My Daughter’s Birth: A Father’s Perspective

Dec 18

I woke up early, around 6:30 am on August 19. Robyn was still in bed, so I tried to be as quiet as possible. I walked over to the stove in the back of our old apartment in Condesa. I lit it with one of those long lighters used to start fireplaces and put on a small pot of water to boil.

I had gotten into drinking chai because of some leftover tea leaves my friend Ashan gave us in Sri Lanka. The leaves were kept in a tiny porcelain elephant that had cracked in transit to Mexico. I refused to throw them away since they were a gift, and they came from the place where I first discovered Robyn was pregnant.

Drinking this tea took me back to that morning in Negombo at the Villa Green Inn on April Fools' day, when Robyn told me that the pregnancy test she had taken two weeks earlier was, in fact, positive. When I heard that, my heart felt like it stopped, perhaps confused by a mixture of competing emotions-- panic, shock, and then, after a minute, just pure joy. I felt a smile rip across my face.

I had suspected Robyn was pregnant for several weeks. Something inside me already knew, but I was still shocked when I found out. We were not exactly trying for a child, but at the same time, I had always wanted to be a dad. I thought I’d be a great one at that. In a way, for someone like me, this could not have been planned-- parenthood. It had to arrive this way, by surprise—and with a hard push into adulthood.

I waited for the water to boil the leaves for a good ten minutes. I added a spoonful of sugar and some milk and drank my tea at the dining table. Around 7:30 am, Robyn was stirring in the bedroom, my cue to return to greet her. “I feel like I have to take a big poo, but it won't come out,” she said.

This was nothing unusual for us. Talking about bowel movements was par for the course throughout our entire relationship. I didn’t think much of it, except that Robyn was now well into her 38th week of pregnancy, so I was more observant about every little thing. Still, I was relaxed and suggested she sit on the toilet for a bit.

By 8 am, she was out of bed, and she’d talk about this fiery cramp for the next hour. We were still two weeks or so from our due date, so I was not concerned, but I was becoming increasingly vigilant. In the back of my head, I thought these might be Braxton Hicks contractions, i.e., false labour. Our baby school instructor had mentioned these contractions as a way for the body to practice for delivery.

As 9 am rolled around, Robyn was still talking about these cramps, and at that point, I became increasingly convinced that something might be more serious. Unbeknownst to Robyn, I started writing down the frequency of each cramp on the back page of her Spanish notebook-- 9:17, 9:35, 9:50. Each time, I would indicate how long I thought the cramp lasted and asked her to continue to tell me when she felt something.

When these cramps started occurring every 15 minutes, Robyn suggested I text our doctor – Dr. Lara, to see if he had any advice. We had only met our doctor for the first time that week, on Monday, and it was now Friday. His number was passed to me by my French friend Seb, who I had also only met recently.

I sent Dr. Lara a WhatsApp message, and he replied immediately, asking if Robyn was in pain. She said no. Dr. Lara said to keep him posted, and if she started to feel pain or the possible contractions became stronger or continued in frequency, to message him immediately.

Meanwhile, Robyn had taken a Zoom call for work. By the time that wrapped up, she had told me she felt two more cramps during the call. I texted the doctor again and said the contractions seemed to be becoming longer and closer together -- about 10 minutes apart. His reply was direct: “Come in now to check but get here before 12:45.”

Our hospital, Medica Sur, is in Tlalpan, a southern district of Mexico City, about an hour away from our place in traffic. I ordered an Uber on my phone and asked Robyn to get ready. We had packed her delivery bag a week earlier, just in case. We both looked over at the red backpack as we prepared to leave.

“Do you think we need to bring it?” Robyn asked.

I replied, “Yes, let’s bring it just in case, but what about the car seat?”

“Leave it. If we need it, you can come back.”

Everything changed during the Uber ride to the hospital. What started this morning as light cramps had suddenly transformed into painful contractions. Her eyes were mostly closed, and I could tell she was in pain. We held hands, and she would squeeze mine hard whenever a contraction came.

We left the Uber at the hospital's front gate and walked into the campus. This was only our second time here. Holding Robyn’s hand, I could sense how much pain she was in. Even on the short walk to the building, we stopped twice as the pain increased.

The receptionist led us straight back to Dr. Lara’s office. His office reminds me of what I imagine the Pope’s secretary’s office to look like-- dozens of different-shaped wooden crucifixes hanging on the walls, a Virgin Mary paperweight, and a painting of Guadalupe.

Dr. Lara was seated behind his desk. He stood up immediately to welcome us and shake our hands. We sat down for maybe 20 seconds before he interjected: “Let’s check what’s going on right now.”

Robyn was first led into the examination room, where she changed into a hospital gown before hopping onto the examination table. I saw a tear roll down her face as the doctor started the cervix exam.

“Eight centimetres,” Dr Lara said, loud and clear. I felt like my mouth hit the floor. Not only was this happening, but it was also happening very soon. He continued -- “Go right to admissions. I’ll get the team and meet you there. Go quickly.”

The walk to the other building was a bit of a blur. So many thoughts were running through my head. What about an epidural? What if there’s an emergency or accident?

I don’t have any experience with any of this. I hope these doctors are reliable. I hope Robyn and Miya will be okay. I can’t wait to meet Miya.

I spoke to the security officer, who told us to go straight past the admissions counter to the second floor first to get Robyn situated. When we got out of the elevator, a policewoman was seated at a desk. I told her my wife was in labour.

She had me fill out a logbook with Robyn and her doctor’s names, and then we were led through a series of doors, where nurses brought Robyn into a room. They said the anesthesiologist would arrive soon and asked if she wanted an epidural. Robyn nodded.

Then they asked me to go back downstairs to admissions to fill out the paperwork while we waited for the doctors to arrive. I didn’t want to leave Robyn, but I had no choice. I returned to the admissions desk and waited to see a hospital representative.

My number was called quickly, but clearly, I was assigned to a trainee. It took forever to get all the paperwork printed and signed. I had made a point of preregistering Robyn at the hospital on Monday when we first met with Dr. Lara, but the receptionist messed up the paperwork, and I had to start again.

I was so frustrated. I felt awful. Each second felt like minutes, and each minute made me increasingly anxious that Robyn would need me or that something else would happen without me being there. Finally, with the last signature complete, I was given a couple of pieces of paper. Without even looking at them, I ran back to the elevator.

Again, the policewoman stopped me and, this time asked for my ID and Robyn’s ID. Luckily, I had both in my wallet. As she wrote the details down in her notebook, my frustration started to boil over again. I tried my best to maintain my composure, but all these people were preventing me from getting to my wife and baby.

By the time I got back to the room, some 20 minutes later, the anesthesiologist was mid-way through inserting what looked like a massive needle into the middle of Robyn’s back. She was in a fetal position on the hospital bed and grimacing with pain. I was worried the needle was hurting her, but she later told me the pain was from the contractions.

The doctor finished administering the epidural, which looked like an IV line inserted directly into Robyn’s back with layers of medical tape holding it down. Robyn rolled over onto her back and started to feel cold. Her arms started shaking, and I got nervous.

Everything was happening so quickly that I had no time to reflect. When I heard stories of friends going into labour, they said everything took hours. Our friends who had given birth just two months before said their delivery took place over three days. But ours seemed to be flying by.

The doctor said the shaking was normal, and he adjusted the dose on the IV. Shortly after, Dr. Lara entered the room and felt Robyn’s stomach. He asked her to try pushing one time. She did, and he said, “time to go to the delivery room.”

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes at this point. It was an indescribable feeling of excitement, nervousness, anxiety, worry, joy, and everything else imaginable. As the nurses rolled Robyn away, I was summoned to follow the doctors.

We first went to a locker room, where I was handed blue over-the-clothes scrubs and booties. I changed as fast as I could and followed them into the delivery room. The anesthesiologist looked at me and said, “Congratulations, father.” My heart felt full, and the excitement finally outweighed the worry.

I was positioned on Robyn’s right side, and the anesthesiologist on her left, while Dr. Lara and his assistant were in front of the stirrups. There were many nurses around helping, and the whole atmosphere felt like a well-orchestrated theatre performance.

Dr. Lara would wait for each contraction and then tell Robyn to push. She tried with all her might, letting out a high-pitched scream each time, but nothing was moving. The epidural was administered late, and she was having difficulty controlling how hard she was pushing.

Finally, after one of the pushes, Dr. Lara told me to look down. I saw a small part of Miya’s skull, with a clump of matted-down black hair poking out. I knew she was close to me. But I was scared for her and Robyn still.

Dr. Lara would yell, push, and Robyn would try to push, but after another ten minutes, we were at a crossroads. The anesthesiologist looked at me and said, “We must help her now. Put your forearm above her stomach like I'm doing, and when the doctor says push, we also push down with some force.” I asked, “Is this normal?” “Yes, it’s very common,” he replied reassuringly.

I saw Dr. Lara grab what looked like metal shoehorns attached to rods. He inserted them to widen the canal. In my mind, all I hoped was that those tools would stay away from Miya’s little skull.

After two pushes this way, Dr. Lara said the baby was coming. I looked down on the third push, and suddenly Miya’s head popped out. Her skin was blueish, and her little face was swollen and looked like it had been in liquid for months. When she came out, I saw her skull scrunch up, which seemed slightly conical.

Then, she coughed. She suddenly came to life before my eyes. Her skin turned white and pinkish, and a nurse used a suction tool to help clear fluid from her mouth. I was in a state of amazement. This was my daughter's face, and I was seeing her for the first time. I looked back at Robyn and told her Miya’s head was out.

About 45 seconds later, the rest of Miya’s body came tumbling out on the final push, almost like being gently washed over a stream. I looked back to Robyn. “She’s out!” I said, kissing her on the forehead.

The pediatrician immediately took Miya. I didn’t even see the umbilical cord get cut. It happened so quickly. He told me to follow him to the corner of the room, where Miya was weighed on a scale and then quickly wiped down and wrapped in a blanket.

The doctor then brought her over to Robyn and put her right on Robyn’s chest. Miya and Robyn locked eyes as I leaned in too. The doctor took my phone and captured what would become one of my favourite photos, capturing this incredibly intimate moment.

From the moment we arrived at the hospital until Miya’s birth, just over two hours had passed. These two hours would change my life forever.