The response was surprising, but I suppose looking back on it now it shouldn't have been. The nurse said, "Oh we like you! People usually refuse the epidural until later, when they're freaking out."
I, on the other hand, was already freaking out. We passed by freaking out an hour ago, when they tried to re-route us to Walnut Creek during rush hour traffic. To be perfectly clear, I said it again, "I want an epidural."
The saline bags were hooked up to my IV and I was prepped to meet the person of my dreams...the epidural man. Our nurse, who happened to be a male, explained the procedure before the epidural man arrived. He said I would first get a local anesthesia to numb the area. It would feel like a wasp sting. Then, he would clean the area carefully and insert the needle into my back, and then the catheter. The medication would take approximately 20 minutes to work. Everything happened exactly that way. I bent my shoulders forward and down, like I was shrugging. I felt a wasp sting me in the lower back, and then I started tingling.
I love the epidural man.
It was an excellent epidural. I felt my legs, and could actually move them a bit, but the contraction pain that had me yelling out expletives earlier were literally gone. I couldn't feel anything beyond a little pressure. The only way I could tell I was contracting was by looking at the electric monitor. The line would start to go up, up, up...then it would peak and fall like clockwork every two minutes. Every now and then I would cheekily say, "Oh that was a BIG one!"
And they were big. All night long. Hub and I tried to sleep through the night, but it wasn't easy knowing you were about to pass a bowling ball through your pelvic cavity. I was anxious, nervous...it was peaking every uncertainty in my head.
Nothing calmed me down. I wanted food and water, but was only allowed sips from a cup and ice. A while back the nurse had inserted a catheter to collect urine, which had turned up dark and nearly amber in color. Knowing I was dehydrated, I desperately snuck sips of my hub's drink. Stolen juice never tasted so good.
The nurse arrived for the ump-teenth time to check on my cervix and my progress. He called the doc and asked her to take a look at the sheets between my legs. "Well, that's new." He said. The doc took a look, nodded, and left the room after some quiet conferencing and cryptic mumblings. After a while, the nurse spoke to me calmly about what was going to happen. It was the kind of calm voice that made me NOT calm. What was the matter?
He said, "Your water broke, but it's not clear. The baby has basically pooped, so here's what's going to happen. When you give birth, he will not be handed directly to you. He'll be whisked away to the pediatrician on duty, who will then suction out his lungs and everything else until the merconium is gone. The reason he does this is because if he doesn't and the baby takes a breath, he would be in danger of contracting pneumonia."
Ok. So, panic now? "There's no need to worry. It happens a lot." Ok, no panic. Just more anxiety. Pile it on the mound.
Having arrived at 6 p.m. at 3 cm dilated, I was now 5 cm dilated at 7 p.m. I closed my eyes for 30 minute winks of sleep at a time.
At 11 p.m., I woke up to two nurses and a doctor poking around my bed. They seemed rushed, quick to move, checking every monitor, every IV, everything. I was half awake and confused. What was happening now?!
The nurse said, "His heart rate has dropped." What?! What?!
The doctor said, "We're just checking on his heart rate. It dropped below normal levels and we would like to find out why. It's back to normal now, but we need to investigate."
The little man's heart rate had dropped from a steady 120-130 to 75. That was really low, according to me. But I stayed calm for the sake of hub, who had already endured my freak outs for the past 12 hours. And so it happened that baby boy was fine. It was just some schmutz with the electrical equipment.
August 27th, 2009 arrived. The big day.
At 7 a.m., I was 7 cm dilated and suddenly I was feeling cramping. What was that? Pain? Not possible. The epidural man and I had an arrangement. No pain at all below the waist. We had discussed it. It was a done deal.
However, I was in sudden, serious pain. It was getting worse by the minute, and I was starting to yell for the nurse. A beeping began to emit from the epidural box and the nurse came in to investigate.
"Oh, your epidural bag is empty. I'll call the doctor."
What? What? Empty what? I was now gripping the sides of my bed, hoping to alleviate some of the incredible pressure and cramping. The epidural man was no where to be seen. I felt as if I was being ripped in half by the contractions that I had once scoffed.
Epidural man did not show for nearly 45 minutes, and when he did, it wasn't immediate relief. The new bag was attached, and he even administered medication directly into my catheter tube. Nothing changed. I was still writhing.
30 minutes after the bag had been changed, still nothing. The nurse called in the new epidural man, since the old one had run away, probably in shame. (Many shift changes occur during a delivery, apparently.)
The new epidural man administered even more medication and a little fentanyl, which did not do much except make me woosy. Slowly, the medication started to take effect, but it was never really the same as the first time. I was disappointed, but took what I could get.
At 11 a.m. the doctor and the new nurse came in to ask, "You're at 10 cm dilated. Do you want to try pushing?"
Do I want to try pushing? No. Do I want this baby out? HELL YES. Let's try pushing.
Pushing was pure pain. I actually couldn't feel a contraction until I began pushing, and then suddenly, it was there...pounding, stabbing, gripping pain. I screamed a little, and then a lot, and then constantly.
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