Two years ago on December 27th, I woke up at 1 in the morning with a stomachache. (This was not unusual as I had taken to eating a lot of McDonald's, fried chicken and cheese fries the last month of my pregnancy.) I waddled out of bed and took some Tums. I tried to settle down to rest my weary body, but the pain was increasing. I tried walking it off, laying on the couch and stretching.
I woke my husband at 5, clutching my stomach and said, "I think I'm in labor."
Ever alert and ready for action, he said, "I need pants."
Well, then. Tums and pants. We are ready for parenthood!
We got the green light to get to the hospital. On the road there, I felt every bump on the road and was holding onto the seat, trying to get control of the pain. I was doing pretty well until he said, "I know it hurts. I understand."
Not a good thing to say to a woman in labor, but he was speeding like a mad man towards the hospital, (with the epidural), so that kept him from losing his head that morning.
At this point, I couldn't talk at all. I was doing my labor breathing, and trying not to knock out the lady in line ahead of us. She did not appear to be in the kind of pain I was in, so I felt that I should get to go first. However, everything hurt like hell so I leaned against the wall and prayed my water would break on her. (If you have not felt labor pain, you may not judge.)
I finally was taken to a room and given the all-access gown. I didn't care. Seriously, I am the girl that never wears a dress without a slip and I didn't care that this unsightly gown was 4 sizes too large and had access panels all over it. As long as one of those panels leads to the epidural, I was willing to wear it.
I gripped the bed rail, and tried to breathe like they taught me in class. Slow, deep breath, stay relaxed, stay calm....PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY THE PAIN!!!
It went on like that for a few hours until the beautiful epidural came. After the scary needle and nausea, all was bliss.
And it was very good.
I settled in for a little sleep,and was awakened by the urgent beeping of alarms. Two nurses came in, checked his heart beat, put an oxygen mask on me and started working furiously. It seemed his heartbeat was not cooperating, so they put me in a different position on my side, and he calmed down. They were closely monitoring his heartbeat, and I was much too nervous to sleep.
Then, it seems, the beautiful epidural stopped working. I went from no pain to the very-end-of-my-labor-excruciating-pain. I started sobbing. My body wasn't prepared to handle it, and I fell apart. The anesthesiologist started pumping me full of pain meds.
And that was the big mistake of the day; it was time to push, and my body shut down.
I pushed for 45 minutes. The doctor and nurses just kept looking more worried. Cale's heartbeat just kept going down and I was quickly running out of energy. My doctor finally said, "I'm going to give you one more push, and then we need to do a c-section."
I laid my head back and yelled, "Jesus, You HAVE to help me push!"
And I felt Him. Right beside me. Like He always is when I need Him, and I felt something stronger than me gripping me and giving me what I needed for that one last push.
And there you were. You weren't crying, and the NICU team got to work immediately. I had never felt more terrified in my life. And then I heard a little squeak. Then a full-on yelp. Then laughter. You were putting on a show for the nurses, I think.
And then you were in my arms.
And all was right with the world.
2 years later, my little punkin, it still is:
Happy 2nd Birthday!
