Melvin's blog

Nshima & Curry

Melvin's  Blog

Nshima & Curry

BABY ARRIVES AND MOTHER SURVIVES

Until my wife's pregnancy, I knew so little about
childbirth. When I heard an expectant woman talk about her
"water breaking," I asked if she had considered using a
water softener. She asked if I had considered using a
psychiatrist.

Thankfully, I educated myself by taking childbirth classes
and subscribing to informative magazines such as "Baby
Talk," "American Baby," and "California Babes." I learned
why pregnant women shouldn't drink or smoke, why babies need
to be burped after meals, and why so many people are moving
to California. I also learned the meaning of some important
pregnancy-related terms. For example:

---Conception: When a man gets a woman pregnant and then
wonders how it could have possibly happened, the woman is
forced to shake her head and say, "You have no conception
whatsoever, do you?"

---Ultrasound: A term used by doctors to describe the
high-pitched sounds a woman makes in labor.

---Contraction: This is what happens to your bank account
after your baby is born.

---Labor and Delivery: These terms refer to the final stages
of a pregnancy from a man's perspective. From a woman's
perspective, they're called Torture and Recovery.

---Labor Strike: This occurs when a woman in the throes of
labor decides to strike her husband for getting her
pregnant.

All this knowledge didn't help me much on D-day (delivery
day, June 1, 2002). My wife, Malathi, began feeling
contractions around 1 a.m. and we went to the hospital at 7
a.m. I didn't want her to wait any longer, though ESPN was
still televising a World Cup game. How could I think about
soccer at a time like that? (Germany was ahead 6-0.)

I expected Malathi to be in pain, but I didn't think it
would be so excruciating that I'd feel both admiration and
gratitude; admiration for all women who had endured labor,
and gratitude that Malathi was going through it all without
striking me.

I tried to keep a safe distance, but Malathi asked me to
massage her back to help relieve the pain -- and I couldn't
find a nine-foot pole. You'd think the hospital would stock
a few of those. They had everything else to make a man
comfortable: a recliner, a television, a remote control.

Don't get me wrong. I was happy to help Malathi. Hearing her
scream, I felt guilty that I had gotten off easy. I felt
like the accomplice in a Singapore robbery who's sentenced
to 40 hours of community service, while his partner gets
40 lashes.

After several hours of intense pain, my wife found relief in
painkillers, including an epidural. But the pain hadn't been
"killed" -- it had just been sent to the cafeteria like an
annoying husband, only to return later with more energy.

The labor lasted all day and almost all night. Around 7
p.m., the doctor examined my wife and determined that she
was ready to deliver. (I could have told him that.)

Malathi pushed and pushed for two hours, but the baby
wouldn't budge. The doctor decided to perform a caesarean
section. Less than an hour later, he reached into Malathi's
uterus and pulled out a baby -- a beautiful crying baby
girl.

It was the most exciting day of my life, even more exciting
than the day I got a big-screen TV.

Welcome to the world, Lekha Anjali Durai. Your mother went
through a lot to produce you. Your father ... well, at least
he didn't faint.

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