I had no reason to believe my husband would be anything but a superstar in the delivery room. During my first pregnancy, he checked all the boxes for a supportive partner: He came to the appointments, painted the nursery, rubbed my back and swollen feet, and talked me through every worrisome symptom. The hospital internship he did as part of his training to be a dental specialist even had an obstetrics rotation, which only boosted my confidence in him as a labour coach.
As it turned out, however, he was like a deer in the headlights.
During the first part of my labour, he held his own. We stayed at home as long as we could, and he was right beside me while we walked around our neighbourhood and timed the contractions. When we finally arrived at the hospital, he helped me breathe and get through the pain. But I noticed he became less talkative when the labour got really hard, and I could feel his panic when I entered the transition phase and started to get loud and more agitated. At that point, my midwives had to remind him that the string of swear words I was screaming may not have been typical behaviour for me, but it was expected for a woman giving birth. Every time I shouted ?I can?t do this!? he?d look back at me with an expression that told me he couldn?t do it, either. After pushing for two hours, I developed a low-grade fever and our baby?s heart rate became elevated. By the time an emergency C-section was called, he had completely disappeared into the background. I ...