October 2nd, two days before my due date.
2:00 am. I am awake. This isn't out of the ordinary, in the weeks previous I occasionally had insomnia for whatever reason…anxiety, weird scary dreams, not being able to roll over in bed without shooting pains in my back. I read for a couple hours then go back to bed, but still can't sleep.
6:00 am. I start having contractions…I never had contractions that early in the morning before, and they were coming regularly. Husband wakes up for work. He kisses me good morning and I say "Don't freak out. I'm having contractions, and we'll probably need to go to the hospital today." I tell him to go to work, and I'll keep him updated. He seems pretty calm.
10:00 am. I call my OB's office to talk to a nurse. My contractions were consistently 3-4 minutes apart, but were only lasting about 45 seconds. Every one made me stop what I was doing and breathe through it. The nurse's advice: You'll know when you need to go. It will feel overwhelming and you won't be able to talk through it." I eat a banana.
11:00 am. I call Kevin. "You should probably come home soon, because I think I'll want to go soon." Every few minutes I have to lean into the couch and squeeze my eyes shut really tight. I imagine baby might be as uncomfortable as I am, being ejected into the world so slowly. Kevin races home, ready to go. "I said soon, not now."
1:30 pm. We arrive at the hospital. I had pre-registered, so checking in is fairly painless. A nurse takes me back to a triage room, does a cervical check, and velcros the two monitors around my belly. After laboring for 7 hours at home, I am only at 1 cm. Grr.
2:30 pm. Still only at 1 cm. A nurse and a resident tell me "You're only in the very early stages of labor, this could go on for days. These are very mild contractions." I want to wring someone's neck. Mild my ***. Just because the stupid monitors are barely picking up my contractions! And having to lay there is not helping, I am trying so hard not to cry. If I'm not going to have this baby today, there is no way I can do this without meds. They're telling me this is "mild" pain, but it's already so intense.
5:00 pm. I finally get to walk around! After being in the triage room for over 3 hours...they wanted to keep monitoring me because baby's heart rate was going down with contractions. Giving me a bag of fluid helped a little, and I progressed to 3 cm, so they decided to admit me. I get up, go to the bathroom, and start walking around the halls. Walking around with an IV pole is harder than it looks! And even though we're on the maternity unit, I get asked "Are you okay?" multiple times. I guess seeing a woman in labor can be alarming for some people, but sheesh. I lean against railings, chairs, whatever is around with my contractions. Kevin tries rubbing my back, but the counter-pressure makes me feel worse, so he holds my hand instead.
6:00 pm. We get to the labor and delivery room. Walking was getting too painful. The nurse who admits me is funny and straightforward, but it's almost shift-change, so I try not to get too attached. My teeth start to chatter, and she tells me "the shakes" are totally normal, just surging hormones. She brings me a cherry Popsicle and some ice, but I don't want to eat anything. I find out that one of my favorite doctors is working tonight. With this hospital's system, there was a good chance I would have to deliver with a doctor I'd never even met, so this is a relief. And lucky me, I get two nurses! One is on her last day of training, and she is wonderful.
7:00ish pm. The anesthesiologist tells me that because I have a "mass in my brain" (a microadenoma on my pituitary gland), she won't give me an epidural, because it can mess with intercerebral pressure and all that fun stuff. Now, I don't want meds, but I still want the option, in case this labor goes on for hours and hours. The nurses let the doctor know, who tells me that a microadenoma shouldn't be an issue, and he would talk to the anesthesiologist. Meanwhile, I bounce on the birthing ball, trying the breathe the pain away. It doesn't really work.
8:00ish pm. I have to have a neurology consult. The anesthesiologist wants the OK that my brain won't explode before she gives me an epidural (my words). Not sure who they sent, but he doesn't seem very comfortable around a woman in labor. I have to lay flat on my back and stare at one spot on the ceiling while he shines a penlight in my eyes for way too long. This is incredibly difficult and uncomfortable since I'm having contractions every 60 seconds, and there's a strange man really close to my face.
9:00ish pm. I get in the shower. The room oscillates between freezing and sweltering, and I just want some consistency. The shower is tiny, but big enough for the birthing ball. The warm water streaming down my back made me the most relaxed and comfortable I'd been all day. I wonder, if my water breaks while I'm in here, how would anybody know?
10:00ish pm. 6cm. "Only 6?" I moan. "That's really good!" My sweet nurse says. It's time for more monitoring. She hooks me up, I decide to stay in bed for this round. I'm getting really tired.
10:20ish pm. Kevin is hungry, and is about to walk out the door to go get some food. My water breaks, and I politely yell for him to get somebody. The pressure becomes much more intense.
Time is a blur. I definitely don't look at the clock after this point. I am 8cm. The baby doesn't like being born, her heart rate drops. The nurses help me on my hands and knees, no change. I put on oxygen, no change. A nurse puts in a fetal scalp monitor to try to get a better read on the baby. This whole time, the external monitors have barely been able to pick up contractions, and now they can't get her heartbeat, either. A few minutes later, I have to push. "She's 10, she's complete." The doctor and the resident come in, but they stand back. There are 3 nurses talking to me, getting everything ready. Shaking and shivering for 5 hours has left me feeling so weak and unstable, but they help hold me. 1...2...3...4 pushes, some screaming, and she's out.
The two of us is now the three of us, and nothing will ever be the same.
