The BIG Adventure of our Little Man

It was Tuesday night, and we had gone over to my sister's house for dinner and to drop the girls off for a sleepover. We ate, we visited, we caught up on a little '24,' and then it was time. We were scheduled to arrive at the hospital at midnight, in plenty of time for a 6:00 am induction in the morning. It was all old school for us; we had done it this way twice before. Change out of clothes ("don't forget to leave us a specimin!"), fill out paperwork, answer a billion questions, give blood, get hooked up to the fetal monitor, IV in the arm, Cervidil in the -- you know where. We were old pros. About a half an hour into the questions from the nurse I asked, "What do other people do? I mean, girls who come in here unannounced, ready to have the baby right then, when do they answer all these questions?"

"Oh, they don't. Theirs is a lot shorter."

So I think, "Why the heck do I have to, then?" Whatever. Just finish up.

We're done by about 1:00 am, and the Cervidil is kicking in. Contractions have started. But I've been feeling those for weeks now, so it's no big whoop. It has to stay in for four hours before they can take it out, then, if I've dilated, I can get my epidural and we can get started. So we've got some time to kill, and we decide we'd better try to get some sleep. And I decide the contractions are not bad right now, but if I can't get to sleep, then I'll ask for some pain medication. I've never been one to deal with pain well. One hour goes by, then two. Man, am I still awake? Is it the bit of pain or maybe just the anxiousness keeping me from my last few precious z's? Either way, I'd better get something and put myself out of my misery so that I'm not completely exhausted in the morning. I page the nurse, and a moment later she shows up with a needle full of some narcotic. Smile. She inserts it into my IV, and it only takes a few seconds. She asks if I can feel it, and I can only nod. Feels too good to talk right now.

"Let me know if that's not enough because I only gave you half a dose. I'll come back and check on you in a few minutes and you can let me know if you want the rest."

She did come back to check, but I only vaguely remember her in the room. She asked if I needed any more, and I mumbled something that must have let her know I was just fine because she left. A couple more check-ups, and it was time to take out the Cervidil. I made sure she knew that my doctor lets me have my epidural when I'm at a 3. He's always done so, and I wanted it this time as soon as I was at a 3. She checked. Almost there, but not yet.

But then the glorious hour of 5:30 came, and I was ready. She called for the anesthesiologist to come to administer the blessed epidural. Ah, my peace of mind that I can really get through this. I'm a true believer that Heavenly Father made drugs for a reason: Childbirth. With some help I sat up on the side of the bed, leaned over as far as I could, hung my head down, relaxed my shoulders, and let the nurse pull my body in half even further as he put the needle in. I could feel it, which I didn't like much, but I just sat there, frozen with the fear that we all have: If I move a single muscle, there's a chance I could be paralyzed. No moving.

It seemed to be taking a long time. I feel the needle over and over and I'm thinking, "What in the world is he doing back there? Why is it taking this long? Why do I keep feeling it?" They're asking me if I was a gymnast or athelete. What the? I'm like, "Yeah, in high school." What does that have to do with this? I can hear them talking about how my spine is compacted, and he's having trouble finding space between my vertebrae. He keeps having to try somewhere else. This is not working. Change positions. I look up at The Man as they lay me down on my side and tell me to curl up as tight as I can into a ball. Tears start streaming down my face because they won't let him come hold my hand. But still I'm thinking, "No crying, you'll move. Movement means paralysis. No moving." The tears don't stop. He's still not getting it. "Is this worth it? Maybe I should just tell him to forget it. This is awful! No, wait. What am I thinking? Am I crazy? Of course it's worth it. Just sit here until he gets it. It will all be fine."

After four attempts, he finally finds a spot where he tapes the needle in place. Then he leaves for a c-section he's doing. The nurse helps me back to a sitting position, and I try to get comfortable once more in this terrible bed. "How's that? Are you feeling that contraction?"

"Yes."

"Are you feeling it any less than you were before?"

"No."

"All right."

"Is it supposed to take a few minutes to kick in?"

"Sometimes."

"Ok." I wait and suffer through more contractions. They're getting harder and stronger.

"I'm still feeling it." Huff, puff. "I'm feeling everything." Huff, puff. "They're really hurting." Huff, huff, puff, puff. "It's not working!"

"Ok. We'll get him back in here to fix it."

All right. Everything is ok. He's coming back to fix it. I'll be fine.

Long story short (too late, I know), I had my first natural childbirth. That's right, me, Miss Ouch-I-Stubbed-My-Toe-Give-Me-Something-For-The-Pain. Never in a million years did I EVER think I was going to experience that. And it was just like in the movies. Within minutes I had transformed into this moaning, screaming maniac of a woman. Right before it hit me, The Man was sent out of the room for ice chips. As he walked down the hall and heard a scream, he thought, "Man, I hope The Woman doesn't hear that lady." That lady was me. I'll spare the details of exactly how excrutiating it was, but sufficeth to say that even with my best recovery yet, I'd still choose the drugs.

Thankfully I don't have 9-pound babies, so it only took three contractions (which were strangely all blended into one), and he was here. And I cried. Funny thing is, when it was over, I wasn't crying out of pain anymore. I actually don't even remember how much or even whether it hurt at all anymore. I could not stop myself from crying because I was SO upset that I had just had a natural childbirth, and I didn't want one. I didn't choose it, I wasn't prepared for it, and so I bawled. Every time someone said something to me, all I could say was, "IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS WAY!!!" I can laugh now, but at the time I just could NOT get over it.

But somehow I did it. I made it through alive (just barely, mind you), and now it was time to focus on the baby. And then it hit me. The Man didn't cut the cord. He has ALWAYS cut the cord. Why didn't he cut the cord? And they didn't bring the baby up to me to see him. They ALWAYS bring my baby up to me to see them, even though they're messy and all icky, they've always let me see them and touch them and hold them before they're taken away. Something wasn't right, and I knew it.

Uggh, I'm needed "desperately" by the girls. Um, what I meant was, Stay tuned as I continue the saga of our new little man and his first big adventure ...