The Story

Someone just asked me today a question about my labor, and I went on for the next 20 minutes and gave her the WHOLE story. Did she want to know? I don’t know.  I guess I just needed to remember.  So here’s to remembering…

I started having mild contractions on Friday morning October 26th. I was 39 weeks, 3 days.  I went about my day as usual, perhaps in denial, because I needed to have the house in order and those belly shots I had been meaning to have done (Thanks Tish).  It’s a good thing we did them that day!

I would have an occasional contraction, maybe one an hour, that was noticeable  not quite ignorable, but tolerable.  It became dinnertime and we leisurely decided to go out to eat, which I fully supported not wanting to cook, yet knowing it could possibly be my last meal…  But as the time passed and we were not yet leaving, I had the sense of urgency to tell Asher, “If we are going to go to eat we better go sooner than later or I might not make it.”  So we went to Red Robin. Enjoyed an uneventful dinner, and then as we walked to the car, I felt my first “stop-me-in-my-tracks” contraction.  UH OH. and OH YA, this is what this feels like.  So we drove home, thankful that my mom was on her way already from Angel Fire.  Asher put the kids down while I put a small glass of wine down.  Then I rested, and went to bed.  Bed was not happening.  Contractions were coming about once every 15 minutes. Just often enough to drift off, then be woken up unpleasantly.  So I decided it was bath time.  This was probably around 11pm – midnight.  Bath was not relaxing, I could not get comfortable.  So I dried off and began to walk.  Up and down the hall. In and out of the rooms, stopping at the desk in Asher’s office, leaning on the dresser in baby’s new room. Silently praying and pacing, just my Lord and I.  I remembered a friend telling me labor was like taking up your cross, sympathizing in the smallest way with what Christ had to endure on his cross.  So I meditated, walked, prayed, and occasionally talking with Asher as he lightly slept in our bed.  When I felt I could bare it no longer, I came to our room and told Asher, “It’s time to go.”  He gently tried to question my certainty, and my response was, “If I’m not where I should be to go to the hospital, I’m getting an epidural when I get there.”  Enough said.  Woke mom sleeping on the couch, “It’s time, we’re leaving.”  She gently questions, “Already?”  Yes, as I brace myself on the arched doorway.  Good-bye house of 4.

The car ride was intense to say the least.  I believe it’s called “Transition.”  The ladies know what that means.  It’s where things get REAL, real fast.  This is where Asher realized our status.  His driving mirrored what was happening in my body, getting more intense going faster…. “You don’t have to speed, we are going to make it.”  “Are you sure?”  “Yes.”  At this point I have unbuckled my seatbelt, and am hitting the roof every few minutes.  Did I mention I’m a screamer?  Never knew that until this moment.  My body enters this primal state where I no longer recognize my own voice nor can I change a single thing that is happening in this moment.   Next walk into hospitol, doors locked, ring doorbell.  Is that a wheelchair for me, nope.  Is this where we go, nope.  Pea in a cup. Whaaaa?!  Ok. I tried.  @#$%.  Here’s a bed get undressed, put on gown.  Nurse comes in to check me.

“YOURE A 9 OR 10!!!!!”  

Respect.

“My water just exploded!!!!”

Action. Lots of Action. Lot’s of screaming. Lot’s of pushing. Lot’s of nurses.  Lot’s of needles.

“Breathe, Breathe for the baby! Breathe for the baby.”

Babe enter world. Done.  40 minutes after arriving at hospital.

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