The Long Goodbye (Part 3.2): Loose Ends

When one graduates from college, has a birthday, or buys a new car, one expects a certain (humble) amount of fanfare from friends and family. When one rushes into the maternity floor of a hospital to, I don't know, CREATE A NEW LIFE, the fanfare amounts to, "May we please see your ID and insurance card? Thank you. If you would just fill out this short form ..." So on and so forth, until they direct you to your room. For Tim & I, it was pretty much like checking into the Holiday Inn. We got to our room (which, by the way, was the exact same room our instructor had shown us during our childbirth class--weird), and pretty much stared at each other after that. I hated to sound petty, but I kept thinking, "Isn't someone going to come check on us? I know it's Memorial Day weekend and all, but ..." Let it be known that the whole time I was still leaking fluid.

Note to American 15-year-olds who are playing with pregnancy: I leaked amniotic (look it up) fluid for 3/4 of my labor, and afterwards leaked KID. Be wise.

The nurse came in, had me change into a revealing number, and placed monitors on my belly: one for the baby's heartbeat and one for my contractions. Tim & I were alone for the next two hours (cut to scene: my mom at home shouting, "Hurry, Ralph! Feed the dog, and let's go!"), and though the contractions were uncomfortable, they were manageable in a quiet setting. MTBs, heed this sage advice: weeks before your delivery, inform your entire family about how many people (if any) you want in your delivery room and when. This isn't enough, either. You have to make it clear who you want in the room when you deliver, because if you don't, as you will soon see, you'll have a delivery room like mine: all I needed was a monkey to have the complete circus ...

Now, I had taken the liberty of posting on our family website the hospital's policy regarding visitors during labor. Nobody read it. So, before you know it, my brothers are in the room playing Scrabble, my brother-in-law is reading the newspaper, and everyone else is munching on doughnuts (by the way, at the time I was only allowed ice chips). I'm not kidding. I love them all, but as my contractions grew stronger, my patience for such shenanigans dried up. To be fair, if you're not the MTB or the breathing coach, labor is pretty boring, but that doesn't mean the future mommy is in any mood to play.

The last straw was when people started giving a play-by-play of my contractions monitor: "Here comes another one ... whoa ... that one's worse than the last one ... wow, they're getting closer together ..." I looked at Tim, and sent him this message via eye-piercing stare, "HONEY, don't you remember when I told you things like this would happen, and you would have to be Mr. Tough Guy? Don't you remember you've got to be hardcore now? Don't you??" Tim nodded (eye messages are efficient), and left the room. A minute later, a nurse came in and cleared the room, saying it was time for visitors to wait in the lobby. My amiable family left, and I sent Tim another eye-mail: "Nice technique. Passive-aggressive, yes, but effective ..."

Do not be fooled, though. This was not a decisive victory for Peace & Quiet, because two members of my family, which shall remain nameless, insisted on trying to gain entrance into the delivery room anyway to the point that one nurse asked with genuine concern, "Is (s)he OK?" By OK she meant "is (s)he one grape short of a fruit salad" not "does (s)he find this situation too stressful." Now, I realize that eagerness and genuine concern played into their motives, but for the love of all that's good, couldn't we have shown a bit more restraint that day, Family?

No. The answer is no. My sister, a true soldier, sat in the waiting room the entire time I was in labor. After spending the day with the more eager members of my family, here is a sampling of the conversations she said took place:

Eager Family Member #1: "If labor lasts more than 15 hours after a mother's water breaks, the baby will be mentally retarded."
EFM #2: "What?!? Does the doctor know that?"
EFM #1: "The doctor doesn't know what he's doing."
EFM #2: "Well, let's go tell him!"

*Sigh*

Meanwhile, back at the delivery room ...