Wednesday, August 15, 2012

He's Here

I had been having pains all night.
But this was pregnancy, it's painful.  So I didn't think much of it.
At 6am I told John.
Thrown into alertness "Should we go to the hospital!?!"
"No," I said, disinterestedly "I'm sure it's just braxton hicks."  And I went back to sleep.

At about 7 I got up.  Still hurting.
John: "Now should we go?"
Me: "I'm gonna take a shower."

I don't really think I'm in labor (we're at 35 weeks, after all), but, if I am, I'm going to start the process as clean as possible.
I have a hard time making it through the shower.  I get out early because I can't stand.  Dripping, I decide to look at a clock for the first time this morning.  (John had filled me in later regarding the timeline, in case your curious).  What I was determined was braxton-hicks contractions were coming 3 minutes apart.
I got dressed and walked downstairs.

I saw John on the couch.
Me: "We should go to the hospital."
He sees me slip on my shoes.
John: "Oh!  You mean now!" as he springs towards the door.

In case anyone thinks John was being dense, I'd like to point out that I had already told him that I wasn't in labor-twice.  And I hadn't actually filled him in on the 3 minutes apart bit.

Just a few blocks from our house John says "Shouldn't you call your mom?".
I huff and puff a bit and roll my eyes.  Why bother if I'm just going to walk around the hospital a bit and get sent home?
Fine.  So I send her a text.  It's 8:45am.

It's a 15 minute drive to the hospital and, despite John's asking, I insist that there is no need to speed.
When we get to the maternity ward I let out with the oh, so convincing "Hi, I think I'm in labor."  (At this point I'm not as confident that this isn't the real thing).
They check their calendar-"Oh," I say "I'm not due for another month".
After a pause, they tell me to go to this side room while they call the doctor over to check me.
I go.  I lay down.  And a minute or two later I look at John.
"I need drugs, NOW."
I'm finally convinced that I'm in labor.
He asks the nurses-they can't administer drugs until after the doctor checks me.
We wait.
"John, I want DRUGS."
He goes to find the doctor-who just stepped in the ward.
He checks me and you can see his eyes pop open "She's at 8, plus 1-get her to the delivery room."

In case you don't know, that's 8 out of 10 cm and plus 1 pretty much means his head is just itching to come out.

"I want drugs!"
"Too late for that now." the doctor informs me.
As John later described, it was as if "DOES NOT COMPUTE" was streaming across my forehead.
And it's true.
I had just barely accepted that I was in labor.  I certainly hadn't come to accept that baby was coming any time soon and definitely wasn't ready for him to come without an epidural.

The nurses wheel me over (I assured them that I couldn't walk).
I'm not sure what everyone else kept saying, but I kept asking for drugs.
Over and over.  And over.  And over.  No joke.
The nurses quickly realized that they should just stop talking to me and talking to John.  I don't blame them-when anything you say is combated with "I WANT DRUGS!" the conversation would get old, fast.

And here I started letting out what I think would be described as "primal screams".  Honest to goodness, I had no control.  I actually remember thinking "am I doing that?!".  Then I'd close my mouth and it would stop.  Then I opened my mouth and this screaming just came out.
At this point I imagine the nurses and doctor wished that I hadn't had a background in vocal music and was unable to sustain the screams for so long.

I do remember the doctor saying something about focusing that energy and using it--and I was screaming again.  If I recall correctly, that is when the doctor gave John this "I'm not getting through, hows about you take that end and I'll cover stuff down here?" kind of a look.  Maybe not, but I swear it happened.

Here is where my brilliant labor logic came into play.  You see, I hadn't stopped asking for drugs-you know, in between those primal screams.  And it occured to me-if I get a c-section, they have to give me drugs!  At which point I began insisting that I have a c-section.  Didn't matter that he's practically out now, I wanted a c-section.
Of course, my ever-cool doctor calmly glanced over and replied "How about we just have this baby?".
And we did.  By 9:10am John had texted our family pictures.
9:10am.  Remember what time I texted my mom?  Go ahead and scroll up to check.
That's right, 8:45am.  When you account for the 15 minute drive, that's 10 minutes.  Everything that happened in that hospital happened in (probably less than) 10 minutes.
Yeah.  No kidding.

But John William Adams was born.  6 lbs and .1oz.
He was named for my paternal grandpa (John) and John's maternal grandpa (William).
Of course, the naming is a whole 'nother story in itself :)

1 comment:

The Wilsons said...

I've been very much enjoying having the both of you back in "blogland." :) Thanks for letting me read all of your stories. This is great family history, here!

Miss you all.