except to run down to the pharmacy on the first floor for something after every round (formula, or a syringe, or pads, or cotton wool and so on).
Back when we came to make the arrangements, we saw that there was a separate door in the lobby, from which beautifully wrapped babies were sometimes carried out and crowds of relatives in their best clothes came out. This was called the discharge photo session — a service the maternity hospital itself provides for a separate fee. Well, you probably remember: almost every Soviet family has a photo of a happy family with a swaddled newborn on the steps of a maternity hospital. I remembered it and wanted one too — as a keepsake, after all. But Zhenia was not thrilled by my idea: she was tired and feeling unwell. I did talk her into dressing our son in the festive outfit that Katenka had given him.
By the time they discharged us and issued all the necessary documents, we had received micro-gifts from the maternity hospital (pure advertising and samples), I had written down at the children’s nurse’s dictation (she was the only sensible one we came across) what to do with the baby at home, I had carried out our things — and we were ready to go. It turned out that it was already about 7 p.m. and the “ceremonial discharge” department was closed. I was disappointed, of course. But that nurse walked us to the door and, at my request, took a photo. That photo was taken in a badly lit lobby, but it is a really great one. We were smiling sincerely — because we were finally free. In three days we had lost a good deal of weight and in the photo we look excellent — almost as if we had been to a resort 😊
So we took ourselves out of the maternity hospital — and our Aloshka, as a new Kyivan, got a tour of downtown Kyiv at night. When we got home, our friend Vania helped us unload, which was very timely and saved my strength for wet-mopping the apartment (we were told that this was necessary and good for the baby). Our friend Natasha helped us unpack; she brought us food (thank you to her mother Larysa Ivanivna — it was delicious) and helped with looking after Alosha.
It was fairy-tale bliss to lie down in our own bed and at midnight (even if only for a short while) fall asleep in a second.
Alona, Zhenia