Seven Years Ago, Today

Exactly seven years ago, I was in the worst pain of my life. In labor and asking my Mom, "how much worse is this going to get?" She had the good sense to be non-committal in her response! It did get worse - a lot worse. But then it got better - amazingly wonderful.

My water broke at 10:00 on New Year's Eve. I was babysitting my nephew. I was getting him ready for bed and he was going potty for the last time before he hit the sheets. Poor kids never saw it coming . . . one minute, he's standing up, peeing like a big boy and next thing you know, I'm swinging him out of the way because all of this water is gushing down my legs! (He peed a complete circle around the bathroom - in all the commotion, it probably never got cleaned up!)

My first coherent thought at the time was, "shit, now C is going to know that I've been wearing his boxers!" I called the restaurant and told his sister, who in turn, told the entire restaurant that I was in labor! They came home and we all went to the hospital and rang in the New Year while they put a monitor on me. They said I could stay or go, so I decided to go home and try and get some rest. I called my folks and they headed up. It was clear and cold, with a beautiful full moon.

By the time my parents made it up, I was ready to try and get some sleep. It didn't really happen, but I dozed off and on for a while. By 7:00 am we were back at the hospital, this time for good. They hooked me up to a pitocin drip and the fun began! Having D in a tiny rural hospital had its perks - I was the only patient under the age of 85, so I got lots of attention.

I did OK through the morning. Felt good enough to eat a contraband sandwich at noon. Tried to play some cards, but couldn't focus. Tried to read, but that wasn't working well either. By 1:00 pm, the pitocin had been turned up every hour, but I wasn't progressing past 3 cm. I was hurting and getting scared. My Mom was awesome. Very encouraging, but realistic. I just got stuck - and that's never a good thing when you're having a baby! During that time, I ended up with the L&D nurse from hell. She had fake fingernails that were like daggers, and an attitude to match! My mom intervened (loved that!) and a family friend, L, who happened to be an L&D nurse, was called in. My Aunt L called a few times and talked me through some contractions (which she is very good at) since she was too far away to make it to my L&D room.

Finally, Doctor came by at 5:00, wanting to check me before he had dinner. He decided to try and break my water again. And boy did he! Turns out that I had a secondary bag and when it broke, things started to move! I also asked for an enema. That was a sticky (shitty) situation! Because by then, I was contracting every 30 seconds. And no matter what I now think of my former sister-in-law, she's the one that got me from the bed to the toilet and it wasn't a fun task, let me tell you!

Between 6:00 and 7:30, I went from a 2-3 dilation to a 10. And the doctor was home having dinner. And the anesthesiologist was stuck because of ice. So an epidural was not an option! And while it was nice to finally have some movement and change, it wasn't nice that it happened as hard and fast as it did.

All of a sudden, everyone was rushing around, breaking down the bed, talking about the nurse administering anesthesia in case of an emergency C-section and getting the doctor . . . right now please! My Dad, who had previously declined to be in the delivery room was given no choice and pressed into service to move furniture and break the bed into the delivery position. Doctor arrived, and changed in the bathroom . . . hopping into scrubs while leaning out and telling me to stop pushing until he got his gloves on. I started using the F-word as my mantra, snarling about the F-ing anesthesiologist and the F-ing this and that! I began to whip my head back and forth, creating a tangle in the base of my hair that took weeks to get out - I was having a Linda Blair moment and no one was faulting me for it. My Mom and L kept me sane - or at least close to it!

Finally, Doctor said I could push. Two blinding pushes through the immense and indescribable pain and we had a little boy! D did a little flip upon exit and thank God for Doctor having good football hands! He caught the slippery little guy and that was that!

The feeling of the chaos changed almost immediately. There was relief and joy. There were tears and laughter. I was so tired. And so proud of myself. And so relieved that it was over! There was a focus that I hadn't had through the previous nine months. There was a knowledge deep inside of my heart that I would be enough. That if I had to do it alone, that I could. I hadn't been sure until that moment.

God, what a moment. There were lots of people around. My soon-to-be ex-husband. My parents. The doctor and nurse. My soon-to-be ex-inlaws arrived seconds after I had delivered. It was noisy, but I felt quiet.

And now he's seven years old. I am not quite sure how that could be? He is the joy and light of my life. I couldn't ask for a better little guy. He amazes me with his intelligence and creativity. The fullness of his heart and the sweet, sweaty smell of his head at the end of the day. His energy and humor both overwhelm and delight me. God knew the full depth of my heart when He granted me this little boy to call my own.

Happy Birthday, baby.