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A cautionary birthing story. 18 years ago today, I had my second daughter. Prior to having our first, the hubs and I did all the usual things, including new parent classes where we were encouraged to set the mood for a long labor.
Among other things, our teachers suggested soothing music, aromatherapy, slow walking, and warm baths. “There’s going to be pleeeeenty of time to get in the groove of delivery.”
Prior to the birth itself, I had weeks and weeks of Braxton Hicks contractions (tightening of abdominal muscles but no pain).
On a Sunday evening, when they became painful, I called the doc. I said it hurt like a mother but she told me to chill out and stay at home.
On a Sunday evening, when they became painful, I called the doc. I said it hurt like a mother but she told me to chill out and stay at home.
Half hour later, I told the hubs I don’t care, we’re going to the hospital. On the walk from the car to triage, I had to double over and hold my knees every 5 steps. I’m like if this is pre-labor, I’m totally screwed.
We waited forever to be checked in. I think they thought it was just another prego arriving too early. When they finally checked me, that’s when the circus started. “Oh my lord you’re at 8 cm!” I still had my shoes on.
They had to get me to a delivery room one flight up. As the nurse pushed me in a wheel chair, the sheet around my waist got caught in the wheel, delaying us. At the elevator, the nurse told folks waiting, “Unless y’all want to be god parents, get another elevator!”
When we got to the delivery room, I asked for an anesthetic, and the nurse sympathetically locked eyes with me and squeezed my shoulder, “I’m sorry hon, it’s time to push.”
10 minutes later, Isabel was born. The moral of the story... expect the unexpected, listen to your gut (or pregnant belly) and good things can happen even if there’s no aromatherapy, pain meds, or time to take your shoes off.
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