Labor Story

My appointment for the induction was Friday night, 8pm. I was not thrilled about the idea of being induced. I wasn't really sure what it entailed, nor was I sure -- based on my (not really) extensive internet research -- how patient-friendly, as opposed to doctorly-convenient, it was going to be. I was afraid, as was Dave, that I was setting myself up for a chain of interventions. First an induction, next thing you know a C-section.

But we arrived promptly at the scheduled hour and I was immediately surrounded by nurses attaching monitors to my belly and sticking me with needles, taking my temperature, asking me questions then doubting with their sidelong looks the veracity of my answers (No really, I haven't done street drugs. Not cocaine OR heroine. Swear.) But once these pleasantries were out of the way, the first of three main nurses was really sweet. She looked just like Joan from *Mad Men*. She explained the deal with inducing labor: she was going to insert a tiny pill that would slowly release a hormone and my contractions would get going. The thing is, though, is that my contractions had already begun. I just couldn't feel them really. I could see them on the contraction monitor -- but felt nothing like pain when I was supposedly experiencing a contraction. The induction pill was supposed to help things along. But as soon as "Joan" went to take her break -- around 9pm -- my water broke. On it's own. It had nothing to do with the hormone pill. Weird.

For the next 6 hours, I didn't need the monitor to tell me when I was having a contraction. I was in pain. What's unfortunate about scheduling a labor induction is that they have you come in at night, assuming that you'll be opting for pain medication. I think I could have handled the pain however if I hadn't been so miserably tired. As it was, both Dave and I were struggling to find the energy to withstand what felt like . . . you know, I don't even remember what it felt like exactly. All I remember is that it hurt and that I had to audibly moan because for some reason that helped soothe the pain.

Anyway -- they did have to ask twice, but I took their drugs. Because it was too early for the epidural (I wasn't dilated enough -- you need to be between 5-6 inches), but my contractions were practically on top of each other, they injected into my IV some kind of narcotic that immediately made me feel great. I felt high. And good. And then recalled that I have never been straight-edge. I have mostly always enjoyed a dopey high, especially one that dulls pain (although, for the record, I've never really taken drugs to alleviate pain before). So Dave was off pain-partner duty and, at 3AM, we could both get some rest.

I remember at around 6AM, the drugs were wearing off and the sun was beginning to rise. All I wanted was to be surrounded by peaceful things. There was a TV station that showed images of nature -- winter landscapes, fall foliage -- accompanied by soft music. Despite the rising pain, I wanted to live in this moment it was so quiet.

But then at 8pm the epidural brigade arrived, along with my new main nurse, Irene, who is much younger than her name suggests. This was her first day back from a four month maternity leave after delivering her second child. She was great and I kind of want to go back to give her a proper thank you for her help. So, they inserted the epidural: it was a scary sounding procedure and I think Dave was really uncomfortable watching them thread things into my back. But, whoo, it's kind of amazing how the pain completely disappeared. I was a little concerned, about 6 hours later, when one of my legs -- which were both tingly and numb -- wouldn't stop tingling (it eventually did, though).

About 7 hours later, after almost 18 hours of active -- though mostly painless -- labor and a steady dose of pitocin (yet another hormone that speeds labor along) I was ready to deliver. Irene told me when to push and Dave held my hand (and leg) and counted to 10 three times. What was unexpected about delivery is that it's much calmer than in the movies. There's not constant screaming and cursing. When there was a contraction I would push as hard as I could. But then there'd be a couple of minutes of just hanging out, chatting with the nurses about other deliveries, or their own babies, or nothing at all -- just staring and zoning out. There was about 45 minutes of this. And the scariest thing about it all, as you would imagine, is the thought -- and the reality -- of a head passing through a smaller passageway, that I would have to experience this passing, and that it would (or should, if it drugily didn't) hurt. But out he came. And all because, I'm sure, of my expert pushing. Everyone was really impressed with my pushing.

And it was CRAZY, crazy to have little Desmond placed on my chest two seconds later. Things then start to become real, but not really because I'm worn out and addled, with nurses and doctors running in and out, and I don't fully understand what's going on. And maybe because I don't know what else to do and definitely don't know what to think, I'm just smiling and crying and looking at Dave, whose state will remain unwritten, and Desmond who knows no better than me what to do next.