Birth Story, Part I
12:35 p.m. - 2005-11-09
At my Wednesday (October 5th) my doctor told me that he was going to have me come back in on Monday to talk about inducing. I figured that he wanted to induce in a week or two, probably because I'd had problems early on, or maybe because the baby was looking to be pretty big. (I know, I know, women are made to deliver babies, and there's no such thing as a "too big" baby, and kudos to anyone who's pushed out a 10 or 11 pounder, because you? Are Superwomen. The thought of a baby that big scares me to death, especially considering the hemmorhoids I dealt with after having a 7 lb. baby, because OWOWOWOW that shit was WORSE THAN LABOR. Well, almost.)
ANYWAY. We talked about it for the rest of the week and the weekend, and I kept waivering. On one hand, I was sick to death of being pregnant and ready for the baby to just get here already, but I'd gone through the entire pregnancy so certain that I'd go into labor naturally and hopefully deliver without an epidural, and I hated to just give up on that dream so easily. Besides, I'd been spending a lot of time over at this place, and those women are HARDCORE about natural birth and have lots of information to back themselves up. I wished at that point that I wasn't so damn inquisitive and investigative about everything, because I couldn't quit thinking about their warnings of YOU WILL BE ON A TIME FRAME AND THE PAIN WILL BE EXCRUCIATING AND YOU WILL CERTAINLY END UP WITH A C-SECTION IF NOT DEAD DYING DEATH BECAUSE PITOCIN IS THE WORK OF SATAN.
About this time I began to seriously wish that I'd listened when LA told me to stay the fuck off the internet searching for baby-having information.
Alan accompanied me to the doctor on Monday, because I wanted him to be there to hear the pros and cons of induction and maybe help me decide what to do. Because, you know, I can't make a decision about my own body without first consulting my husband.
I'm totally kidding. I needed the moral support.
When my doctor finally came into the room, he completely threw us both for a loop by saying that he was going to be out of town all the next week, and that if I went into labor I'd have to be delivered by some woman who was new to the practice that I'd never met before. He wasn't trying to get me to be induced if that wasn't what I wanted to do, because he had full faith in the other doctor, but he wanted me to be aware that he wouldn't be there and that I did have the option of having the baby early.
I think Alan finally asked him when, exactly, was "early," because I seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
"Wednesday, probably. You'll come in the night before, we'll give you something to help you sleep, and then induce about 6:30 the next morning."
Alan beamed, "Wednesday! We could have a baby in two days!"
I grabbed the edge of the examining table to try and steady myself. Somehow I managed to ask questions that actually made sense, and my doctor answered them honestly. He told me that the baby was already measuring big, and that if I went to term, she would likely be VERY large. He said that the chance of me going into labor before he returned was about 50/50. I was assured that her lungs were mature enough, that the likelihood of any problems was practically nil, that he was confident it would be a successful and normal delivery. Over and over again my doctor made it clear that this was all up to me--he never tried to force me to do anything, and didn't use any scare tactics--and that helped me decide that I absolutely wanted him to be the one in the delivery room with me. We made the appointment, filled out the necessary paperwork, and actually managed to make it to the car before I started questioning my decision.
I cried a little on the way home, and Alan was wonderful about assuring me that everything was going to be okay. Of course, I'm sure that deep down he was every bit as scared as I was, but he seemed so confident when he told me that he had a good feeling about the procedure.
When we got home, the nesting bug hit Alan. I think I was still in denial, but all of a sudden he realized that OH MY GOD WE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY AND THE HOUSE IS FILTHY. He dragged out the carpet cleaner, called for backup, and got to work deep cleaning the entire house. I sat in the recliner watching E!, because, you know, this was all a dream and there was no way the baby would be outside of me in less than 48 hours.
To his credit, Alan just let me be lazy. After all, I needed to gather my energy.
Finally, after the scrubbing and vacuuming and dusting and Windexing was completed to my husband's suddenly scrutinous specifications, we went to bed. Countdown: BABY had begun.