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Week by Week

Never Again

I had a perfectly normal pregnancy with no complications. I did, however, have a constant backache that I learned to live with over the course of forty weeks. On July 27, 1992, I awoke with the same familiar backache, but it was suspiciously subsiding at 10 minute intervals. As I was making his lunch, I warned my husband that this might be THE day. By 9 am, when the "backache" was still waxing and waning, I decided that I was in labor. I called my mother-in-law who picked me up and took me to her house. We spent the rest of the day timing my contractions. They were not painful, just mildly uncomfortable (like period cramps). They did not rally hurt until about 8 pm when I decided to go to the hospital. They admitted me, but did not believe that I was in labor because I had not dilated at all. I knew I was in labor. The contractions were quite painful at this point, and they would not give me anything for fear of prolonging labor. I found this very annoying since they would not acknowledge that I was in labor in the first place. By 10 pm, I was crying and screaming and cursing much to the displeasure of the nurses. Still, I had not dilated. I just wanted to go home. I told my husband to get the car ready because I was leaving. I was not gonna have this baby. Forget it. I want to go home. My husband lauged and promised me everything was going to be all right. I called him a big fat liar and begun to cry again. There was a television in my room, and REM's "Losing My Religion" was appropriately blaring from the set. I remember thinking that this was the truest song I had ever heard. Everything hurt sooo bad! I wanted to die rather than feel this pain. I felt utterly alone. Noone could possibly go through this, for or with me. To add insult to injury,

I felt like I had no control of my bladder or bowels during contractions. My wonderful mother-in-law finally demanded that the nurses call a doctor. This was at 11:30 pm. He showed up around 12:30 pm, and I was relieved that he was my ob-gyn that I had been seeing throughout my pregnancy. I neglected to mention that these people (nurses, etc.) have no shame when it comes to your body. They callously left my door open while my nude butt was just hanging out wide open. I guess they wanted all the expecting fathers and relatives to bathe in the full (and I do mean full) glory of my swollen privates. I'm sure they were as thrilled as I was. A rather unpleasant nurse popped her head in to ask me to quiet down. I was apparently scaring the other mothers-to-be. I said I would be quiet if they would shut the #@%$&*! door! She shrugged her bony shoulders and left the door open. I guess she knew I was lying. The doctor quickly ascertained that I was indeed in labor, and to my intense pleasure, scolded the nurses for not calling him sooner. I still had not dilated, so he proceeded to "pop" my water with this plastic crochet hook. I don't really know the medical term for this monstrosity, but it is very menacing. I dilated to three "fingers" (what these wonderful nurses with their sensitive bedside manner called centimeters) within five minutes after my confrontation with the knitting needle. They started an IV, and someone suggested Demarol. They probably figured that doping me up would shut me up. They were wrong. The Demarol did nothing but put me to sleep between contractions. You can be certain that I did not shut up during the overwhelming pain. Finally, my doctor approved an Epidural. They went to get everything for this and returned 20 minutes later to find that I had dilated to 10 "fingers". The nurse left hastily, and I think they must've drawn straws to see who was going to tell me that I DID NOT get an epidural. A brave nurse by the name of Rebecca was assigned to this horrible task and meekly approached me with the bad news. Needless to say, my cries were heard all the way in the waiting room. I did not see how I was gonna do this. They gave me an enema, which I had not been looking forward to, but was actually quite relieving. I felt a release of some of the pressure. My husband put on his scrubs as I began to push. All I can say is, what a relief! It actually felt great to push!

I was finally able to push against the pain. They wheeled me to the delivery room and told me to quit pushing while I was in the hall or I was gonna have the baby right there. I informed them that I did not give a *&%$#@ where I had this baby. He's coming out! In the delivery room, they were trying unsuccessfully to fit my feet into stirrups as I continued to push. They were not even telling me to push. They did not have to. Before they could get my left foot into the stirrup, they began to yell for the doctor. I could feel the baby coming down my canal and I was going for broke. My doctor arrived in the room just in time to catch my son and be urinated on by the little guy. I pushed out the placenta and turned to my husband who was looking at me with admiration. "Is it over?" He said yes and I wept with tears of joy and relief. I got no episiotomy because I gave them no time. The nurses said that they had just witnessed the fastest birth they had ever seen. Total pushing time was less than twenty minutes! I began shaking uncontrollably and they realized that my blood pressure was sky high! They kept me under observation while I held my beautiful son. My blood pressure soon returned to normal and my son and I retired to my room for some much needed sleep. He was 6 pounds 6 ounces, and born at 3:24 am, July 28th.

He is five years old now and worth every excruciating moment! I don't, however, plan on EVER having another. That was enough pain to last a couple of lifetimes.