My racing mind was interrupted by the late arrival of the convenor. Before she could be distracted by educational tasks, I informed her of the catering problem, in some detail.
Rosie interrupted. ‘I think she’s got the message, Don.’
‘Oh, I’m glad we have a dad who knows about nutrition in pregnancy. Most don’t have a clue.’ Her name was Heidi (age approximately fifty, BMI twenty-six) and she seemed very friendly.
The education component commenced with introductions, followed by a video of actual births. I moved to the front row when one male student vacated his seat and left the room hurriedly. I had already watched numerous online videos covering the most common situations and complications, but the bigger screen was a definite benefit.
At the end, Heidi asked, ‘Any questions?’ She moved to the whiteboard in the front corner.
Remembering Jack the Biker’s recommendation, I shut the fuck up initially to give others an opportunity.
The first question was from a woman who identified herself as Maya. ‘In the breech presentation, wouldn’t they normally do a caesarean?’
‘That’s right. In this case, I guess they didn’t pick it up until labour was well along, and it was too late. And, as we all saw, it still worked out fine.’
‘I’ve been told I have to have a caesarean unless the baby turns. I really wanted a natural birth.’
‘Well, there are risk factors with a natural birth in breech position.’
‘How risky is it?’
‘I can’t give you all the facts and numbers—’
Fortunately, I could. I walked to the whiteboard and, using the red and black markers, showed how the umbilical cord could be crushed in a breech birth, and provided a breakdown of factors contributing to the decision to perform a caesarean section. Heidi stood beside me with her mouth open.
Maya was expecting her third child, so the risk was reduced. ‘Your pelvic bones and vagina will already be well stretched.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, buddy,’ said her husband.
When I had finished, everyone clapped.
‘I gather you’re an OBGYN,’ said Heidi.
‘No, just a father, recognising that I have a valuable and fulfilling role to play in the pregnancy.’
She laughed. ‘You’re an example to us all.’
I hoped Rosie, sitting at the back, had taken notice.
We covered a number of topics, most of which I was able to expand upon. I was conscious of Jack’s advice, but I seemed to be the only knowledgeable person in the room other than Heidi. Everything seemed to be going very well. The topic moved to breastfeeding, where I had extended my research beyond The Book.
‘It won’t always be easy, and you fathers have to support your partners’ choice to breastfeed,’ said Heidi.
‘Or not,’ I added, since the word choice implies an alternative.
‘I’m sure you’d agree, Don, that breastfeeding is always the preferred option.’
‘Not always. There are numerous factors which may affect the decision. I recommend a spreadsheet.’
‘But one huge factor is the immunity that breastfeeding gives to the child. We need a very strong reason to deny our child the best immune system.’
‘Agreed,’ I said.
‘Let’s move on then,’ said Heidi. But she had left out a critical fact!
‘Maximum immunity is achieved by sharing babies among mothers. In the ancestral environment, mothers fed one another’s children.’ I pointed to the Street Women. ‘Madison and Delancey are best friends, living in the same house with babies due concurrently. Obviously they should co-feed each other’s babies. In the interests of creating the best possible immune systems.’
I continued the argument with Rosie on the train home. In retrospect it was probably more of what Rosie would call a rant than an actual argument, due to all contributions being made by me.
‘Chapped nipples are reported to cause agony, but mothers are expected to continue feeding to improve the immune system. Yet a social convention, a constructed social convention with minimal underlying rationale, is enough to prevent a simple extension that—’
‘Please, Don, just shut up,’ said Rosie.
Rosie apologised a few minutes later, walking home from the subway. ‘Sorry I told you to shut up. I know it’s who you are and there’s nothing you can do about it. But you were just so embarrassing.’
‘Dave predicted embarrassment. It’s normal.’
But I was conscious that it was unlikely that anyone at Dave’s class had been the catalyst for the public breakup of two best friends and their employment relationship and an unstructured discussion involving most of the participants that violated the promise that the classes would be ‘non-threatening’.
‘Keep executing,’ Dave had said. To extend his baseball analogy, I was in imminent danger of being dropped from the roster. I needed help from the coach: my therapist.
‘I’m not your therapist, Don.’
I intercepted Lydia as she left the clinic at the end of the day. I’d had no success securing an appointment and detected obstruction. She refused my offer of coffee and insisted on returning upstairs to her office. I had come alone.
I told her everything, excluding the Rosie-Sonia substitution. More correctly, I planned to tell her everything, but the description of the Antenatal Uproar, which I commenced with in response to her question ‘What prompted you to come to see me?’, occupied thirty-nine minutes and was not finished when she interrupted. She was laughing. I could not have imagined Lydia laughing, but now she was laughing inappropriately at a situation that had driven my marriage to the brink of disaster.
‘Oh God, breastfeeding nazis. Women whose maids are their best friends. You know what David Sedaris says? None of these women have someone else’s maid as their best friend.’
It was an interesting observation, but not useful in solving my problem.
‘All right,’ said Lydia. ‘We didn’t get off to a very good start, you and I, and that’s partly my issue. We do need people like you. You should know that I cleared you with the police after the first session. The only child you’re a danger to is your own.’
I was shocked. ‘I’m a danger to my own child?’
‘I thought there was a risk. That’s why I used the lever of the police report to see you again. I wanted to make sure you were safe. Report me if you like, but I was doing it for a good reason, and now you’ve come back voluntarily.’ She looked at the clock. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
I almost missed the social signal because it was so unexpected. She wanted to continue the conversation. ‘Yes, please.’
She left me and returned with two coffees.
‘I’m officially finished for the day. I’m an hour past officially finished. But I want to tell you something. It might help to explain a few things.’
Lydia sipped her coffee and I did likewise. It was of the quality I would expect from a university tea-room. I continued drinking it anyway, and Lydia proceeded with her explanation.
‘About a year ago, I lost a patient. She had postpartum psychosis. You know what that is?’