Birth Day, Part Three
Back on track. The doc decides they should stop the pitocin because my contractions are coming too quickly. I forgot to mention the pitocin, didn’t I? Yeah, I had to get pitocin because Boo Boo and my body were in cahoots against me. Well, the pitocin worked. And I can feel the contractions, remember? Epidural and all. Fun stuff.
Okay, so a couple of hours later (or what felt like a couple of hours), Nurse Nancy says it’s time to push. Contractions are coming every minute. Every. minute. Barely time to take a breath. I imagine my body saying something like Oh yeah, you gonna gimme those drugs to make me move? I ain’t stoppin’, yo. I don’t know why my body has terrible grammar, but apparently it does and it likes to talk smack.
Nurse Nancy asks if I need help moving my legs. I tell her I don’t and move them with no problem and get this, she acts surprised. Did she really, in all seriousness, think I had concocted a twisted lie about having feeling? I don’t get people. Anyway, Nurse Nancy pops in and out during the whole pushing thing. So yup, the hubs and I are flying solo. As if we’ve done this before and I have any idea what’s going on. Remember those other women giving birth? Yeah, Nurse Nancy needs to tend to them, not to lowly, pushing me.
No joke, at one point, she steps out to have a conversation with another nurse and I literally say Should I push now? and she peeks around the curtain to say Uh, yeah. (Aside: I had to ask her that because she’d told me that I might want to not push with every contraction since they were coming so quickly. I didn’t realize she was leaving these decisions up to a sleep-deprived woman in pain who had just vomited, but hey, that’s just me.) So I’m pushing practically every other minute. Can you say Holy crap? Of course I understand now that if little Boo was anywhere close to making an appearance, she wouldn’t have been ducking in and out. But how was I supposed to know that? Doc (who’s pretty cool, by the way, considering she’s not my own doctor) also makes an occasional appearance. So yes, hubs was a champ. A champ of champs. The champ. In fact, I think (and told him as much) they should have paid him for his nursing duties because he did everything but actually catch the baby.
Let’s speed this up. The doc comes in because Boo Boo is ready to show up. Or at least that’s what we think. Turns out my stubborn little guy won’t commit to turning his head properly (or something like that). At this point, I’m just hoping his behavior isn’t some predictor of his teen years. Oh yeah, and I’m practically begging for a C-section. I may have begged; that’s entirely possible.
And then finally, finally, finally, he’s on his way. Here’s what I remember…
Doc: Okay, I’m going to tell you to push. Then I’m going to tell you to stop. And then I’m going to tell you to push again.
Me: I’m going to push and then you’re going to tell me to stop, and then I’ll push again? [Yes, I managed to get all of that out. It seems I felt the need to practice my active listening skills immediately before birthing my son. I’m a perfectionist. I wanted to get it all right.]
Doc tells me to push and I do. And then she doesn’t tell me to stop and then, holy crap, there’s my son. Um, she didn’t follow her own instructions. Someone tell her she didn’t follow her own instructions. So not cool! But holy crap, there’s my son. And he is so freakin’ awesome I can’t stand it. Happy birth day to me.