A's Birth Story

I like reading other people's birth stories. Just in case there's anyone else out there with the same inclination, here's what happened 2.5 years ago:

Tuesday, August 15, 2002: Dr. says I'm 1 cm dilated and 50% effaced. She doesn't think I'll be overdue.

Tuesday, August 22: We watch A's due date come and go.

Wednesday, August 28: Dr. DeGusta has changed her mind about A. not being late. We try stripping the membranes and I go walk 2 miles after. Don't get anything but sore hips. I'm scheduled for induction on Saturday. G. is pushing the "sex for natural induction" method and is quite optimistic about it.

Thursday, August 29: Maybe acupuncture will help. Our friend Dr. Ralf comes over to do some. “Wow, you’re really closed up tight, aren't cha?” he says, feeling my pulses and sticking in needles. The only natural induction method I don't try is the eggs cooked in castor oil recommended by the doula. I don't like eggs under the best of circumstances. Greg’s feeling like he’s getting sick.

Saturday, August 31: We postpone the induction because Greg’s sick ("It's a VIRUS, not a COLD!" he tells me so that I will appreciate the gravity of his illness), and I need him to take care of me, not himself. We’re told to call tomorrow at 8:30am.

Sunday, September 1: We call at 8:30am, but L&D is too busy. We call back at 12, 4, and finally they let us come in at 6:30pm. I thought I was going in to have a baby. Hah. Got 3 doses of prostaglandin gel at 9pm, 1:30am, and 5am. That stuff's fun because you have to lie down for 2 hours and can't even get up to use the bathroom. Know how hard it is not to think of an elephant when someone tells you not to? Tell someone, "You can't use the bathroom for 2 hours," add a chronic UTI and a very pregnant woman to that and you have hell in bed for 2 hours. Also, the nurse tells us the beds in L&D aren't really made for sleeping - that's why they're so uncomfortable. No kidding. I dozed and dreamt that the waiting room was full of laboring women and a doctor was standing outside my room and asked a nurse why I had a room when I wasn’t even in labor. (This will become relevant later).

Monday, September 2: No contractions by morning. Staff suggests we go home, rest and see if anything starts. There are several jokes about it being "Labor Day." We’re told to come back Tuesday morning.

Tuesday, September 3: Return to L&D, thinking again (silly me!) that I'm going in to have a baby this time, and get another dose of the gel. They plan to start pitocin at 2pm. At the appointed time, the midwife tells us the delivery room is full of women who "are really in labor" and they need the room and I need to leave. (See? It was my dream!) I consider going out to the waiting room and yelling at all of them that it's my turn, damnit. The nerve - I'd essentially been there since Sunday and they think they can just come in and cut in line. I have a little meltdown where I start crying on the bed and decide I don’t really want children after all. I'm secretly afraid that my fear and anxiety about labor and having my life turned upside down by an infant is causing my body to resist labor. We go home.

Wednesday, September 4: We’re back. On the way to the hospital, I have another little meltdown and ask G., "What if he's born and we don't like him?" G. wisely says, "Well, let's give it a few weeks to get to know him and then we can give him away if we really don't like him."

Get 3 more applications of the gel (that's a total of 7, for those keeping count). I look at the nurse’s board where they have the patients listed with weeks of gestation and note that I’ve been pregnant longer than anyone else on the board. Yell at nurse, "It's MY turn, damnit!" Nurse replies, “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly winning any races, are you?” Greg buys me a cheeseburger for dinner (the famous “last meal”). I think, it's gotta happen soon. I'm soon to be 42 weeks and they can't keep sending me home forever.

Thursday, September 5: 2:30am – They conclude the gel isn't working (duh) so we start the pitocin drip on a low level. Not a damn thing happens.

(to be continued....)