Welcome to part two in the series of five. Just joining in? Catch up on the story or skip ahead to the quick and dirty abridged version. SPOILER ALERT! It ends with a baby.
Obviously, I had not gotten around to filling out my pre-registration paperwork, so Big A had to stay in the ER to handle that as I got wheeled up to Labor and Delivery. I have to tell the admitting nurse my life story. I’m really tired of telling it. Because, no, I don’t know how far apart my contractions are, because I’m not sure I’m having them. Yes, I am positive my water broke. No, I don’t have that paperwork. Yes, that is in fact my birthday. Big A says: the funny thing was that she really did already have everything filled out from her milking class a couple days earlier so I can’t really take credit for being awesome here…though I have many other attributes, such as my modesty, that do make me awesome.
The OB on duty comes to check out the nether regions. She confirms my water has broken, but I am only a centimeter dilated and I would not be leaving here without delivering.
WAY TO F’IN LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER, KID. YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A BED TO SLEEP IN. IT’S JUST A %^!# PILE OF WOOD. YOU SHOULD BE STAYING PUT FOR TWO MORE WEEKS.
Then this nice, sweet OB decides to continue to root around in my hooey and do what I come to find out is “stripping membranes”. It hurt like a #^@!$^ing bitch. I wanted to punch her square in the face. SQUARE IN HER PRETTY LITTLE CHIPPER FACE. You know that scene in City Slickers where he has to reach up into the cow to help deliver the calf and then he loses his watch? Yeah. I was the cow. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME.
YOU HAVE TO WARN SOMEONE IF YOU’RE GOING TO ROTO ROOTER THEM. WTF. Big A says: I’m pretty sure she did warn you. She said something like “hold on a sec, hon.” That seems legit.
At this point, aside from the unannounced hooey activity, I am uncomfortable but not in pain. I get told to rest as much as possible and that we’ll see how far I progress on my own. Big A crashes on the couch, I try to sleep but it’s pretty much impossible. I’m concerned, I’m perturbed, I’m excited, I’m scared, I’m asleep: says Big A. I’m so not ready for this.
A few hours in, around 4am, the pain starts to come mostly in my back. I get offered a drug; I take it, obviously. I have zero intention of being one of those natural birthers that are hyped up on TLC on weekday afternoons. NO %^!@ THANK YOU. I sleep, but it’s that sleep that makes you more tired than if you just stayed awake. Around 8 am, a new OB appears, tells me she’s 99% sure I’ll have the baby on her watch. I freak out. She checks my progress (slim to none on that front) and I hold my breath hoping she doesn’t try to deliver a bovine from me like the other one. She doesn’t. I like her already.
They start me on Pitocin to speed up the process to avoid infection. I have heard nasty things about this stuff, like how it intensifies the contractions. They were all true.
Holy Shit. THAT’S what contractions feel like? What the hell was I feeling for the past ten hours? I felt all of my core muscles clenching and tightening at once, then stabbed with a knife a few thousand times for about 30 seconds. So, those who have yet to experience this shit, you deal with intense pain for a few seconds. And then you’re fine. And you forget. And think to yourself, hey, that wasn’t so bad. And then like two minutes later OR LESS another one comes and you go all WHAT THE F@#$ IS HAPPENING TO ME WHY DOES THIS BABY HATE ME.
This isn’t so bad.
WTF IS HAPPENENING TO ME JEBUS CHRIST.
I don’t know why people complain about labor so much.
HOLY SHIT CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG.
My pain level isn’t so bad right now, I’d give it a 3/10.
MAKE THAT A M^&!$#^%ING SEVEN AND A HALF AND LET’S TALK ABOUT DRUGS.
And so on.
Eventually we really did get to talk about drugs. The good ones.
I’ve watched enough TV and heard enough stories that I had to ask if there was any point where the epidural would be too early. Because we’ve all heard the tale of the woman who gets the thing too early and then winds up feeling everything and I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t even want to feel feelings. I was assured it was not too early. I’m all in.
Around 11 am the angel of an anesthesiologist comes in, explains the rules, I sign without reading the terms and conditions because I’ve learned nothing from South Park and we get this s%&t on the road.
She asks me what my tramp stamp means and I can’t even remember. I told her it’s been there so long I didn’t even remember I had it. They laugh at me. I get the DON’T F%^^&ING MOVE FOR ANYTHING lecture. I realize that whatever she is doing is less painful than giving birth to the calf. But it is pretty damn unpleasant.
And then she hits a nerve and my leg twitches and shoots out and I start laughing because that feeling was so involuntary it was like a knee cap reflex test but 178 times more intense and then I apologize profusely because she told me NOT TO F%&@ING MOVE (though maybe not in those exact words) and I moved and now I think I’m paralyzed.
But I can still feel feelings. SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT. They had to run another line because something hit something and the whatever wasn’t clear and I don’t know what the shit they were discussing at this point because the another contraction was starting. So she put in another line. It lacked the spastic leg twitch but she seemed really proud of herself. And then they asked me a question.
“Did you feel that contraction?”
“….no.” I thought it was a trick question.
“What about that one?”
“Was there seriously a contraction?” I was convinced they were bullshitting me and it’s not very nice to play mind games on a chick in labor so I was about to THROW DOWN and then I realized they were serious and I wanted them both to be my best friends.
Now I have two new best friends, I can’t feel my legs and I feel like a m^&#!F%^#^ing rock star.