So it may surprise you when I say that almost a month before my due date, I scheduled an induction for exactly one week past due. Doesn't seem to fit my usual style, right? Well, it's the standard operating procedure in my OB GYNs office to schedule an induction if you go over just so they can have a room ready for you. While I don't really agree with this, I went ahead and scheduled because I was SURE I would go by my due date, if not waaaay earlier.
But then November 5th rolled around and... nothin'. I had a week until I was scheduled to be induced and I still felt like my body would kick into action way before then. And even though I was having contractions at least every half hour for the entire week, even enough to wake me at night from time to time, still... nothin'.
And before I knew it, November 12th was here and early that morning I was riding to the hospital through the prettiest fog that was covering the last of the fall leaves hanging onto the branches.
Zac Brown Band's rendition of Devil Went Down to Georgia was playing on the radio and it was pumping me up for the important day ahead. I was feeling good, knowing that within hours I'd have a brand new baby in my arms.
For some reason, I thought things would roll much slower but the nurses on duty that day were on top of things. And before I knew it, I was in a gown and getting an IV driven into my arm. I warned the nurse that me and needles aren't the best of buds and she said she hasn't met anyone yet that comes in excited about any kind of needle getting poked into their skin. Her name was Pamela and she was my kind of girl. I immediately felt at ease with her. That is until I almost passed out from the insertion of the IV.
I felt so nauseous and suddenly sweat poured out of my body like it was running from a fire.
Pamela found this quite entertaining seeing as I was all signed up for my birthing tub and had delivered naturally three times before, but a little IV could bring me to my knees.
The tub people brought in the most fancy looking birth tub I had ever seen. I was expecting something made out of rubber, maybe lined with a huge sheet of plastic or something. But this beauty, with room for at least 4, is something I'd have installed in the middle of my living room.
I asked about maybe starting things off by just breaking my water. I wanted to avoid pitocin, a.k.a. Satan's Saliva, at all costs. Since it was evident I was already contracting somewhat regularly from the reading on the monitor, my doctor agreed. She broke my water and that's when we found out that the baby had already gone and poopied all over her living space. Yep, meconium.
Now, technically, if meconium is present then that nixes any chance of using the tub. But my doctor is awesome and overrode this little rule. But I wasn't ready to get in just yet. I'm pretty good at handling any kind of pain, especially the labor kind, and I wanted to wait to get in until I was really not enjoying it anymore.
My contractions actually tapered off a bit over the next hour and I was happily enjoying all that cable tv has to offer since we don't have it at home. That's when that nasty word 'pitocin' wiggled it's way into the conversation again.
I agreed to start it but asked if we could try starting with a super tiny itty bitty dose and see if that did the trick. Everyone agreed and the drip was set at 6.
We waited a half hour for the Pitocin to start working but we got nothin'. I was sitting on a birthing ball at this point to see if that would kick things into action, too. Still,.... nothin'.
That's when Nurse Pam realized that while she had turned the Pitocin on, she had never actually attached it's little tube to my IV. Instead, it had all poured out into a little puddle on the floor. So she got me all plugged in this time and then went ahead and turned the drip up to 18. This was at 11 a.m.
When I arrived that morning I was at 4 centimeters. And once the Pitcocin had really kicked in and my "blowing out a candle over and over" breathing technique wasn't working so well anymore, I said I'd like to get in the tub now.
Here is where another little hospital policy snafu'd things a little. You see, when a patient is on Pitocin, they HAVE to be monitored. No problem, said Nurse Pam, we'll just get the battery powered monitor so you don't electrocute yourself in the tub.
Only problem was that in the 20 minutes it took for them to locate that monitor (next floor up, storage closet), I had gone from"Yeah, the tub would feel good about now" to "HOLY BABY, BATMAN! HERE SHE COMES!" At 11:25, I asked to be checked again and tried to keep my writhing to a minimum while Nurse Pam shoved her hand into not so comfy regions and determined I was at 6 centimeters.
(Writhing, it's how I labor. I wiggle and adjust and moan. It works for me. Don't even ask about the nurse at my last birth that had the balls to ask "Why do you keep doing that?" like she was annoyed by me rubbing my foot on the bed. I think it's way better than screaming. It gets me in my zone. Leave me alone.)
But 6? Really, only 6? I was sure it would take another hour or so to get to ten but I felt like this was about all I could take. The staff was telling me 6 but my mind and body were telling me 10. And wouldn't ya know it? 10 was just around the corner. We're talking 20 minutes to go from 6 to 10 and another minute to go from 10 to baby. I'm a fast one, I tell ya!
So perhaps, in those 20 minutes I may have demanded and epidural and the doctor and nurses may have told me not to push. "You're only 8, Sarah! Don't push or you'll rip your cervix." But, clearly, no one was listening to anyone that day. Because I did not get an epidural and I most certainly did push.
And at 12:51, my darling baby girl made her grand entrance into this world by pooping and peeing the second she was jettisoned from my body.
Suddenly, I was the mother of a girl. And I cannot describe the joy and elation I felt at that moment. She is more than I could have ever hoped for and I would absolutely relive her birth over and over for the privilege of having her in my life.
