THE BIRTH STORY

My intention was to write the birth story immediately after the Boy was born and start writing over at Out of the Rabbit Hole. That didn't happen.

So, now, uhem, almost ten months later, I'm going to write that birth story (damn it!) with little or no editing so I can just get the thing done (sorry!) and move over to Out of the Rabbit Hole. This is an infertility blog, not a mommy blog. It seems appropriate to shut the shop and move over there.

So, here goes (as best as I can remember):

My due date was early October and my parents made the trek out here and were waiting patiently for the Boy to be born. I was afraid, however, that the Parents would have to leave before his arrival. So, we waited. And continued to wait. It was now almost a week past my due date and, fearing that I may never a) give birth or b) give birth but never again be able to go out in the evening (best guess!) I got discounted tickets to go see The Master Builder. The Husband and I arrived before the Parents - I can't actually remember why. We stepped gingerly around a construction site to get there. We milled about the lobby of the theatre – which was dark and cool, with flickering lights. The Husband and I sat in the back row - thankfully, because I was completely uncomfortable throughout the show - getting up periodically to stretch my legs. Forty some odd years earlier, my mother went to see a play when she was pregnant with my sister, was incredibly uncomfortable, and went into labor that night. Anyway, when we got home, I laid down while the Husband took the dogs out on a late night walk. I heard a POP and had a little bit of pain. It was odd. And weird. I waddled to the bathroom and well, I'll spare you the gory details but I was pretty convinced that my water had broken . . . I cried a little (I was scared!) and then called the doc on call and it was Dr. Arrogant Rude – the doctor I had feared delivering me the most. Perfect! Of course he told me to come in immediately. I told him I would – even though I had no intention of coming in. It was kind of liberating, “Ha! I will not come in! I am having no contractions and you can’t make me! Yes, I know all about the infection risk, etc., etc. I’m waiting. I know all about you and your obsession with the horrible pitocin and your mad desire to induce, induce, induce! I will not be fooled!” So, we waited. Once the sun came up and Dr. Arrogant Rude was likely off his shift, the Husband drove us to the hospital. And well, they sent me home. No evidence of contractions (even though I believed at this point that I was having them) nor was there any evidence that my water had broken. Oh, and the person who sent me on my merry way? A twelve year old physician’s assistant. So, we went home and I continued to feel like I was having contractions. Since we were told that I was in fact, not in labor and not having contractions, I tried to just occupy myself (which at times involved laying down, sitting on my exercise ball or showering) and endure the non-labor-labor pains. Then my sister called and told me the same thing had happened to her and she had the same exact contractions for several weeks and so not to worry, nothing was happening. My sister, the nurse (by the way, over the years, I’ve learned to do the exact opposite of her advice, this time, however, I was vulnerable and listened to her. Wrong!). Anyway, this continued to happen throughout the day and I continued to endure the “non-labor-labor pains”, convinced that if this was not in fact labor, when I was in actual labor, I would likely go blind. So I continued to soldier on. The Husband went to the store. The husband watched TV. The Husband asked what was wrong (whatever this is - it doesn’t feel great!), the Husband helped me onto the exercise ball and counted with me through a contraction. Then the Husband went to bed. I took a shower. I tried to watch TV. I tried to play on the Internet. I couldn’t really do anything and the pain at this point was becoming, uh, painful. In fact, at this point, sitting alone in my house, I convinced myself that since it wasn’t labor pains, I was having severe gas pains. So, I began walking rapidly up and down the hall because I thought that it would get rid of it somehow. Then the pain became nearly unbearable so I called the doc on call. She essentially told me that she couldn’t tell if I was in labor or if it was gas pains unless I came in but that that was up to me (wait, really?). I got off the phone and then took a good look at the spacing of the contractions, which I had been noting, on a small piece of paper. Alarmed, I decided that either I needed to go in so that they could relieve this horrific “gas pain” or I was on the verge of giving birth AT ANY MOMENT because the “contractions” were minutes, as in less than four minutes apart. I screwed up the energy to rouse my husband by yelling at him from the living room. There was no response. Again I called out his name. Nothing. Finally, I yelled as loud as I could and I’ve never seen that man move so fast. We’d been arguing about taking a cab versus him driving (he wanted to cab it) but at this point I just said, “You’re driving” and he said, “Yes.” The drive over was dark and quiet. The pain lessened somewhat (I’ve heard that happens when a little adrenalin takes over). We drove up to the valet and the parking lot attendant was sleeping or too involved in his crossword or iPhone to notice us. The Husband about lost his mind yelling at the guy to get our car. Then, not really thinking, the Husband asked me to carry up some of my stuff, which I quietly did. All I could think about was the fact that I would not be able to tolerate hanging out waiting at triage to be admitted. Luckily they got me right in and asked me to give them a urine sample (I think?) and when I came out, I told the nurse, “I can’t stop peeing.” She tried not to look amused and said, “Perhaps your water just broke?” Apparently my water just broke. Then the doctor came in felt around and asked me if I wanted drugs and I asked how far along I was because frankly, if I was 1 cm dilated then I wanted EVERYTHING thank you very much. “8 cm” he said, then quickly, “And now your 10 cm. You’re having a baby!” WHAT???? I couldn’t believe it. I seriously couldn’t get my head around the fact that I was in labor and I was about to have a baby. There were a few snickers about that fact that everyone hoped that when they were in labor they thought it was just gas pain and then there was a lot of hooting and words of encouragement because everyone was excited that I was going to give birth sans drugs. And then I pushed not knowing what the heck I was doing and then the Boy was born. I’m missing a little bit here: an emergency ped doc attended because they feared meconium aspiration but he was OK and I was not expelling the afterbirth (sorry, again, ugh) and was having a bit of a bleeding issue. Oh, and by the way, why doesn’t anyone tell you how much it hurts afterwards? Yikes. Tearing, stitching, etc. And he was beautiful. And I was completely in shock. Totally, utterly shocked. And I still am. And he still is beautiful and wonderful and amazing.

Thank you so much for reading (although at this point, probably no one is reading anymore). The blogosphere kept me from going completely, utterly, mad during the "Troubles." So, again, thank you and I hope you'll visit me at Out of the Rabbit Hole.