From CNN’s Talk Asia

(hat-tip to Life in the Yoga-Lane)

I keep waiting for the right time to sit down, tell the birth story, and share week one. Finding enough time is much harder than I thought, so I’ll get out as much as I can in an unpolished way and know that the whole of it will always be elusive.

Sunday, September 23rd, was a beautiful day in NYC. After brunch, we went to Fort Tryon park, to our favorite spot on Abby’s Lawn to do some yoga. Dorota was already having some contractions, but they were faint, like pre-menstrual cramps. Later that evening, after a large comfortable dinner (steak and au gratin potatoes for her, veggies and potatoes for me), the contractions were coming on harder. We thought a bath and massage might slow things down so we could sleep through the night and maybe deliver in the morning.

At 1am, Dorota woke with a strong contraction and knew that we weren’t going to make it until morning. I started timing them. 10 minutes. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 5, 8, 6 minutes. 10 minutes, 5, 4, 7, 5, 3, 6 and so on. We were definitely moving into active labor. We called the doctor and she said, yep, sounds like active labor to me, it’d be good to come in. At 330am, we called a car service (thank you High Bridge car #94!) and headed to Roosevelt Hospital. The moon was a big yellow egg hanging over the Hudson and we were both hyper-alert, with Dorota’s contractions still coming every 5 minutes or so.

First triage to gather information for the doctor, and then, her room in labor & delivery. By this point, we had at least 2 rounds of the same questions (from nurse and doctor), Dorota had an external fetal monitor recording her contractions and the baby’s heart rate, and an IV tap (just in case). Her water had already broken, probably on Friday. It hadn’t broken in a big gush, and since this is our first baby, we didn’t know the difference between broken water and show. In retrospect, not knowing probably worked out better for us – I’m guessing that with broken water and no contractions, the doctors would have induced labor or pushed for a c-section.

In the room, we setup my MP3 player with Louis Armstrong & Ella Fitzgerald and requested a yoga ball for Dorota to bounce on during contractions (it seemed to help quite a bit to have some movement as a contraction distraction). Another round of the same questions (they put it all into a computer each time, so I don’t know why they need to keep asking – we had other things to think about). The big meal before her bath was not such a good idea. In addition to the contractions, Dorota had to deal with nausea. They gave her a little plastic kidney shaped bowl just in case, and all I could think was if she has to vomit, there’s no way that bowl is going to catch it, it’s going to be a complete mess. But Dorota managed just fine.

We had unplugged her from the fetal monitor so she could sit on the toilet and hadn’t plugged it back in. The doctor came in and plugged it back in – the baby’s heart rate was low and, with no prior heart rate measurements, they were very concerned. Dorota had to lay on her side and take an oxygen mask, and they inserted an internal fetal monitor (a wire that pokes into the scalp of the fetus and gives more accurate measurements). I was worried they were going to over-react and call for a C-section, but they gave time for the heart rate to normalize, which it did. Behind the intense concentration of the contractions, Dorota was still worried about the heart rate and asked about it a few more times. So that was one more thing I had to reassure her about.

Now that she was on her side, we couldn’t move around as much and most of the massage techniques I knew were out the window. I ended up doing a lot of percussive techniques along her calves, thighs, hamstrings, and outer legs. We also relied on vocalizations. I asked her to make the ‘om’ noise and Dorota started saying ‘om noise, om noise, om noise’ over and over (I really had to hold myself from laughing – she said later that it didn’t really matter what she said, just having something repetitive to latch onto helped with the pain of the contractions). I used some yoga and Buddhist chanting to give her something to focus on as well (primarily the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad I.iii.28 and the short Medicine Buddha mantra).

Eventually, the contractions were so intense that she didn’t think she should could keep going, imagining there were hours more of active labor ahead. She was tired, with only two hours of sleep and 4 house of intense periods of pain. She wanted an epidural. We had talked about this ahead of time and agreed that we would try our best not to use one, but leave it as an option (though we never did agree on our codeword to indicate that she really meant it). We let the nurse know and then we didn’t hear another peep about it until Dorota was fully dilated (we found out later that the anesthesiologist was busy with another woman).

Dorota was also saying that she needed to push. Now, as a man, not having a uterus and not have the capabilities of bearing children, I did not realize that this need is not a need like I need a sandwich or I need to do some yoga. This is a deep biological urge that will not be denied. I had been glancing at the fetal monitor to see how far apart her contractions were and how long they were (there was no way I could follow my watch while being present for her). To me, it still looked like she was in active labor, hadn’t even been through transition yet. I was worried that if she started pushing, she might tear herself. A woman’s body is way wiser than we are consciously.

When the doctor came back in and checked on her, she was fully dilated. Despite all the pre-natal classes and workshops talking about how lying on the back with the legs in the air is a more difficult position to birth in than squatting or hands-and-knees, this ended up being the position that worked best (we were also a little limited by the internal fetal monitor). I held one leg, the nurse held the other, and Dr. Johnny Bench prepared to catch. She probably started pushing a little past 7am (I was a bit beyond time myself by then) and after maybe six rounds of pushing and easing off, Jakob was born at 748am.

‘Summertime’ being sung by Ella is the last song I remember playing before he came out (it’s one of Dorota’s favorites though she was in her own world and didn’t even know).

When he came out, the cord was wrapped around him. Again, we were lucky, as that’s another thing that might have caused an emergency c-section. Jakob decended so fast, I don’t think they knew it until he was out. The doctor had to clamp and cut immediately, so we weren’t able to wait until the cord pulsing stopped and I wasn’t able to cut it.

So there it is, the story of Jakob’s birth. It is an incredible thing to watch a baby being born, to see it’s head mold itself as it is gradually pushed out the opening vagina, a connection to something much larger than ourselves.

This first week has been tiring but exciting. In the last few days, he’s opening his eyes more, moving his head around more, and becoming aware of his surroundings. But he has a pretty limited set of states: sleeping, eating, recovering from eating (which involves burping, farting, pooping and peeing), and alert (listening and looking, though I realize he cannot focus his eyes yet or really discern objects, just contrasts). For now, it seems easy compared to the challenges to come when he starts to move around.

Happy one week on Earth, Jakob!

And this is video of Iyengar’s teacher, the man who could be considered the father of modern yoga as the Western world has come to know it, Krisnamacharya. He’d be 50 years old here.

Here is some amazing video of B.K.S. Iyengar (thank you Life In the Yoga-Lane). How spectacular that we are able to look 70 years into the past and witness a great master in his early stages.

Standing in a wide-legged split . Feet an extension of the ground. Legs reaching like trees from there. Bend at the waist. Folding forward. Spine connecting tailbone to the crown of the skull. Feet want to peel away from the floor, want to follow my body forward. Inner thighs ignite to root the feet. Grounding. Folding. Crown of the head moves closer and closer to the bamboo block. Hands press into the floor, reassure the head. (without them, my body does not want to lower my head quite so far). Tightening in the abdomen. Backing out of the fold. Lengthening the spine. Folding again. Still tight. Repeat. Head brushes the block. Back out, lengthen, fold.

Crown of the head grounds on the block, joining the feet and hands in connection to the earth. Breath fills me awkwardly. Find a key to let the diaphragm be free. Steel cable hamstrings. Find a key to give them softness. Algae green ache between the back ribs. Find a key to be with the soreness. Intense burn in my adductor muscles. Another key. Differences between the right and left sides of my body. Another. Deep inside my left hip a knot of ropes limit the joint. Letting go. Wandering mind. Letting go.

Four years ago, my wide-legged split was not so wide and my forward fold was not so deep. Eyes searching the yoga studio to compare myself with my fellow yogis and judge myself lacking (ignoring that they had been practicing a long time and I had not). Mind full of doubt, thinking of the latest bout of depression or anger, remembering a happy moment from travelling, wondering about breakfast.

Daily practice over years.

Mindful of doubt, these days I wander less, see more. Awareness of the body in finer detail, awareness of the body in greater scope, awareness of how the mind responds to the body, where it wants to go and how to help it stay.

Awareness that there are many things I am not aware of.

One day, I may place my head on the floor without a block. One day, I may press my hands and crown into the floor and bring my legs up into a headstand. Some days I cannot do what I did the day before. Some days I can go further. It does not matter. On the best days, I gain insight into something new.

Postscript

The morning I wrote the first draft of this post, I bicycled to work and forgot my heavy chain lock (a necessity to safely park a bike in NYC). Since I couldn’t leave my bike on the street, I tried bringing it into the building, but the security guard said ‘no bikes allowed’; he directed me to a loading dock with a freight elevator. That elevator brought me to an area of the floor with suites for other offices. Another security guard directed me to a loading dock on the other side of the building. That freight elevator took me to a door that I couldn’t open with my keycard. Back down again and to a third loading dock. This is the one where you can actually lock your bike, but with no lock, I still needed to get upstairs. The security guard explained that the company office manager has a firm rule against bicycles in the office, but he understands the situation and bends the rules my way. Twenty minutes after arriving at the building, I’m finally at my desk.

No locks.
No keys.

Hello! & Welcome!

I have tried repeatedly to write a profound and illuminating first post, full of insight, wit, and wisdom. But, just as a child is born when it is ready to enter the world (whether the parents are ready or not), this blog is saying ‘now is the time!’, whether the words are there or not.

So, why am I finally joining the rest of the world and erecting my own personal soapbox? Primarily, because very soon my beautiful wife will give birth to our first child, a boy, and this is a place for us to share stories and images with family and friends. It is also an opportunity for me to write about the Petit-like balancing act of spiritual life, family life, and day-to-day living in New York City.

I aim to post at least once a week and hope you will return to follow our adventures. You can also subscribe to the syndicated feed using the Atom or RSS links in the ‘other’ section of the sidebar to the right, and eventually I will add email notification of new posts.

Why is this post titled ‘Hello World’? ‘Hello world’ is often the first program used to introduce a programming language. Since I am a computer programmer and this entry is the first entry I’ve ever written on the first blog I’ve ever created, it seemed appropriate.