So Glad She's Here

This photo was taken by my Mom the day before I went into labor with Chrissy. I think she was taking me to my last appointment because Chrissy's dad had taken the car somewhere for something. At any rate, I was the perfect little pregnant person: no swollen legs, no hemorrhoids, no morning sickness, no real fatigue, few aches and pains. As the picture attests to...I could at any moment get up and go jogging somewhere. I was disgusting. Now, before I get rotten tomatoes thrown at me let me just say that my sons more than took care of that later on. I've officially paid my dues at this point. But then, oh then, I was awesome....fabulous....tiny! I so totally rocked.

I went to that final appointment, just two days before my official due date, and was given the grim news. You know the type: "you're so young and this is your first child you probably won't go into labor for several more days and since you're so young your labor will be long and painful and being so young it will be terrible". I could be paraphrasing a bit on that but I assure you if I am, it's only slightly. I was told it would be horrible, it would be long...there would be much crying and gnashing of teeth. I'm not exactly sure at what point Satan's minions were supposed to rise from the bowels of hell to begin their meticulous ravaging of my body (I was busy looking at the stain on the carpet and totally believing someone's water had broken even though the office was a family practice), but I still went straight home and started my long list of old wives' tales hoping to get things started. None of the blood and guts scared me. More than anything I wanted to prove that doctor wrong. My body wasn't too young to do what it was supposed to do and what's more, neither was I.

I mowed the yard, I went jogging, I even stimulated my nipples (sorry kids, but it's true...not only do I have nipples but I've actually touched them....I'll put more money in that special therapy account now)...but no labor. I was completely exhausted, had allowed myself to get a slight "farmer's tan" while mowing, had a irksome blister on my heel and two nipples that must've thought the world revolved around them. All that and no labor. I flat-out refused to do castor oil. I figured my body would stop taking it easy on me and completely revolt if I forced such an abomination through it's system. For now it had been on my side and I just couldn't take advantage of that in the 11th hour.

So my best friend at the time came over to visit, check on my progress (or lack thereof) and basically keep me company while my then husband was at work. I played the part of the perfect hostess. I made lively conversation, tried to feed her dinner and got up several times to get tea and change over some laundry. It took her awhile to notice that I kept leaving the room every 6 minutes or so. In fact, I didn't notice it at all until she pointed it out. She said it was like I grew antsy or uncomfortable regularly and had to get up and do something...anything. I laughed it off and promptly got up to check on who knows what. Upon rounding the corner going from the living room into the dining room though I realized that not only was I in fact uncomfortable, but my back hurt and I had been leaning on our deep freeze every time I entered the room. And that's exactly where my friend found me after she decided to follow me and figure out what was important enough to grab my attention at such regular intervals.

Apparently the mowing, jogging, nipple combination was just the thing. I finally relented and admitted that if it looked like labor, acted like labor and felt like labor...it must be labor.

My friend wanted to be a doctor so for her educational benefit as well as the fact that she was my friend, I'd already told her she could be there for the labor and birth. So home she went to get things done so she'd be free when I finally called her from the hospital. That was around 8:00pm that night. By 10:30pm, as I was laying in bed trying to find a comfortable position, my water broke. I woke my husband, got dressed and even put a thick layer of bath towels on the seat of the car (per hubby's request) for the less than three block drive to the hospital. We agreed not to call my friend until I was admitted since I'd been told all about how young I was and how that factored into my assumed inability to tell if I was in labor and apparently, as experience would prove true, whether or not I had peed on myself.

We rang the bell for late admittance and waited until an exceedingly cranky older nurse answered the door glaring at us like we were kids pulling a prank. Only instead of finding a flaming bag of poo the way she did when the other kids rang the bell, she found a very pregnant teenager with a leaking problem. The nerve. Her facial expression announced to everyone that glanced her way that she did and always would much prefer the poo. To say we didn't get along that night would be a huge understatement.

The only thing she accomplished in the hour-and-a-half of my confinement to the ER was taking and losing my pants. Oh, and pissing me off. She accomplished that in spades. She could, in fact, not have been more condescending if she'd stumbled upon a half-off Condescension Sale at Wal-mart while shopping with a gift card. She practically oozed judgment.

Nurse Satan: Why are you here?
Me: I've been having contractions since about six o'clock and my water broke around ten thirty.
Nurse Satan: Are you sure it's not urine?
Me: You mean that I'm peeing myself after every contraction and I just don't feel it?
Nurse Satan: Yes, at your age it's not uncommon to not know the difference.
Me: *eyes narrow to slits as fiery hot laser beams launch from them and melt the back of her head* It doesn't smell like urine.
Nurse Satan: Like I said, at your age you may not be able to tell.
Me: The entire top sheet is soaked in it. It has no smell or color. It's not urine.
Nurse Satan: The only way to tell for sure it to perform a litmus test.
Me: And if it's amniotic fluid can I finally get admitted?
Nurse Satan: I seriously doubt it is, but yes, that's the protocal.
Me: Then for the love of all that's holy can we do that?
Nurse Satan: Well, it's all the way on the 4th floor.
Me: .......
Me: We'll wait.
Nurse Satan: *breathes huge put-upon sigh*
Me: It's not like I can leave without my pants anyway.
Nurse Satan: *stalks off toward what we hope is the 4th floor while mumbling angrily*

half an hour later she returns

Me: My contractions are started to get really uncomfortable.
Nurse Satan: They're nothing right now, wait until you're really in labor.

Nevermind the complete lack of compassion, my official punishment had only just begun. Every nurse who tended me from that moment on made it their duty to ensure I knew I was a sinner who deserved every second of pain as punishment for my fornicating ways. A few even put that feeling into words (and later actions) and told me that maybe I should've thought about "it" before I decided to have sex. It, I assume, is the pain of childbirth or maybe the entire experience of my labor, their lack of compassion and their choice in how to treat me. As if normally they were perfectly reasonable people who didn't place their religious dogma before their oaths as nurses or what was best for their patient. Each checked my vital signs regularly and made sure I was hydrated via I.V., but they all refused to give me pain medication. They were teaching me a lesson.

I learned many lessons that night though not the one I think they intended. I learned that you can feel your pelvis separate and not die. I learned that pain can be so intense it causes temporary blindness. I learned that ultimately in life you are alone so you better not only like who you are but trust in who you are as well. I learned that religion isn't about compassion. I learned that I am stronger than anyone, including myself, gives me credit for. I learned exactly what it means to love someone completely. I learned humility in the face of nature.

Confined to my bed, I mostly laid there alone attempting to sleep between contractions. The end, as I've read about since, was a blur of abstract activity that meant little to me. I simply followed directions and responded to instruction without hearing a single voice. My sight as well as my hearing were turned inward. I could hear my own heartbeat but had to struggle to hear someone at my ear. To listen externally felt unnatural, like something I was just learning. I often had my eyes closed and would be asked to open them and look at someone. This is natural. My instincts had gotten me through my labor and ultimately to this point so I kept listening and worked like hell to get my daughter into this world.

She arrived at 7:03am on her due date, July 30th 1991, weighing 6 lbs 12 oz. and sporting the cutest baby mohawk. She was then and still is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I mean it when I say I'd do it all over again.