The labor process is a rollercoaster, filled with peaks of excitement and valleys of uncertainty, along with intense feelings of joy and pain (differently experienced by each partner).
During this critical time, the hospital is a stage for a unique type of social theatre. A variety of medical professionals, each identifiable by their differently colored uniforms, enters and exits the scene. Doctors, nurses, specialists, and advocates each play their own essential roles, arriving in the room at seemingly random moments.
As time ticks by and emotions run high, bonds form with each member of this medical cast. One moment stands out: our first nurse, amidst the hustle and bustle, presented us with a knitted hat for the baby.
Initially, I took this warm gesture as a personal gift (the first, no less), a symbol of the special bond we had formed. It was only later that I realized every newborn gets a hat, which is knitted and donated by volunteers (special itself, though not the intimate gesture I had first percived).
In the delivery room, every interaction feels amplified. Possibly because there, parents find themselves in the unknown. In a sudden and profound dependency on their hospital guardians. For parents, everything is new and special. For the medical cast, everything is custom and routine. Like a new audience at the theater.
These connections dissolve as quickly as they form. The nurse who supported us through every contraction was gone by the end of her shift. Only to rinse and repeat the next day. Still, the gratitude for those fleeting interactions remains.
Leaving the hospital for new parents is like leaving the womb. From the relative comform of a highly efficient, automated system where ‘everything will be alright,’ suddelnly to a world filled with unknowns and discomfort.
At this special moment in time, parents and baby walk out as equals. No one is really sure what happens next.
Crib Notes 