Owen’s Story, part 2 of 3

So when I said I’d post the next part of this story the next day? Yeah, “next day” didn’t exactly mean the very next day–no linear time progression here. Actually, I do really feel bad and every day I mean to sit down and just type away another entry, but I have much less free time than I ever used to. Sometimes even being able to use the bathroom for more than a minute is a total luxury. I’ll try to do better, really.
So when we last left our heroes, we had finally packed the car and were off on our way to the hospital to hopefully have our little man. Luckily we only live 10 minutes from the hospital and at 3am, the roads aren’t exactly packed, but I have to say, that car ride was one of the longest 10 minute car rides of my life. We made it to the hospital and our next dilemma was where to park. My husband, love of my life, wanted to park in the parking lot and make me walk 50 extra feet (his comment: “What? It’s only a few extra feet”). Luckily, the death stare beaming from my direction penetrated his deep dense head and he quickly realized that parking in the spaces directly in front of the Emergency Room was a much better idea. I had already pre-registered weeks earlier so we got to just head on up to the Labor & Delivery floor. Again, normally only a short trip up in the elevator, but one of the longest of my life. Amazing how a few contractions can really slow down time.
Once we arrived at L&D, I got to get undressed and be assessed for how far along I was dilation-wise. Can I just say, I am SO NOT MISSING THE DILATION CHECK now that I am not pregnant? Apparently I had progressed enough that they decided that they would keep me and admit me. The thought did cross my mind that if it was decided that I wasn’t far enough along to be admitted and they sent me home, I was going to have to have a massive meltdown because there wasn’t any way that I was going home before I went home with my child. Outside of my body.
We got settled in the nice L&D suite and got to see the sun rise. The contractions were still coming pretty regularly and hurt (hello, back labor? So not prepared for THAT) but it was okay because I was doing the breathing from Childbirth Class and was making it through each one. The baby looked great on the monitor (Dr’s comment: “This is one of the best outprints I’ve ever seen” Not even born yet, and he’s doing above average work. Way to go Boy) so I was able to get out of bed and off the monitor belts. There was a wonderful rocking chair in the room, so I sat and rocked and breathed and thought “Okay, this is hard, but I can DO this”. I sent my husband home to get something to eat and to bring something back (I can’t remember what it was that we had managed to forget, but it must have been something important for me to want him to leave and go and get it). The contractions started to get a little more painful and a little more frequent at this point (no one could talk in the room while I was having one) but as long as I could count between the 12, 3, 6, and 9 on the clock, I was okay. I should mention here that previous to having this baby, my husband and I had jointly decided that I would be going completely natural. No epidural, no spinal block. Only, and totally as a last resort if I absolutely needed it, something through my IV line. This was totally my idea and something I really wanted to do. My husband was just supportive of me and wanted what I wanted.
I think things started going a bit downhill around 11am. I started having really bad acid reflux, so I mentioned this to the nurse who brought back something that I had to down like a shot and was the most sour, make-me-pucker-like-I’m-licking-the-end-of-a-battery-terminal stuff I have ever had. Which I promptly threw up. Which, throwing up is bad enough on its own, but even worse when you can’t have any real water to wash down your throat. Ice chips do not really help the situation. I decided at this point that hey, maybe some pain meds would be a grand idea and would take the edge off a bit. Stadol and Phenegren? So good. Things are looking a bit better now. I can sleep in between each contraction–it still hurts (think like the worst stomach flu/food poisoning you’ve ever had and you’re almost there)but I CAN DO THIS. The anesthesiologist comes in to inquire when I’d like my epidural and we wave him off. Because I CAN DO THIS WITHOUT THE EPIDURAL. Which is all fine and well until the Stadol wears off. And it still really hurts. I mean REALLY hurts and I WANT ANOTHER SHOT OF STADOL RIGHT NOW AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT IS GOING TO BE A MINUTE WHILE YOU GO AND GET IT? GET IT NOW AND SHOOT THAT SUCKER RIGHT INTO MY IV LINE AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT. The second shot of Stadol? Not quite so good as the first. Let’s just say that it made me a little…delusional. I was having a hard time telling where I was and couldn’t understand why exactly my husband was allowing me to be in so much pain and then I started telling him (okay, since we’re being honest here, accusing is probably a better word)that he could stop it all if he wanted to and he must not want me to stop hurting. It was not pretty. At least I wasn’t yelling. It was right about 1pm when I decided that I had fought the good fight and I WANTED THAT EPIDURAL RIGHT NOW. CONVICTIONS BE DARNED. I DON’T CARE WHAT I SAID ABOUT NOT WANTING A NEEDLE IN MY BACK. STICK 20 NEEDLES IN MY BACK IF YOU HAVE TO. JUST MAKE IT STOP HURTING. My favorite? When I asked the nurse if it was too late to have the epidural (because I was at a 7 and there is a window of time and beyond that you are out of luck) and she informed me that as long as I was still pregnant, I could have an epidural.
Join us next time when we find out if our heroine makes it through (and if our hero, dear husband, makes it out alive and with no broken bones)…