The Long Goodbye (Part 3.3): Loose Ends

Here's the thing about delivering a baby in a hospital: the staff already have in mind how they want your pregnancy to go. There is wiggle room (where people try their bests to accommodate your birthing plan), but not much. Because my water broke before my contractions started, the staff began to follow it's own timetable. But like I've said before, every pregnancy is different, and I wanted to do things at my own pace, not on someone else's timetable. As I neared deadlines along the timetable, ironically, I started to hear the word "options" a lot. "Options" actually translates to "we have no or few choices." For example, in the first hours of labor, I was dilating too slow by the timetable's standards, so the doctor said, "We're going to give you more Pitocin to get your contractions to be more effective--closer together and stronger. As we get closer to 18 hours, we're going to have to talk about options." Read: we'll do a C-section.

From the color of my amniotic fluid, the doctor could tell that the baby had pooped in utero. This, as you might have guessed, wasn't a good thing. Now the word "infection" starts creeping up, and they tell me some special staff will be in the room when the baby is born. I was nervous, because my whole natural-birth plan was seeming more and more unrealistic. The fact was, the longer I was in labor the longer the baby would be swimming in her own pooh. The bad thing was, as they're telling me all this, I was not in my right mind. Seriously. The pain of the contractions had become, how shall I say it, consuming.

If you are an MTB, are considering becoming pregnant, or are encouraging your wife to get to baby-making, go ahead and stop reading now. Live in Sweet Oblivion. The following blow-by-blow account of my delivery is coming, so make a U-turn for your own good.

I knew labor would be painful; everybody said so. But, I had no idea how the back-splitting pressure would make me lose reason. I couldn't do anything but be terrified, anticipating the next contraction. My baby was facing sideways and up for most of the labor, which is not the optimal position (facing down is). This caused lower back pain stronger than any puny cramps I'd ever had in my life. The people in the room became statues to me. They were present, but my mind and body were fighting a battle no one could help me with. I refused to cry out, though I probably should have. I tried birthing position after position to relieve the pressure, but nothing did more than distract me for a minute. I was biting on a wet rag, clawing at Tim's shirt. My mother, who I had told hours before to leave for her own sake, stood by my side. I could tell she wished she could take the pain away, and she gently suggested I take an epidural. But I was paranoid that it would affect the baby, even though I'd been assured it wouldn't. After 15 hours of labor, I had only dilated to 7cm. The contractions were mostly in my lower back, and I tensed every time one happened, trying to bear it. Unfortunately, because I became so rigid, the baby couldn't move down the birth canal. The nurses encouraged me to relax, but I couldn't. I was worn out, and worse, I kept imagining the baby sitting in filthy fluid.

That settled it. I asked for an epidural. I was disappointed, but I knew I was exhausted, and I hadn't even started pushing yet. Just the thought of the upcoming relief made me calm down.

People make epidurals sound like an angel's touch. If somebody had told me what was involved with getting one, I may have gone ahead and had my baby in my car ...