Cutting the Cords

Guest post by my husband, S

The first 2 months with the twins, and perhaps a week prior to their arrival, has been a whirlwind. I feel like Tony Shaloub's character, Fred Kwan, in Galaxy Quest on traveling through space in a pod — "That was a hell of a thing." And yet somewhere inside me, Sam Rockwell's Guy Fleegman character also comes bubbling up: "AAAAARRRRRGGGAAAAGGGGHHHAHHHHH".

It's hard to keep a clear memory of what happened in those exciting, hyper-stimulated days and nights in February and beyond. I recall the wonderful experience my wife and I had during labour, an experience that forever changed my life. I greatly love, admire and respect S, and this bond grew deep and inward in ways I cannot describe during the 16 hours of labour.

The caesarean delivery that lay at the end of this experience was as shocking as the labour had been affirming. Nothing can prepare you for the war zone chaos of an OR during a caesarean delivery of twins. Two teams of doctors, nurses, anaesthetists, and interns are required; one team for each baby. I cannot imagine the melee of birthing triplets or more.

I held up pretty well, at least at the beginning. The crowd was getting to me, and the mask was making me feel claustrophobic, but I was doing ok. The experience immediately struck me as a surreal one. I guess I was expecting it to be surreal, but until it happened, it was hard to quantify it. This was Dali surrealism: melting clocks and human faces morphing into spaniels.

And then a couple of high pitched squeaks.

Duckling emerged from behind a doctor as he carried him to an attending nurse. He did not look real at all. I was expecting him to be a slimy and reddish, but I was surprised by his large size and his purple/whitish silver colour. He was quickly wiped down and weighed, then thrust under a heat lamp like a burger and fries, ready to be picked up by the waitress. As Pin caught my peripheral vision, I recall a nurse asking me if I wanted to cut the cord for Duckling. I leapt at the chance, compelled out of a sense that this act gave me a bona fide reason to contribute to the OR staff chaos.

The umbilical cord was tough, like cutting through thick, wet leather. The memory of it stays with me, but at the time it did not feel like this magical, bonding moment that I had hoped it would be. Yet, somehow, I know that this moment will indeed endure.