The Birth Story that Did NOT Go as Planned

The Original Plan
I was scheduled for an induction that would yield a birth on Wednesday. I was to go in Tuesday morning to be checked, and when no progress was found, I would be told to check in to the hospital that afternoon to start the process. Chuck and I would spend the Tuesday night hospital stay watching TV and playing Scrabble. Fun times. All of this would predict a baby being born the next morning with my regular doc. And with drugs. Very nice, eh?

The All-New-Planned-by-Oliver Plan
Tuesday morning I wake up with what seem to be real contractions. Interesting because I didn't think my body knew how to do this on its own. Go to the a.m. doctor's appointment to find that I'm dilated to a 2--awesome! The doctor doing the check (who is not my regular doc) thinks that a regular induction from this stage would give a too-early labor, which is not what I want because I want my doc. So we make a slight schedule adjustment and I go home.

At home we finish getting things ready: packing for all three of us, and of course, birthday cake making for me. We finish all the last minute preparations as well as some dusting and sweeping by me. But by noon, I'm not feeling great...AT ALL. When Rhett goes down for his nap, so do I. I lay on the couch watching TV while Chuck finishes laundry and times my what-have-now-become regular contractions. For all of nap (nearly two hours) the contractions are between five and six minutes apart and getting stronger. Chuck is pacing while I'm saying, "Are you really pacing?" At 2:45 we decide we've had enough and go wake up Rhett. We still need time to eat that dang birthday cake! So eat we do, and then get Chuck's mom to come pick up Rhett so we can head to the hospital.

We get there at about 3:45 and head to registration. We tell them that we were initially coming in for an induction, but don't think we'll be needing those services as my contractions are regular and strong. We're told to sit in the waiting room and they'll be with us shortly. SHORTLY MY FOOT. 45 minutes later, probably a dozen or so contractions later, and a visit from Chuck later, we are finally called back and put in triage. The triage nurse checks me and says, "Ooooh, well, you're a good seven." A SEVEN?! Are you kidding? From her face I was hoping for a four, but a seven?! That's ridiculous. The first words out of my mouth are, "Well, I'd like drugs if that's at all possible."

I'm wheeled back to a labor and delivery room and things are moving quickly. With the needles and blood draws and registration questions, oh yeah, and all those pesky drug-free contractions coming every couple of minutes, I'm not the happiest camper. When the doctor comes to check me (8!), she says that she doesn't dare check me again for fear she'll rupture my "bulging bag" and that would make this happen even faster. So I try to breathe through my contractions, and through my yelling. Not sure how great a job I'm doing. I keep asking for drugs and am told the anesthesiologist is coming, but who knows when. I'm also told to not ignore any feelings of "I have to push." Gee. Thanks.

Then I get one of those feelings, so I have to start pushing. I really really don't want to, but I can't not. Doctor breaks my water so there's nearly no turning back now.  The pain gets so intense that I say I want to stop and wait for the epidural so they try to accommodate me, but once again, baby and body have different ideas. I start pushing again and after two contractions' worth of pushing, little Oliver James was out.

The fun continues. Sewing my tear and pushing my uterus through the table are nearly as painful as the labor. Sheesh! But finally, I have that baby in my arms. And while I may not forget the pain that brought him into the world, I know it's worth it. Awwww.....