Teddy’s Birth Story
By: Chris Vale
Tags: Birth, WWE, Baby, Atlanta, Pregnancy

3:50 AM: The nurse wakes me to let me know we’re going to do another check, and then we can go home. And we should come back once she’s actually in labor, which are contractions every eight minutes. (Which is exactly what we did, but we didn’t know the drinking water trick.)

The longest 1.5 hours of my life were waiting for discharge paperwork and a parking validation. In the back of my head, I kinda knew we could walk out without being arrested, but with 4 AM intelligence, a sore butt and head, and a birth on the line, we waited for the correct paperwork. When it was delivered, the nurse did not even read it to us! She did however remind us about the hospital’s pain scale, and to not come in with something below five or so. Parking had only cost $5 up to that point, and on the 5:30 AM drive home, I really wished we had just walked out.

7:30 AM came quickly, and I decided to show up at Poncz’s house and take George to school. We were worried about how he would react to going from the child who got the most attention, to absolute last place. So I was hoping a familiar face would help. I drop him off at school, and head back to bed.

11 AM: I awake again to Erin groaning loudly. She informs me things are feeling a lot more real. Since we were still at home with great Wifi, and Erin was having 5–10 minutes of downtime between contractions still, we decided it was the right time for YouTube! Actually, I decided it was the right time for YouTube, Erin actually thought about going back to the hospital. But I reminded her of the shame we felt, and figured that if she was able to have a calm conversation about going to the hospital, we probably still had plenty of time.

So we looked up breathing exercise videos, and what can a motivated DAD do during labor to actually help. Turns out this is a popular topic! With no time to watch and review all the recommended videos, and not much sleep to go on, I relied on stereotypes to pick. Mormon’s have way more kids than normal and they all live in Utah. We picked a breathing and relaxation video from Intermountain Moms! We watched a few others after that, but I was smugly proud my stereotyping worked well, as the Intermountain Mom was the best one we watched. We practiced counting, relaxing, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth³, and repeating positive affirmations.

[3] Erin had a cold and frustratingly couldn’t breath through her nose, so we had to edit a few of these recommendations.

A few other videos mentioned that overloading your brain with other sensations can help block the pain signals. So imagining yourself on a beach, smelling the ocean, feeling the sun on your skin and the sand in your toes, and hearing the waves crash means your brain will be overloaded and won’t feel any pain!

In a fit of situational inspiration I decided to use Olive Garden Garlic Breadsticks®! I waited for the contraction, and did my best to paint a picture of biting into a warm breadstick, the light grease on your fingertips, feeling chunks of baked-on minced garlic falling on your chin, and the smell of my breath asking for more salad.

“What the fuck, gross, STOP!” she shot back, with Night King eyes.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN TOO MUCH PAIN TO TALK” to which I did not get a second response.

I quickly pivoted to repetitive counting. It was clear hot breadsticks grossed her out, but that reaction meant that maybe the pain blocking was working! And maybe something soft and chewy isn’t the right sensation for whatever reason. I waited for the next contraction to drop.

“OK, imagine we are in Rome, there are Vespa’s putzing by, honking their horns. You can smell pasta cooking, we are sitting in a restaurant, and the wooden chair is uncomfortably hard. There is a cup of grissini’s on the table, and you pick up the long, crisp room temperature breadstick, take a bite, and feel the crunch explode on your teeth-”

“Goddamn it NO MORE FOOD!”

The pain was increasing, but I continued to insist we stay at home. My logic was this: what is more comfortable for you? Painful contractions at home, in a nice bed with lots of pillows, or painful contractions in a hospital bed, with gizmos and wires taped all over, an IV in your arm, and malpractice lawyers dictating your labor?

Plus, remember a ten is surgery with no anesthetic!

1 PM: I won, and we went downstairs to take a hot bath. Erin could not find a comfortable position, and around this time, we started timing the contractions again. She was restless, and was no longer able to listen to any of my spontaneous advice. I was getting non-stop robocalls from the Midwest. Nobody was happy.

1:45 PM: She suddenly declared that I need to call the doctor, because the pain was getting unbearable. To which I reply, OK, what’s the phone number? She ice-glances at me and I quickly apologize and look it up on my phone. I reach the answering machine, and put it on speaker, so Erin can hear what I’m doing. She’s groaning now, and I’m trying to listen to the phone tree, to understand my options. It turns out there was no phone tree, it was just one ULTRA long preface before you are able to leave a message! Erin is asking me to hurry, I’m telling her I’m trying, and all the while this thing is droning on and on and on

if this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911 or if you don’t want to hang up and dial 911, please go to the nearest emergency room

ok thank you lawyers

Your time is valuable to us, so please leave your doctors name, your name, and the best phone number to reach you on…

of course!

and we will then take that information and then we will call you back…

NO SHIT! OK LEMME TALK!

by the way, we will respond to messages based on medical priority, not based on the order they were received in..

Erin cuts in “HANG UP!!”

“Um what?” I reply “I’m almost at the part where I can leave a message!”

“I DON’T CARE HANG UP”

“Erin, I don’t think you understand. I mean, you’re listening too right? We have invested six minutes into this answering machine, how can we throw all that way?”

“WE ARE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL!”

2 PM: Well then, let’s go to the hospital shall we? Right when I was trying to lift Erin up from the tub, I got another bloody robocall. I figured this was a perfect opportunity to shame the person on the other end, as well as put a stop to them for the day, since I was about to be involved in something very special, and I don’t need my phone going on incessantly.

I’m still holding Erin with one hand, but with the other I pat my hand dry (leather case!) and answer it. Erin looks at me with disbelief. I try to reason with her, as that was probably my tenth call that hour, but she was extremely passionate about me hanging up. In fact, it has been a few weeks since the birth, and she is still disappointed in me for answering that call. I digress.

I smartly hang up on the telemarketer and grab all the towels I could find to help dry her off. Erin thinks her water broke, but we don’t really know, since Erin stepped out of the tub before she was totally dry. I start naming off the things we need to do before going back to the hospital. I decide I need to change clothes, so I tell Erin to hang out on the couch and I’ll be right back. I head upstairs, but before I could make it three steps I hear a painful scream. “RUN!”

2:01 PM: I have on a fresh set of clothes and I throw everything I can see into the trunk of the MKT and run back to grab Erin. She had now directed her repetitive mantra at me, and it went something like this “THIS BABY IS COMING RIGHT NOW! I AM GOING TO HAVE IT IN THE CAR!” To her credit, it was very motivational.

We get out of the front door just in time for our neighbor to drive by and see her twisted face crying and screaming as we slow-shuffle to the car. By now, she is too uncomfortable to sit, but the back of the car is full of car seats! So I agonizingly fold her into the front passenger seat with a few shrieks and hop into the drivers seat. I glance over and see her hanging from the grab handle. It was not a fun drive.

Erin’s repetitive mantra changed to this “DRIVE FASTER! I know you can’t do ANYTHING RIGHT right now and I’m sorry. SLOW DOWN FOR THAT BUMP! PLEASE DRIVE FASTER! I’m sorry but please hurry. SLOW DOWN NOW, AHHH! SPEED UP!”

Piedmont Hospital is not the easiest place to navigate in a non-stressful situation. There are half a dozen drop offs, four parking garages, multiple entrances, and half the site is under construction. A map of the facility is also extremely hard to find, as the official Piedmont App, which has a great interactive map of the facility, is Geo-aware, so tries to hustle you to a feeder-clinic closest to you instead of giving you a chance to explore the damn hospital!

Results for “Piedmont Hospital Map”

I was unable to figure out where an appropriate drop-off is, so with the sound of screams and plastic interior parts snapping from Erin’s uncontrollable hands and feet, I diligently navigated the excruciating speed bumps into the same parking garage closest to L&D.

2:30-ish PM: I wait my turn for a decent parking spot, and hustle out of the car to grab Erin. (And our phone chargers!) We got a lot of attention slowly making our way through the parking garage.

Here is the scene: Erin has to stop every few minutes to hold onto my neck, as I set-up in a wide stance, reach around and force-rub her back, as she moans to help with the contractions. People are stopping and staring, but my instincts somehow respond with “Don’t worry, we are fine!” (Erin was too distressed to correct me.)

A nice lady stops her car, rolls down the window, and yells out “There are wheelchairs right there by the elevators!” I respond “Don’t worry, we are fine!”

She drives another 10 feet, slams her car into park, and runs, in heels, to the elevator and comes back with a wheelchair. Surprised, I thank her, and briskly wheel Erin to the elevators. When we get into the smallish elevator, there is a tall man with AirPods in it, having a conversation with somebody. The doors close. A contraction starts. Erin starts with a deep moan, but it turns into a scream. I start counting off “FOCUS ON ME, COUNT. ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR”. The man literally turns around and faces the corner.

DING. I run Erin out, down the hallway, to ANOTHER set of elevators in the Piedmont Maze. I smash what I thought was the only button to go up right as another contraction hits. A group of women in scrubs are drawn in by the screams, and one of them, who can tell where we need to go, helpfully hits the correct UP button on the wall, to go up to L&D. I had hit the wrong damn button!

Up we go, and the women in scrubs join me for the sprint (we now have five of us) to L&D. There is an intake desk at the beginning of L&D, where the visitors waiting room is. A woman named Libby from our group pre-yells to the desk “WE ARE JUST GOING STRAIGHT IN!” I helpfully add “don’t worry, we are fine!” as I run by, and Libby slams her badge on the wall to open up the double doors.

We run right to the shift nurse station, in the heart of L&D. The rest of the posse leaves, but Libby stays with us. I start digging in my backpack, explaining that Erin had pregnancy brain, tee-hee-hee, and lost her wallet. The nurse urgently lets me know I don’t need any of that, just fill out this one most essential form. I print Erin’s name on it, and another contraction hits.

Other L&D nurses hear the commotion and we have a posse once again! They scream “Eight is open!” and before I know it we are in a legit room, full of nurses, and they hand me a gown, and ask me to put it on Erin as fast as I can.

Erin is typically a modest person, and the door is wide open. I have a clipboard in my hand, our posse is growing, and the activity in the room is increasing. I whisper in Erin’s ear “Hey, do you want to go into the bathroom to change?” to which she replies “OFF NOW!”

2:35 PM: The gown is on, and the first thing they do is find some calibrated fingers to check the cervix. I help Erin onto the bed, and a nurse comes in that I recognize! She was the one who delivered George, and she was awesome! I call her by the wrong name as she blows past me, snaps some gloves on, and gets her reading.

9 CM! I helpfully asked a question for the benefit of the room “Oh, so that means she is past active labor, and is in transition. Right?” Someone shoots back “sir, she is DONE transition.”

This new measurement created even more action in the room. I meekly muttered to the group “sure glad we came to the hospital when we did…” and melted into the background as the nurses got to work.

The one super-bad-ass nurse [SBAN] from last time, Hannah, asked Erin what her plans were for pain management. Erin grunted out “epidural please”. The SBAN winced and responded, “ma’am, you need to mentally prepare yourself for a natural birth.”

Erin looked over at me.

I started to shiver.

SBAN broke in and said “we are going to do everything we can to get this epidural in” and like Jean-Claude Camille François van Varenberg, pivoted horizontal on her hip to press the red intercom button on the wall with her outstretched finger while at the same time grabbing an IV pump with her foot, and kicked it over towards the bed.

She yelled at the person on the other end of the intercom for a specific anesthesiologist, grabbed an IV catheter in her teeth, sprung onto the bed while opening the package with her lips and grabbed Erin’s arm like Dan “The Beast” Severn administering an arm bar.

Erin has tiny veins, and an IV at the first delivery at Piedmont took four tries and 10 minutes to hit a vein. Before I could advise her where to put it BOOM it was in on the first try! SBAN launched into a spinning jump kick off the bed, shocking the saline drip pump into maximum flow before hitting the ground in a forward roll.

Before we knew it, a tiny doctor bangs the door open with the epidural cart! Erin turns and sits sideways on the bed, and the doctor and SBAN execute a choreographed dance in 1.5x speed: passing drugs, tape and Betadine back and forth while checking each others work.

The doctor leans in towards Erin’s ear and says “You’re going to feel a slight pinch” to which Erin shot back “PINCH WHATEVER YOU NEED TO GET THIS THING IN!”

2:56 PM: Mrs. Epidural is in, and a calmness melts over the room. I start breathing again, and Erin now has a mild smile on her face. SBAN fires up the EMR to start the process of actually admitting Erin to the hospital.

3:01 PM: Erin is officially admitted! We try pushing for a bit, but the energy in the room is gone, and the doctor recommends everyone resting for 30 minutes, and we can try pushing then.

3:40 PM: The birthing crew assembles, the doctor comes back in with a smile, and we decide to give it a go!

I stand at the foot of the bed, ready to give the doctor advice if needed. The pushing starts, and I follow the lead of SBAN, mimicking her encouragement.

3:52 PM: Teddy pops out with ease! (Erin might disagree on the level of ease, but it looked easy to me!)

3:53 PM: Dad cuts the cord! The doctor, who in all the commotion hadn’t taken the time to ask dad if he was left- or right-handed, gives me right-handed scissors, and I struggle getting through the rubbery cord over 5–6 awkward snips. I persevere though the hardship though, and get the job done, inspired by what I just witnessed Erin do!

This time around, Erin gets the baby immediately, for some great skin-to-skin. He starts rooting very quickly, to which the peanut gallery adds that pre-term babies, and especially boys, rarely latch. Luckily, Teddy doesn’t speak English yet, so he ignorantly just started eating like a champ!

Teddy is ~20 min. old in this photo

The rest of that day was joyous. The L&D ward has a fantastic free instant coffee machine⁴, and I tried to get our $30,000 stay worth! Besides having a son, this was my favorite part of the hospital stay.

[4] In researching how it was able to dispense hot coffee so quickly (I currently think it uses liquid coffee concentrate, which can support an impressive 1.13 gallons/minute of hot coffee production) I learned that Smucker’s claims to be “the largest coffee roaster in North America”.

Wednesday

8 AM: Prior to birth we had given the new dude a nickname, Teddy, and reverse engineered Edward from that. But we hadn’t considered a middle name yet. George’s middle name was picked in a sleep-deprived haze, and even though it’s the same as my first name, I had to Google it to make sure I didn’t misspell it. This time around, we were able to have a rational conversation, and discuss options! We settled on my dad’s name, which I knew would be special, but I found myself crying when Erin first said it out-loud.

Births are emotional!

2 PM: New baby businesses start trolling the halls. You can buy “It’s a BOY!” Mylar balloons for $25, or candy bars for $2.50. I flag down the photographer. We had kept the entire pregnancy off of social media, but good pictures are great for holiday cards, and to send out to friends and family.