Labor

We sat in the car in stunned silence once we arrived.  We’d been at the hospital twice before – once for the tour, and the following day when I thought I was having contractions (I wasn’t, and we were both fine).  It was gray and raining, and it stayed gray and raining for a majority of the next two weeks.  I couldn’t move.  I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  After all of my planning, all of my “advice” to my husband about “what was going to happen” since I had been through it with Parker and thought I knew, I suddenly knew nothing.  I had no idea what was going to happen, other than I would be giving birth at some point to a daughter who would not be coming home with us. 

                
 We made the mistake of going in through the main entrance, and when we told them we needed labor and delivery, got a “congratulations” from the elderly woman at the front desk.  I remember clutching my green sweater (also thrown out) in front of me and staring daggers into the back of her head through her eyes.  Matt just looked down somberly and we walked to the check-in desk.

               
Either it was a slow day in L&D, or they took every precaution so I could avoid as many people as possible.  Since my doctor had called over, they knew we were coming and what our situation was.  They did us the courtesy of placing us far away from most of the other rooms and patients, and the nursery, but the long walk down that sterile corridor was a literal march of doom.  Matt on one side, a nurse on the other - I kept clutching my sweater trying not to lose it.

I learned later that they placed a sign on our door, a leaf with a single teardrop in it, to alert anyone passing or entering to our situation.  The nurse, Christa, sat us down and started telling us what was going to happen.  Almost immediately, all of us were in tears.  This woman who I'd never met was feeling so much for us in such a short time - I can't say enough how comforting that was.  Somehow Matt and I choked out our questions, she answered them.  "There is no reason for you to be in any pain - we are going to do everything to make you as comfortable as possible."

It was only around 5 pm.  In the past 4 hours, I had gone from tired but happy to exhausted and devastated.  I went from planning my natural, unmedicated birth to a full on induction and multiple pain meds.  From being excited and planning a future to sobbing if I caught a glimpse of her diaper bag in the trunk.  The highest high to the lowest low, in a millisecond.

They settled me in, and began the induction.  Cytotec, the one dangerous drug I wanted to avoid, was administered.  I was told there was no risk to me since I did not have a prior c-section (no uterine scarring, no risk of hemorrhage) and, frankly, since there was no risk to my baby, since she was already gone.  For the first few hours, I didn't really labor.  I just sat there, trying to process everything, trying to hold it together while falling apart.  

Mom stayed, Matt stayed.  I got the epidural around 9 pm, which made me shiver and chatter until Matt found me a new blanket.  And my socks from my overnight bag - that's how ready I was, my bag was packed and in the trunk of my car.  Mom got Matt some food (I wasn't allowed to eat, but thankfully was given ice chips) and we watched the Patton Oswalt episode of Burn Notice.  I wish I could have enjoyed it.  Some time around 10 pm they fell asleep.  I tried to, but it wasn't happening.  The meds were kicking in and my labor was progressing.  At 10:47, I woke them up and had the doctor come in.

It began to get painful.  The contractions were extremely intense on my right side, and I started screaming through them.  Well, more like grunting and moaning than actual screaming - I didn't have enough breath to do that.  Matt held my hand, and I kicked my mother out of the room, at one point yelling at her for trying to come in.  A nurse came in and gave me phentanol via my IV, which mercifully stopped the pain from the contractions - it was the worst pain I've ever felt, more so than the actual birth, and a pain that haunts me to this day.

The nurse checked me, said I was about a 6, removed her hand, and I yelled "I NEED TO PUSH AND I NEED TO PUSH NOW."  I wasn't kidding.  It's just a feeling - you know when it's time.  Her eyes got huge and she checked me again.  "Okay, okay..." she said.  "Just hold on, don't push."  They started calling for the doctor - in those 3 seconds I had gone from about 2 station and 6cm to fully engaged and 10cm.