Don’t worry, there’s only one more part of the story after this. This is actually more serving as a record for Norah of what happened, so no worries if this is totally boring to you. One day it’ll be totally boring for her, and THAT is what matters.
So I get home and turn on Harry Potter 7 (part 2, because everyone knows that’s the superior film) and the contractions stop. So we get up and start pacing the neighborhood. They start up again, but are all over the place- every 2 minutes, every 15 minutes, every 25 minutes, etc. I call the doctor and he says what I expect- there’s no telling if this is it but don’t bother coming in until they’re consistently 4-5 minutes apart. (Which incidentally never happened- even when I was dilated to 10 they never made it to a consistent pattern)
So we pace, and watch TV, and download a random contraction app and they pick back up. By this time I’m getting uncomfortable- they are definitely something.
Also I should mention that by this time I haven’t slept in 3 nights. Acid reflux and nerves have kept me wide awake. So I’m MORE than prepared for what’s coming.
At about 3am they’ve gotten intense, so we decide to make the trek to the hospital. And here’s where I conclude that the only place worse than a bed while in labor is a car. But we make it it one piece, park somewhere called the Red Deck and go check in.
I started this pregnancy with a midwife, a decision Derick and I made together and felt great about- the problem? The only one available at the time was, in his words, a ‘wackadoodle’. I didn’t disagree. So I was put on the ‘midwifery circuit’, which means I saw my OBGYN during the pregnancy but would be delivered by a midwife. Which was great! Until I met the only midwife on call that night.
I have clinical OCD, something I treat with medication and therapy and take very seriously. I took that medication throughout my pregnancy and have since breastfeeding because it’s safe for me and the baby and I wanted to be able to be a functioning human being as a mother. 90% of the time I meet a new doctor they ascertain this about me pretty quickly and remark on how great it is that I’ve found a drug and therapy combination that works so well. The other 10% of the medical population treat me like a fascinating specimen- this midwife was that 10%.
Rhonda (that was her name, which was weird because when I heard it I couldn’t stop singing Help, Help Me Rhonda, which she did NOT) asked me almost nothing about the contractions and all about my medication. And then chuckled as she told me I was 2cm dilated and didn’t need to come back until I was dilated further- as if I was able to check my own cervix. Which, incidentally, someone needs to get on! That’s an untapped market! An at-home cervix ruler. I need to come up with a catchy name. Too bad Billy Mays is dead.
Oh wait I forgot! When she finds out I haven’t slept in 3 days she gives me an Ambien. Basically, she thinks I’m such a weakling for coming in at 2cm that she thinks I’m going to be able to sleep through these contractions. Instead I become a writhing zombie’ I have dreams during the doze times between contractions and think every time I wake up to pain it’s something biting me. That was a fun night.
This is already way too long and I haven’t even told you about my two nurses, Donna and Donna. I guess it’s a 4-part labor story? Sorry. But you came here to read this so it’s your own fault.