My husband and I got to the triage about an hour after my water broke. Now at the time, I had about three pairs of pants that actually still fit me, and one was soaked. Well, before we left to go to the hospital, apparently my water wasn't finished. It wanted me to clean my floors again. So, I ruined my second pair of pants. I went and changed into the last pair of pants that still fit me, and thought about wearing a garbage bag to the hospital.
We got into one of the triage rooms (which happened to be big enough to fit a single bed, monitor, and chair... and nothing else) where we sat, still excited and nervous, for an hour. It was midnight and my adrenaline was pumping, and I was beginning to feel small, irregular contractions. It was happening!
My parents came to the hospital, and the four of us sat chatting in the teeny tiny room. I was hooked up to the monitor and had to unhook everything every time I had to go to the washroom (which was every twenty minutes or so).
Did I mention the teeny tiny room was boiling hot? And tiny?
I began labouring every 2-3 minutes, but my contractions were only about 15-20 seconds long. Again, something I wasn't prepared for. I was glad the contractions weren't too long, but I barely had time to catch my breath before the next one began. I also barely had enough time to tell my parents to suck it when they reacted with disappointment at the fact that I didn't want to play cards.
I was getting frustrated. Why were we still in this boiling hot, teeny tiny room when the birthing suite that I envisioned myself labouring in had plenty of room to walk, a wireless monitor, a private bathroom complete with jacuzzi tub, and room for me to use my stability ball and iPod dock? It seemed like a 5-star resort compared to this room. I wanted to book a flight.
We ended up blowing up the stability ball and that was helpful for contractions for about 3 seconds. I was so irritated, it was now 4am, and the contractions were getting unbearable. I asked my Mom to ask the nurse for an epidural.
The nurse came in and said, "So, you'd like something for the pain?" To which I replied, "Yes please."
"Oh. Well, you can't have an epidural until you are in a birthing room."
"THEN GET ME A #%$@ING ROOM!!!!!!!!" I yelled at the nurse (or at least that's how I remember it. I'm sure the look on my face also got this point across, as about half an hour later, we were finally going to a room).
I was relieved but disappointed to be getting a room. I had a completely different plan than what the past 6 hours had entailed. My husband thought it would be a great idea to put on some music while I used the washroom in our room. I had a playlist on my iPod titled, "Baby", so he figured this was my labour music.
This playlist was a joke that I made for a friend of mine's baby shower. Songs included "Push It" by Salt N' Pepa, "Baby" by Justin Bieber, and the song that was playing when I came out of the washroom: "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix A Lot.
My poor husband was such an amazing help, and so incredibly supportive, but this was just not what I wanted to hear. I grovelled, "turn..... that..... off" as him and my parents were dancing and rapping.
I finally got an epidural at 5am which allowed me to sleep for three 20-minute intervals. It was amazing.
Then, I got back labour.
If you've ever experienced back labour, then congratufuckinlations, because you are a champion. Holy hell, that hurt like a bitch. (Back labour is when your child's face is turned up instead of down, and consequently pushes on the nerves in your spine with every contraction. Oh and by the way, the epidural doesn't help with back labour). Thankfully, by about 8am, it was done and my baby had turned the right way naturally. Then it was time to push.
I was completely unprepared for the amount of PRESSURE I felt at the transition point in labour. It felt like I had gotten an inappropriate piercing "down there", only the piercing weighed as much as a 50lb. kettlebell. I would take the contractions over the pressure.
I pushed for 1 hour and 35 minutes, and it was the HARDEST workout of my entire life. The doctors and nurses were impressed with my pushing, whatever the hell that meant. An hour and thirty five minutes? Impressed? Excuse me while I push my fist into my face to relieve the pressure.
I had a very cliché experience when he was finally here, and that was that nothing else mattered. My maternal instinct immediately took over, and I was just so happy. He was here! It was 10:35am, so my labour was 12 hours from start to finish. My beautiful baby boy, Colton, weighed 7 lbs, 10 oz.
It was the hardest, and most rewarding thing I have ever done!
|Cross that bitch off my list.|
|I'd lie in my huge guns too- I'll never be able to say that again.|
What is the hardest thing you've ever done?