Grayson's Birth Story: Part 2

For the prequel to Baby Gray's birth story, start here.

We rode the elevator up to Labor and Delivery, where we entered a triage room and the receptionist got every last personal detail. At one point, I expected her to ask what sexual position we conceived the baby.

Finally, I was given a beautiful hospital gown and told to make myself comfortable on the bed. A nurse came in, introduced herself, and proceeded to give me the most painful exam to determine my dilation. Nothing my doctor had done to bring on labor even came close to the pain this woman put me through. I swear I felt her hand in my throat.

"You're only at a 4," she sniffed, and instructed me to walk for an hour and come back at 5 pm. She explained that if I hadn't progressed, they'd call my doctor at that point and find out what he wanted them to do. Since he had already promised that he'd instruct them to break my water, I was not happy about walking, but I certainly didn't want to leave and return later.

So we walked.

And walked.

And took stairs two at a time.

And walked.

And took a break when my contractions got even closer and stronger.

And walked.

And smiled politely at the people who jumped out of our way in the hallways. I know I looked funny in a hospital gown, robe, and tennis shoes. Evidently I looked dangerous as well. Perhaps they were afraid my water would break on their shoes...who knows.

After an hour, I re-entered Labor and Delivery, hoping that I'd progressed.

The next exam, which was, thankfully, done by a gentler nurse, showed a whole lot of nothin. She left to call my doctor and returned, smiling, saying he wanted to admit me and break my water.

I got set up in my own room, had vitals and blood taken, and was given a full bag of fluids as directed by my doctor. Apparently, he had a sneaking suspicion that I might need an epidural, and wanted me to be well hydrated in order to avoid blood pressure drops. At that moment, my friend/coach/spin teacher extraordinaire, Audrey, arrived. As soon as she saw me, she teared up, and I sternly admonished her, saying I wasn't ready to cry yet.

I almost changed my mind when the house doctor came in with his water breaking tool, but I barely held it together. He promised it wouldn't hurt more than a pelvic exam, and thinking about Nurse Ratchett's initial exam, I started trembling. Luckily, I could barely feel it, and I was set up with towels between my legs and any last bit of modesty taken away.

Within five minutes, the contractions that had stopped me in my tracks for the last six and a half hours felt like little gentle uterine massages. These new ones came hard and fast and got stronger and stronger. I was screaming. I was clawing the bed. I was trying to breathe through them as Audrey and Brian prompted me, but it wasn't helping. Brian came over and started to rub my hip at one point, and I yelled at him not to touch me.

Audrey was timing them, and they were coming between 30 and 45 seconds apart. None of the research I had done in my hopes for a natural birth had warned me about this. Contractions this hard and fast were only supposed to happen at the very end. I wanted to change positions, but I didn't have enough time between them to get off the bed and onto the birthing ball, or even onto all fours. Intense doesn't begin to describe it.

I screamed about the contractions, then as Brian and Audrey told me how well I was doing, I lamented at what a baby I was. This was not going as I had hoped. After an hour of this, non-stop, I began to get nauseous.

The next few minutes were a blur. I don't know exactly what I said, but I ended up asking for the epidural. A small part of me was disappointed that I didn't make it, but another part of me knew that living through an hour of that level of pain was an accomplishment. I wanted to avoid an epidural because of how sick it made me feel, but I couldn't feel much worse at the moment.

The anesthesiologist came in after what felt like 30 minutes but was probably closer to 3. Between contractions, I explained that I wanted the lowest dose possible. He rolled his eyes and told me that it wouldn't be enough, but he'd do what I wanted.

They sat me up and I gripped a pillow, giving it everything I had to stay still through my violent contractions. B hung on to me to keep me from moving, and I warned him to move away to avoid getting my water on his shoes. (The fact that I was concerned about ruining his work clothes still makes me giggle. Priorities, people.)

I settled back down and realized that the epidural worked.

Only on the right side of my body.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. It was at this point that I tweeted "I am dying here." (Oh...I didn't mention that I tweeted updates through my labor?)

I called the nurse, who helped me roll to my left side, explaining that sometimes that happens, and this way, the medicine could move onto my left side as well.

For the next hour, I screamed more. The pain was almost more intense because it was only in the top of my left leg and in my hip. The nurse came back to check me to find that I was only at a 6 and the drugs should have moved into my left side by then. She explained that she'd call the anesthesiologist, but sometimes women have a window in which the pain medicine doesn't work.

For. the. love.

The anesthesiologist came back in, tried to explain what he was doing to fix the problem, and all I heard was "blah blah blah even it out blah blah again this small amount is not going to work to stop the pain blah blah blah."

But he ended up being my new BFF when whatever it did worked. Although the pain was not even close to being gone, I could tolerate it by moaning and changing positions. Everyone in the room encouraged me to use the pump to get more medicine, but I chose not to. Luckily, the IV fluids had really worked to prevent blood pressure drops. I could still wiggle my toes and move my legs around. I was shaking so hard, as my husband so classily put it, that I looked like a crack fiend, but this labor was no comparison to my terrible experience giving birth to L.

For the next 5 hours, we watched the baseball game. When the contractions got tough, I closed my eyes and listened to Audrey and Brian talk about everything and nothing. Having two people in the room was the best decision I ever made. When the contractions slowed, I was able to join in the chatting.Every few minutes, I'd say something about the fact that I couldn't believe that shortly I would have another baby.

The nurse, Karla, who was fabulous and hilarious, checked me from time to time. She explained that I could push the pump every ten minutes, since it was an extremely minimal dose. I finally pushed it once when she told me that it was a great time for a tiny bit more to keep me at this level through the delivery. I was glad to find that one pump indeed made a minimal difference but after that, I put it out of my reach.

After two more hours, Karla came back in and checked me, and I was at a 9. She said she'd return in an hour and a half to see if I was ready to push.

40 minutes later, I pushed the call button.

"Umm....I think I need to be checked now," I said nervously. "I feel a ton of pressure." (Thank goodness for the small epidural dose.)

The nurse came back in and checked me. "Yep! You are at a 10!"

The trilogy will be complete in tomorrow's post....