I went into labor a week ago today.
I never got to bring my baby home.
The extra week of carrying my daughter was draining me, I wanted my baby so badly, and I was tired of waiting. I started to feel funny fairly early in the day, the occasional cramp had me thinking maybe I’d eaten too many bran muffins of late.
The Hubs and I went and played 9 holes of golf. I shot a 49.
We went to see the doctor, and she stripped my membranes after informing me that we were dilated to a 3.
Bring it on.
We went home, and I started to time contractions. By 3 o’clock it was evident we were in labor, and it was time to go to the hospital. I took a quick shower and we packed the car, hurried and full of anticipation and excitement, time to meet Baby Dub.
Family started to show at the hospital by 5. Labor was progressing pretty quickly, but so was the pain of my contractions. I wanted to try to go as far as I could without an epidural… I made it to a 6.
I was doing my best to breath through the pain, but I had a hospital room full of visitors who were all laughing and joking and then boom, a quick procession of three contractions in about 4 minutes, ouch, ouch ouch… ouch.
My sister made some comment about how my phone was “blowing up” and I just wanted everybody to be quiet.
Okay, yea, time to get an epidural.
The epidural was lovely, but it also slowed down labor. I got an epidural around 6:30-7 and I didn’t get to start pushing until after midnight. In the meantime we played the brutal waiting game, naps in between visitors in between occasional check ins with the hubs to see what he was up to (reading on the Kindle, pacing the room).
The Hubs was a gallant knight throughout the labor experience, never wanting to leave my side even to get something to eat or get some air. I married an incredible man.
When the doctor came in and told me I was “Complete” I was overjoyed! Time to start pushing! Let’s get this baby brought into the world!
I believe I raised some victory fists.
I might have gotten a fist pump from the Hubs.
Pushing is not all it is cracked up to be. I puked like, 5 times. I pushed for over two hours but Baby Dub wasn’t coming.
That’s when her heart rate started to indicate distress. And we went downstairs for a C-section and everything went bad.
It’s hard not to look back at that night without looking for a moment when I knew things weren’t going well. Maybe if I had been better clued in, less tired, hadn’t had the epidural, wasn’t so opposed to a C-Section… maybe I could have said something, and Baby Dub’s heart would never have stopped beating.
I can’t go back. I can’t change anything. In the end, I don’t get to bring my baby home. And it’s all I want to do.