Labour of Love

by Shannon Garner

  ‘She’s definitely in established labour now,’ Marg whispered to Ashleigh. ‘She’s in the zone.’

  Ashleigh sat beside me, a stopwatch in her hand. I rolled my head back and forth over my arms on the side of the spa bath, the rhythm lessening the pain ever so slightly, but I couldn’t help but think, I’ve never experienced such constant pain in birth. The drip attached to my hand upped the ante, propelling another contraction as soon as the last one dulled.

  ‘Shannon,’ Ashleigh’s quiet voice was tinged with compassion, ‘you’re doing so well but I want to measure your contractions, so when you feel another coming, just let me know.’

  My body became rigid and I slid my knees together over the base of the bath, my forehead planted firmly on my arms. ‘Here’s one now,’ I whimpered before drawing a long breath through my nose and letting my muscles loosen.

  ‘Great, you just tell me when it’s over, okay?’

  The agony moved in waves, radiating from my belly, wrapping around my back, raw and unrelenting. I suppressed the primal urge to yell, pressing my lips together and moaning as I moved from side to side, sloshing water around me.

  ‘It’s not going away,’ I complained, lifting my heavy head before letting it fall on the cannula in my hand, pain darting up my arm.

  I felt a hand on my forehead, a tender touch, and heard a whisper in my ear, ‘You’re doing so well. You can do this, Shan. You can. Just breathe.’

  I knew the voice, my Andrew, by my side and supporting me in a moment that I thought would never end.

  ‘It’s not going away, babe. I’m not getting a break,’ I cried, squeezing my eyes closed, resting my head to the side, mouth open and panting.

  ‘Just relax. You’ve done this before, Shan. Just let go of everything and loosen your body. Trust that you know what to do,’ Andrew soothed me, his voice soft and guiding, rubbing my head, stroking back the wet hair that stuck to my face.

  The throbbing, pulling, drawing pain continued without mercy. The oxytocin had taken my contractions from mild, timed tightenings I could deal with to one strong, overwhelming cramping sensation that never left me. I couldn’t see an end and exhaustion dragged me down. My eyelids grew heavy and I went off, back to the Maldives, waist deep in cool, fresh sea water, the sand exfoliating my skin, the sun kissing life into me. I removed myself from the birth, away from the agony, and then I transitioned.

  30

  A gift is given – 26 November 2014

  I begrudged the long, drawn-out cry leaving my body. Bones shifting, muscles engaging, skin stretching, life forging through another; the sensation of my pelvis agonisingly inching apart stole the little composure I had left.

  ‘Arrggghhhh! I need to push, I need to push!’ I bellowed, clamping my hands to the side of the spa bath so hard I thought it would snap. My neck stiff, body racked with urges that gripped my insides, I forced the baby away from myself, pushing against pressure.

  Panting, I rose up, water splashing, and spread my knees the widest they could go. The hot, burning stretch between my legs snatched my breath.

  ‘Shannon, don’t push yet. Can you get out of the bath?’ Marg asked calmly from the centre of the bathroom.

  I shook my head violently, bearing down, gritting my teeth and squeezing, my face suspended in the expression of exertion. ‘I’m . . . pushing,’ I wailed, declaring my uncontrollable compulsion. Crowning.

  ‘Okay,’ Marg said.

  I threw my head back, glimpsing Marg, her arms by her sides, head tilted as she calculated the next move. ‘You need to get out of the bath when you’re done pushing, Shannon. When the head’s out. Okay?’

  I hunched over, writhing, half lifted from the water, pushing down low in one long, lethargic motion, on the brink of losing all self-control. I still clutched the side of the bath, unable to let go; if I did, my grip on reality would falter and I’d be adrift in the moment, languid yet panicked, on the other side of calm. Cramping every single muscle in my body, I pushed, face pinched and hot, baring my teeth.

  Then relief lifted me from a place I thought I was forever stuck. I shook and panted, regaining my breath, my stability. ‘Her head’s out,’ I said, calm in a way that made everyone laugh then panic.

  ‘Can you stand up?’ Marg grabbed my arm.

  I stood, legs wobbly, arms shaking from adrenaline. ‘I still have . . . my bikini bottoms on.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Marg said, letting go and pushing a plastic mattress covered with a white sheet beside the bath. Andrew helped me step over the bath onto the mattress, the weight of half a baby pulling between my thighs.

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Justin clambering behind my bare bottom, on his knees, hands poised, ready to receive his child. I’d climbed a mountain, my body aching, my breath heavy, but I was almost at its peak.

  ‘Next contraction and she’s out,’ Marg said matter-of-factly.

  I faced Andrew in his seat, rested my head on his knees, felt his hands on my shoulders and allowed the final contraction to dominate my body. Squealing, I tensed and bore down.

  As Elsie moved from my body and took up her place in the world, a form of relief I can only describe as nirvana saturated every cell inside me. Gasping, I closed my eyes and waited for the scream from her immature lungs. I half turned, desperate to see; her tiny face and curling fingers, her body seized in that moment before life was drawn into her lungs and she screamed. What lay behind me on the mattress was a dream – a beautiful, pink, perfect baby girl with puckered lips and fused-together eyelids – a baby version of an oriental Buddha. She wasn’t the malnourished thing I imagined she could be; she was small but healthy, flourishing. I turned back to my husband, gazed up at him, smiling, breathless.

  ‘It’s Jon! She looks like Jon,’ I exclaimed, twisting around again to confirm my first thought. In that moment I needed her to look like Jon, reaffirming that she wasn’t my child, even though my blood nourished her. Elsie didn’t have my genetic code. She wasn’t mine to take home.

  Jon and Justin knelt by my side, shirtless, breathless, staring at their daughter, their arms held out, hands twitching, hesitant, tears welling in their eyes. Jon bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back his emotion.

  ‘Take her. Pick her up,’ I encouraged, laughing, welcoming the flood of relief and love at the sight of the gift I’d given. ‘It’s your daughter.’

  Justin bent over and, with help from Marg, cut the cord. He carefully slid his fingers under her head and body, cradling his child. Marg wrapped a towel around his hands and Elsie scrunched up her petite face and began to cry.

  ‘You did it, Shan. Well done,’ said Tenille, standing back to capture the shot, the video camera running.

  ‘Well done, honey,’ Andrew said as he cupped my head in his hands and kissed my forehead. ‘You did so well.’

  ‘Amazing, Shan, congratulations,’ Ashleigh whispered from the doorway.

  I soaked it all up. It was a moment I’d thought about for as long as I could remember and I’d done it. I’d achieved what I set out to do.

  I still had to birth the placenta, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to revel in the occasion. I wanted to watch Jon and Justin and Elsie, united as a family. I wanted to watch the boys experience a new kind of love, one they’d never had the opportunity to feel before but that would be with them now until the day they died.

  Justin held Elsie in his arms and Jon quivered beside him; offering congratulations to each other and they kissed. Their smiles were radiant, eyes alive with the knowledge that they’d achieved a shared dream. Their daughter was safe, she had arrived, now a tangible part of their lives.

  My cheeks were sore from smiling. The boys glanced at me and then back at their baby. Justin looked up again, and mouthed the words, ‘Thank you,’ over and over, gratitude and admiration simmering in those bright blue eyes. Jon did the same, struggling to speak, wiping away tears with his trembling hand.

  ‘I think the placenta’s coming,�
�� I whispered hurriedly to Marg. I birthed the placenta in one push, perfectly embarrassed, my cheeks hot as it splattered into the kidney-shaped stainless-steel bowl Marg had placed between my legs.

  ‘Very healthy and intact,’ Marg said, sizing up the placenta. ‘You did so well, Shannon.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Marg. At one point I didn’t think I’d make it. That oxytocin was brutal. I never got a break from the pain.’

  ‘Yes, it tends to bring it on thick and fast. I did turn it off after a while, though. I knew your body would go into labour on its own. You just needed a nudge. You went off into your own world and it was beautiful to watch, the way you relaxed your body and let it happen.’

  ‘I had a good teacher.’ I grinned.

  Marg smiled and gave a quick nod; always a professional, she had work to do. She rose to her feet, stepping around the clutter of towels, equipment and people on the floor, carrying the bowl out of the bathroom.

  The room was full of laughter, wide smiles, the energy electric – we’d all witnessed something life-changing. We spoke over the top of each other, recounting our experience, what each one thought, did and said.

  ‘Where were you boys when I was in the bath?’

  ‘In the doorway minding our own business.’ Jon grinned, his hand resting on Elsie’s head. ‘We thought you’d be hours and before we knew it you were screaming, “I’m pushing!”’

  I closed my eyes, smiling, wiped the hair stuck to my forehead, reliving the memory of the pain. Then I realised I was naked from the waist down. Adrenaline still firing, I shivered, turning to Andrew. ‘Babe, can you help me put my swimmers back on?’

  Everyone left the room to give us privacy, Ashleigh pulling away the mattress topped with bloody towels. Andrew helped me up, my legs shaking as they regained balance. I decided to shower, wash off the blood and sweat, and I welcomed the cleansing water, reviving and renewing me. It wouldn’t be long before the boys’ parents would be in to meet their granddaughter, and I wanted to be there when they did. I cleaned and dried myself as fast as I could, but I was weak, dizzy and light-headed, so I stopped myself from rushing.

  Clean and dressed, I left the bathroom and walked into the room, found the boys cuddling Elsie. Justin had prepared her first bottle of colostrum and in his arms she happily drank the five millilitres in seconds.

  ‘What was the time of birth?’ I asked, curious, as I lowered myself slowly to sit on the end of the bed, tender.

  ‘It was 4.13 pm. You laboured for a little over an hour after the last bit of oxytocin. She came quite quickly,’ said Ashleigh, her smile incandescent.

  ‘So you went from four centimetres to ten centimetres dilated in an hour.’ Tenille laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

  I grinned, still in a heady state of bliss and exhaustion, soaring on the fact that Elsie was healthy and perfect. ‘So, Marg . . . is she an SGA baby?’ I asked.

  Marg shook her head. ‘From looking at her she’s not, but I’ll weigh her now – if I can pry her from her father’s arms.’

  Justin jolted to action, handing Elsie over. Marg stripped off her clean blanket and laid her bare on the scales. Elsie squirmed, began to cry.

  ‘Six pounds six ounces. She’s little but she’s not an SGA baby. She’s perfect,’ Marg confirmed, raising her voice.

  Any remaining worry left my body in that moment, at the sound of that word, perfect. Elsie was what we had hoped for and, no longer in my care, she was the responsibility of Jon and Justin. My little passenger had been with me for the last thirty-nine weeks, intimate, close, and I’d cradled her within my body, helping her to grow, offering her a way into the world, but at 4.13 pm on 26 November 2014 I had gifted her to her fathers in the knowledge that she was loved, wanted and cherished.

  After all I’d been through during the pregnancy, I understood that the doctors had a job to do, and whether she’d been classified as SGA or not I still would’ve carried around worry for Elsie’s wellbeing until she was born. The care I received throughout my pregnancy by everyone involved was of the highest quality and I was grateful for that. But now I could see her with my own eyes, delight in her health and vitality, count her fingers and her toes, watch her chest rise as breath entered her body. I could smell her skin and touch her fine wisps of hair, kiss her warm cheeks, and I didn’t have to worry.

  Gazing over at Elsie, watching Jon rock her back and forth as though he’d done it a million times before, I knew that everything I had gone through was worth it. The morning sickness, the incessant exhaustion, a lowered immune system, the limited way I could care for my own children, the strain it put on my relationship with Andrew at times, and the eighty-odd appointments or meetings to do with the surrogacy and pregnancy I had to attend . . . it was all worth it. Elsie was worth every second of it.

  ‘Hello?’ said a man’s voice from the doorway.

  Wayne, Justin’s father, drew back the curtain cautiously, assessing the situation before he walked into the room, followed by Annette, Sheri and Rick. Annette’s eyes found her son, his new daughter comfortable in his embrace. She wiped a tear from underneath her glasses, congratulating the boys, before turning to me, pulling me close. She stepped back and held my arms, tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you so much for what you’ve done, Shannon.’

  I tried hard to contain myself, yet the tears came, flooding. Annette moved on to Andrew, and Sheri walked towards me, sniffing as we hugged. ‘Shannon, what can I say but thank you. We have a granddaughter.’

  Rick and Wayne both squeezed me tight as well. Unable to find the right words, Wayne patted my back for a job well done and Rick whispered his appreciation.

  I sat on the bed with Andrew by my side, Tenille on the other, watching them fuss over their new baby granddaughter with all the love they could possibly possess.

  ‘Shannon hasn’t held her yet,’ said Jon.

  ‘That’s okay.’ I waved a nonchalant hand. ‘Let the grandparents have a hold.’

  ‘No, you must have a hold first,’ Annette insisted.

  Careful, Jon stepped closer and laid his precious daughter in my arms.

  Rendered speechless, I pulled her close to my chest, my body rippling with wonder. She was so close to me yet no longer with me in the only way I’d known. There was something about physically holding Elsie in my arms that flooded me with immense gratitude. I was her birth mother, but we were now independent of each other, and our futures seemed to unfold before me – from afar I’d watch her grow and learn and love and one day realise just how much she was wanted by her parents and by me.

  There in my arms was Baby JJ – Elsie. The little one I had loved and nurtured. Her smell was intoxicating, and I involuntarily closed my eyes, but as much as my body yearned to hold her it accepted that she wasn’t mine. It wasn’t coldness on my part – my heart pulsed with affection for her and the boys – but there was an easy sense of restraint that took me by surprise. From the outset she was never mine. I did what I did so that Jon and Justin could be fathers, it was that simple. My feelings were levelled out, there were no distracting thoughts or overwhelming instincts. I was her birth mother and always would be, no one could take that from me, but Elsie belonged to Jon and Justin.

  What a lucky little girl, I thought as I kissed her forehead and posed for some photos with my surrogate baby. So many children were born into this world unwanted and unloved, abused and used, but here in my arms lay a little girl who would one day come to know the great lengths her fathers had gone to to have her, to share their love with her, to give her their all.

  31

  Gratitude, love and light

  Night came, and Jon and Justin wheeled the cot with a sleeping Elsie into their private room. I walked behind them with Andrew and Tenille, marvelling at their attentiveness to their new baby girl. Ashleigh helped Marg fill in the paperwork for the birth. The grandparents went to pick up some dinner for everyone, and I lingered in the doorway, beaming, watching as the boys spoke in hushed voices an
d gently pushed the cot in beside their bed.

  ‘I’ll come and visit you a bit later on, once I’ve had a proper shower and a rest. Oh, I’ll have to bring more colostrum too.’ I smiled, turning to leave.

  ‘Shannon,’ Jon called me back. ‘We wanted to give you a card and this.’ He held a small black box in his hand with an envelope.

  I glanced toward Andrew and Tenille, both of them nodding, staying back in the hallway. I stepped into the room and let the door close behind me, crossing my hands over my chest as if to guard my heart. ‘No. You didn’t have to give me anything,’ I whispered. ‘I already have everything I need.’

  Jon nudged the gift in my direction. Again I felt the sting of tears as I accepted and then studied the envelope in my hands before tearing it open and pulling out the card. Sniffing and wiping my eyes, I read their words of love and appreciation. My heart hurt, swollen in my chest. I couldn’t imagine feeling any more love than I did right there in that room.

  I gulped, overcome, and focused my attention to the black jewellery box, opening the lid.

  ‘It’s her birth stone, topaz.’ Justin glanced down at a ring with a single honey-coloured stone.

  I covered my mouth with my hand, stifling a sob. ‘That means the world to me,’ I cried, slipping the ring out of the slit in the box and sliding it onto the middle finger of my right hand. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’

  ‘How can we ever possibly thank you enough for what you’ve done for us?’ said Justin. ‘There are no words. There are no gifts. That ring seems trivial compared to what you’ve given us.’

  I pressed my right hand into my chest, showing off the ring. ‘I’ll cherish it forever. It’s very special to me.’

  I hugged each of them tightly, then I glanced over at Elsie, tucked under her blankets, sleeping, content. It was hard to leave, pull myself away from the action, away from my urge to help them, to watch them with her.