"This Is Your Mother, You're Going to Respect Her"

New experiences bring a new appreciation for life. That was definitely the case these last 24 hours as Micah Tesfaye Williamson entered our world and has plunged Andrea and I into the challenging yet rewarding realm of parenthood. But now as I sit on my makeshift “bed” in our hospital room, I can’t help but reflect on the events which have permanently changed who I am. By way of reflection and telling the story, I would like to share the things that I was particularly challenged by.

Entering the unknown means not having all, or even any of the answers. Yesterday afternoon, Andrea was feeling abdominal discomfort, which neither of us knew whether to classify as official contractions. We had heard plenty of stories, making fun of overanxious first pregnancy couples jumping the gun in rushing the hospital only to be sent home for more waiting. By no means did we want to join this crowd. After several hours of mysterious discomfort, we called the doctor to get his opinion. Andrea answered the two questions he asked us with honestly, but looking back both of the answers that he understood were totally wrong. Therefore, based on wrong information he had heard, he advised us to report to the hospital. Thankfully, shortly after arriving there, the contractions became much more distinct and consistent so that it was obvious that this discomfort was the real deal labor.

We are surrounded by God’s blessings. Upon arriving at the hospital, I text messaged and emailed TONS of people asking for prayer and then began collecting the flurry of responses from friends all around the world. There was no doubt that we were not alone on this night. In addition, our friend Becky (an RN from Montana) was an absolute God-send as she used her nursing background to supplement the midwife on duty last night.

Becky and I took turns rubbing Andrea’s back and later on whispering constant encouragement in her ear as she wrestled through the intense contractions. Finally, as the three of us struggled through the long night, Becky’s RN training gave us an unexpected privacy. You see, the midwife was on the first of a double shift, and so she unashamedly excused herself to the bed in the adjacent room for a sleep – leaving Becky in charge of monitoring the labor. All in all, not much happened so we pretty much let the midwife sleep and enjoyed the peace of being all by ourselves. The labor room has three beds and we praised God throughout the night that we had the place to ourselves (which is unusual in a hospital that averages ninety deliveries a month!)

Bedside manner really matters. The night shift doctor was a youngen, which was an immediate turn off to us since we chose this hospital for the well-known Dr. Mekonnen, who has been delivering babies for more decades than we’ve been alive. Nevertheless, we wanted to give this guy a chance, but when the opening words I heard him say to Andrea were “You know that this is going to be painful right? Has anybody ever told you that there will be pain, I mean a whole lot of pain…” and it didn’t stop there. I listened in disbelief as this guy made his point “I won’t be doing a c-section just because there’s pain” in the least tactful manner I could think of. My gracious wife overlooked the comments much faster that I, much to her credit. Then, the midwife came in with her many years of experience and seemingly felt uncomfortable with me (Travis) being in the labor room (which is not part of Ethiopian culture).  She made a point to tell me that I was lucky to be here because most of the time the room is full and I would not be allowed in. Then another time, she came in from one of her naps and both Becky and I backed away from Andrea to respectfully give her access. The midwife, noticing that Andrea was in the middle of a contraction, started to rub her back and say the Amharic equivalent of “Be Strong” or “Buck Up!” (which tends to annoy most foreigners instead of encourage them). Anyway, she shot a glare back at me and said “why isn’t your husband rubbing your back like this.” I just bowed my head to mask my frustration, but Becky piped right up “he has been doing plenty of that…” Thankfully she left out “while you were sawing logs next door.” Bedside manner matters not just in hospitals, but in any environment in which we serve or deal with other people. Being on the hurting end of a bad example encourages me to evaluate my own comments and relations to others.  

God does not guarantee smooth roads. As first-timers at this whole labor thing, we didn’t know what to expect (except pain and joy…duh!). And as an observer, cheer leader and in some ways fellow-sufferer in the process, I wasn’t so much surprised at what I experienced, but rather just impressed with this truth “God does not guarantee smooth roads.” And I can tell you, this road wasn’t. Sure there were good times when things were going well (such as when I sent the early morning prayer partner email), but it was shortly after that that the road got bumpy: the next dilation check was actually less than before, the contractions had decreased, and the baby was still in a high position so that they couldn’t break her water in order to stimulate faster labor (for fear that the umbilical cord could rush out past the head, which would be bad). Tough times like this were sometimes alleviated by a bright moment – shortly after the disappointing water non-breaking, during a strong contraction, all three of us in the room heard a “pop” and rush of water under the covers. Seriously, I was elated and started rubbing Andrea’s back so hard that she forcefully asked me to stop! “Yes, now, labor will kick it into high gear and we’ll get this guy out of there soon.” My hopes soared at this moment, forgetting the truth that God does not guarantee smooth roads, as more challenges still lay ahead. In all 12 hours of real labor, we were never at the point of panic or in a state of emergency, but neither was it a walk in the park. As a totally unbiased husband, I can tell you that my wife is as strong and as good natured as they come, and her pleasant attitude shone like a light all around the room. So, while we were reminded of the difficult roads we must travel in this fallen world, we are grateful for God’s gracious gift of strength and hope to see us through the bumps.

Does trusting God 100% mean complete peace? The hardest part of the whole process for me was the hours between 8:30am-10:30am when the c-section decision was made. It was good for us to know Amharic because we could understand what the doctors and nurses were saying. Basically, when the morning doctor came in, Andrea’s pains were strong and we all suspected that the pushing time was close. However, the cervix check was disappointing because it was only 7cm. Plus the doctor was not happy with the fetal heart monitor’s reading as the baby’s heart rate would drop significantly during the contractions with varying success at returning to normal on its own. The doctor came in several times and expressed that concern, but the nurses assured him…”it will come back up.” We all saw what was coming, especially when the doctor firmly said “if it drops significantly one more time, we will have to take that baby out” and he left the room. After that, the room was silent apart from Andrea’s heavy breathing and the sound of Sweet T’s heart beat coming through the monitor. Every time a contraction came, it seemed we were all begging God to keep that heart rate up. The knot in my stomach was growing ridiculously uncomfortable. Then it came. A strong contraction hit both Andrea and the baby and as it subsided our attention locked onto the slowed fetal heart beat. “Come on, pick up, pick up, please Lord” I closed my eyes and listened. The nurse started doing everything she could to increase it: moving the sensor around, light massage, and helping Andrea change position. Soon, the slow heart beat caught the attention of another doctor sitting in the room, who silently stared at the meter. Finally, he said what we all knew needed to be said “hakimu menager alabatchu” (trans. You MUST tell the doctor). When the doctor came in a minute later, the heart beat was still low as Andrea was in another contraction. The doctor took the sensor and once again we all stared straight ahead as the contraction subsided. Thirty seconds went by with only the monitor’s steady thumping at around 90 beats per minute (it should be between 120-160). He did a quick cervix check only to report “still 7 cm.” All of us in the room knew exactly what that meant, all except Andrea, who hadn’t been able to pay close attention to everything. When the doctor stood up and said “we will be taking you for a cesarean section” my eyes locked on my precious wife’s face and the obvious disappointment and sadness tore my heart out. So I stood up next to the doctor and affirmed the decision as best. “At the end of the day, I want to have my wife and my baby, both safe and healthy!” and then I repeated the line that we had said hundreds of times in the months leading up to this day “egziyabiyer ke inya gar new” (trans. God is with us) and I kissed her forehead. I didn’t like the idea of a c-section, especially with general anesthesia which would cause Andrea to miss Sweet T’s birth, but I knew that this was the road God had given for us to go down. The doctor looked at me just before he left the room for preparations and said “we’ll have that baby out in 20 minutes.” The knot in my stomach started to loosen as I knew that Andrea’s difficult labor would go on no more and that it would soon be over. Here’s my question…was I trusting God through it all? Did the knot in my stomach mean that I was holding back from 100% trust? If so, am I even capable of such perfect trust? It doesn’t seem that I am.

My joy made complete. What happened in the next few moments still feels like a wonderful dream to me. The midwife, who had attended Andrea in the morning shift (Sister Elsa), became very attached to us. This would be her first white baby she was delivering and she was constantly showing genuine compassion for all of us. As the doctor was leaving the room to prepare for surgery, he turned back and said “Andrea, say your goodbyes for now.” To me that meant, I would not be allowed into the surgery theatre. So I went to Sister Elsa and she became my strong advocate. We caught up with the doctor as he was putting on his surgery clothes and I heard the whole conversation “Can he come in?” “Who?” “The father?” “Why?” “It is an important part of their culture.” The doctor looked right at me and said “you may stand here, when the baby is delivered and cleaned up, we will hand him/her to you here.” A huge smile broke across my face at the thought of that, but the spot he was pointing to was just outside the surgery room’s door. So I innocently asked “will the door be open?” and the doctor firmly said “no, the door cannot be open.” At this point, what do I have to lose? “Can I be inside the door?” The doctor was stunned and silent for a few seconds before the silence was filled with Sister Elsa’s question “min chigger ale?” (trans: what is the problem (with that)?” The doctor looked me in the eyes and said “Yes, get dressed.”

My excitement and giddiness at that moment burst forth as I was rushed into the proper clothes and soon found myself given a premiere spot in the surgery room, armed and ready with a brand new digital camera (which takes excellent pictures without a flash and HD video). “I am here, Wiffee” I called out in Amharic to Andrea who was covered with cloths, “I love you!” Over the sound of doctors and nurses in preparation, I heard “I love you too” come from under the cloths.  I could not contain my excitement as I talked with the nurses waiting to receive little Sweet T, it seemed that the whole room was energized by my presence, for this was the first time anybody had been allowed to do this.

After a quick warning from the doctor not to faint, I heard Andrea’s voice one last time “I’m going to sleep…” and within 30 seconds the cutting began. Man, I tell you, the hands of the doctor and 2 assisting nurses functioned like precise robots, as if guided automatically by the very hands of God. There was no hesitation, no questioning “ok, now what was the next step?” My excitement grew when the doctor turned to the nurses and pediatrician by me and said “baby.” The pediatrician took a step forward as the scalpel sliced into Andrea’s uterus. My HD video locked on and captured the moment for me to share with Andrea later. All in about 3-4 seconds, the umbilical cord popped out, then Sweet T’s head, followed by the shoulders, midsection, legs and two tiny feet as a caboose. “You have a baby boy” the doctor announced in English as the cord was snipped and Sweet T was quickly whisked to the cleaning table right next to me. There he was. Nine and a half months of expectation for this little purple guy. Seriously, the deep purple skin was a surprise to me, but the pediatrician and nurses did not seemed alarmed in the least. Their calm work kept me calm during the 2-3 minutes it took before Sweet T ripped out his first cries (or squeaks). The cleaning continued for some time and the doctor had to revive this little guy 4-5 times or 7-8 minutes before his lungs were clear and he was breathing on his own. Yet, I had an incredible peace. The doctor wasn’t panicking, the nurses were smiling, and most of all “egziyabiyer ke inya gar new” (trans: God is with us). Looking back at my wife, I saw the final stitches going in just as quick and smooth as it had all started. This moment was truly surreal and I stood in awe of everything around me, letting my excitement flow out of my mouth without any hindrance. I couldn’t thank God enough, and believe me I was unashamedly making that clear!

Your culture is good. When Sweet T was finally cleaned and wrapped up nice and tight, he led the parade out of the surgery theatre and into the nursery. During the length measurement, Sister Elsa turned to me and said words that I will never forget “yinante bahil tru new” (trans: your culture is good). Those words mean so much because they came from an experienced midwife. You see, in many Ethiopian hospitals, nobody is allowed to accompany the laboring woman, especially not the husband. “Men are weak and afraid, they don’t want to see any of this” Elsa had told me earlier. And to be honest, I can see why. It’s not pleasant to see your wife in such pain and struggle. It’s not pleasant to see the blood and other “nasties” that comes along with childbirth. It’s not pleasant to feel like you swallowed a watermelon whole. But for me, there is nowhere else I wanted to be. I knew that I was being watched the whole time. Whenever a contraction came, words of love and encouragement and reminders to breath had just flowed from my mouth without effort. Becky, as well, demonstrated a compassion and deep love for Andrea so that together we were showing our audience of doctors, nurses and midwives, the beauty of our culture in this critical moment. Elsa’s comment, “your culture is good,” meant so much as this midwife had been moved by our participation with Andrea in this remarkable event. I don’t at all hope to change the Ethiopian culture in this direction, but rather I pray that our demonstration of real love for Andrea throughout her struggle will be a testimony to others of a loving husband and a loving friend reflecting the love of Christ.

This is your mother, you’re going to respect her. After Sweet T had been delivered, cleaned up, measured, weighed and tightly wrapped up in the nursery, I was told to go back to our room (which was very nice by Ethiopian standards, which kinda have become ours as well!). As I stepped out into the hallway, Andrea was just being wheeled out of the surgery theatre and back toward the room. Still completely under the effects of the anesthesia, I walked next to her rolling bed until I remembered “those four guys from our Ethiopian church are outside praying right now!” I rushed out to the courtyard and found them, eager to share the good news of the baby boy for whom they have been faithfully praying for MONTHS. There is nothing like being surrounded by the body of Christ at times like this. After joining hands and praising God for his amazing grace and faithfulness, I hugged all four of them and hurried back to be with Andrea. The hard part was over, or so I thought. Walking into the room, I hovered over Andrea, feeling like the incredible story of what had happened was going to just burst out of me. But I knew that I had one last trial of waiting to get through. I talked and cried with Becky and we prayed together while holding Andrea’s hand. My love and respect for my wife was flowing through my veins as I reflected on how strong she had been through the pain, how gracious she had been through the frustrations, how positive she had remained through the disappointments. I just wished I could tell her! It was about an hour later, as Andrea was beginning to communicate, that little Sweet T was brought into the room. Sister Elsa handed my son to me and with great pride, I introduced him to Andrea. Together as a family for the first time, I said what first came to my mind after reflecting on how well Andrea had fought and in doing so I gave Micah his first ultimatum, “This is your mother, you’re going to respect her.” As those words rolled off my tongue, I realized just how much I really meant it. For after today’s events alone, Andrea is worthy of my and Micah’s lifetime of respect, and I’ll make sure she gets it.