I said it before and I’ll say it again: I am sooo over THIS!!!
The night is officially over and it has been the longest night of my life, days long, weeks long. My contractions knew what they were doing on the induction drug. They sure got stronger and closer together, yay!. My cervix didn’t get the memo however; neither did the dilation process on the ground floor. Hello, aren’t they supposed to communicate? It is Tuesday morning on March 25th, 2014 and I have now been in labor for 24 hours. I’m dying for some pain medicine, I just don’t care anymore. I know that sounds really, really bad. Bad mama! But I am too weak to care. My body is just done. My husband who “only” slept for 3 hours (probably because my loud moans and screams…) is trying to be there for me but there is nothing, literally nothing he can do for me now. He tries to hold my hand and if I had the energy to get annoyed, I would, “seriously, like that is going to help”, and stroke my forehead… “ladida that made the evil contraction go away”. I know that sounds harsh but like in all the bad movies where women blame their husbands for putting them in the position they are in during childbirth, this is how I feel. So, we really had to try for a second one huh? “Yeah, you were right there too mister, how come you are in no pain whatsoever?”
The nurses are if possible even more confused by now, “how come she is not dilating?” The drugs should make me dilate and the contraction should as well, and I sure feel those…
By ten am I’m in my own little bubble of pain, curled up in a ball, chanting; not wanting or letting anyone touch me. I’m no longer in contact with the outside world. No more status updates on social media, no more texting with my mom and sister and no more questions for the nurses, and I won’t even look at my husband. The doctor whose name is Jenny also; the one I had seen in my doctor’s office and then again at the hospital while on bed rest comes by. I hear her whispering with the nurses outside of my bubble of pain. I don’t care though; I just want this to be over and the pain to stop. Gently she smiles and asks how I’m doing (how do you think?) I would put stronger words in there but again, no energy. She is asking if anyone has checked my water. Water? Yes, that would be the water that was ruptured and put me on a four week bed rest, thank you very much! I ignore her question, squinting at her from my weird pretzel like position on the bed (only position I can kinda sorta tolerate). She is sticking her fingers inside me, actually separating my legs (hello; a little warning would have been great but I guess she doesn’t believe in that). She digs around for a while but somehow it doesn’t hurt as much as before maybe I’m just numb by now or my tolerance is just through the roof or it could be the absence of the metal object that is making this bearable. “Yep”, she announces, “there is the rest of the water”, “is it okay if I break it?” She doesn’t really wait for a response but I have time to think to myself “whatever will help get this show on the road…I’m also pretty confused, why haven’t anybody broken it before and why wasn’t it already broken, wasn’t that the reason I was in this place and in this situation to begin with? My water broke, right? I feel the sensation of liquid running down my legs and pooling in between them. “Yes” Dr. Jenny says, that would be the rest of the water! Wow, finally things start to happen, I can’t believe it. The doctor is telling me that just breaking the water opened me up another centimeter and thinned out my cervix. What?? Finally!!
Two hours later with the pain somehow more manageable now that things are happening and I am actually progressing, I’m six centimeters and I feel pressure, a lot of pressure. I send my husband out to eat again since the nurse is saying something might happen soon; music to my ears. Another hour goes by and the nurse tells me to tell her when I start to feel shaky as that will probably be a sign that I will be ready to push. Wait, what? Suddenly I don’t feel ready at all, I feel all the pressure and then the shaking starts. I’m not sure I can do this, but again I know that I am stuck. What if there is something wrong with the baby, what if I can’t do this? What if I tear up again and what about the pain, can I handle more? And then my thinking circles right back to “what if there is something wrong with the baby”. Another level of contraction brings another level of pain and finally, finally I am offered some pain medicine. It is heavenly. I can still feel all the pressure and the tightness of the very uncomfortable contractions and the shakes but they are definitely subdued. Suddenly the baby’s heart rate drops though and several nurses come running into the room, they look concerned and the plump motherly one (back for the day shift) is telling the others (which I obviously overhear, hey; I’m right here) that it doesn’t look good. I do ask what that means; more aware now that the pain fog has somewhat lifted. They do tell me that baby’s heart rate is dropping and that she needs to come out: NOW. I start crying again, my husband isn’t even there and I’m terrified as the nurse makes the call to prep an OR. I know what that means: C-section. I had been trying to avoid that, hoping that my baby could handle a vaginal delivery; I had also hoped that I wouldn’t have to go through both the agony and pain of a labor and then still have to get cut open. This labor sucks big time.