Labor & Delivery, Part II

****Warning:  This blog entry is somewhat graphic in its descriptions.  Do not read while eating lunch!  The author accepts no responsibility for food in your sinuses or sprayed on your friends, family, coworkers, or electronics.****

Labor contractions had begun at 7:45pm on December 30, 2007--which would have been my grandfather's centennial birthday had he not followed his own advice that "no one should ever live past 95."  The chart we had drafted in MS Excel was being used, and we learned that my internal twinges of pain were running 7 minutes apart.  Not so bad!  

[Well, they were bad.  Still, I have a high tolerance for pain, it seems, so I was doing well enough, given that I was in labor.  What did it feel like?  That was always my concern when considering the pain of labor.  I knew it would hurt, but I didn't know how it would hurt.  For those of you who wonder the same:  the pain is primarily in your cervix.  It's a frustrating sort of pain because you cannot touch it.  You cannot massage it or poke it or access it directly to alleviate the sensation.  Your cervix is surprisingly similar in appearance to the head of a penis (gross picture of extracted cervix available here).  When the male gives birth, it's just to a swarm of sperm, which are well suited to zoom on out of his penis.  But imagine giving birth to a several pound child through a similar hole?  Granted, the cervix is "designed" to expand a bit more than the male urethra.]

After a few steady contractions at 7 minutes from start to start, we contacted Sabrina the Magic Doula, who turned out to be at a small gathering a ways away.  Expecting several hours of labor, and not wanting to yank her from fun to work so early, I told her she could take her time coming over.  After we got off the phone, my contractions immediately changed to every 2 minutes.  Andrew called her back to say never mind, please come now!  She was already en route.

The next step was to inform my midwife.  Since the midwives in our practice worked on an on-call basis, I wasn't sure who I would get and was a little disappointed that Shana was the one to answer and not Jane, my preferred practitioner.  Andrew called the hotline and Shana asked to speak to me.  She asked me how my contractions felt, presumably to ascertain whether or not I was just experiencing Braxton-Hicks, and then proceeded to tell me not to bother coming to the hospital yet since I could still talk.

By this time we had assembled an arsenal of belongings to bring to the hospital, including what turned out to be an extremely useful case of bottled water.  Trusting Shana's judgment, we decided to stay home awhile so that I could spend more time in a comfortable environment.  Given that I was decidedly UNcomfortable, I put on some loose and modest clothing and sank myself into a nice bath, just as Sabrina arrived at the door.

My friendly stranger sat down calmly on the toilet and helped soothe me through my tubby time contractions.  Between the rapid fire agony, she shared some great news with me:  she was pregnant!  I tried to feel happy for her at the moment, but I have to admit, my mind was literally trying to be elsewhere.

Shortly thereafter, I had my "bloody show."  I had thought I'd already had it when something small and snotty and pinkish had ventured out of me a day or so prior.  People talk about the mucous plug and describe everything but the size.  It's BIG.  You will definitely notice when your mucous plug exits!

Leaving the tub and drying myself, I changed into a maternity tank top and some comfy bottoms--an outfit which I naively believed I would be wearing during my remaining hours of labor at the hospital.  We called Shana to say that we were on our way, and Sabrina followed us to North Florida Regional Medical Center in her own car.

As often as women give birth, I can honestly say that I have never seen a woman laboring in a car.  I was a little embarassed by the experience, not to mention worried about the upholstery in the van, so I tried as best as I could to hide my personal agony from those in neighboring vehicles.  Andrew later told me that it was of no use as people were still looking in the windows at me like I was some deranged lunatic.

Arriving at the drop off for the Women's Center at the hospital, Andrew left the van for Sabrina to park (at her offering) and came upstairs with me to check in.  I wasn't fond of the desk clerk, though I suppose it's not really her fault--she was just doing her job.  Still, I felt like she was so cold hearted when she looked at me skeptically and asked how close my contractions were.  At that point, they were so close together that I could barely gasp out an answer of "very" before the next one started and was clinging onto Andrew for support in standing.

Skeptical Nurse directed us down the hall to triage, where I was told I had to wear the Hospital Gown of Impossible Modesty.  Andrew waited with me, trying to be a comfort at a time in my life in which comfort was just a distant memory.

After an eternity of probably 15 minutes, the triage nurse arrived, and for what seemed the millionth time since becoming pregnant, a total stranger became intimately familiar with an area of my body not meant to be shared with such a variety of people.  She confirmed my contractions were true labor ("Good job there, Sherlock") and announced that I was 3cm dilated and that the baby's heart rate was fine.

It was time to get a room.