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tales of something simple - November 2011

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

we're gonna have a baby...today. part I

I literally prayed, out loud, to the G-O-D the night before I went into labor.  I remember kneeling, on my bed, in a towel praying with tears streaming dramatically down my face, “Dear God, please make this baby come and please make my rash go away, please make this baby come and please make my rash go away.”  Just then, God didn’t quite promptly answer, however there was a dear girlfriend pulling into the driveway with Ditch the Itch and Grandpa’s tar soap with flowers and a hug.  Two and a half weeks prior I developed PUPP’s, a horrible, insane, awful, mean rash that spread all over my belly, thighs, ass (including CRACK), back and upper arms and itches like something I have never experienced in my life.  I was put on disability at work and spent my days laying in Aveeno baths, slathered in Cortizone/Eucerin/Cetaphil and prescription anti-itch cream.  My husband, the saint, would fill gallon sized bags with water and freeze them and lay them all over my body.  We slept downstairs and turned the air down as far as it would go and I would lay there shivering, but slightly less itchy.  I would itch so much it bled.  I begged to be induced and they said yes…on Tuesday October 4th (it was Thursday, September 29th).  I cried.  The OBGYN consoled me, but sent me home nonetheless.  Having this condition, which ONLY begins to dissipate after delivery (nothing makes the rash go away EXCEPT to have a baby) was literally making me insane.  I was combo woman from the yellow wallpaper/patient with Syphilis back from Columbus days (where you literally went insane if untreated).  So I resorted to praying.  And shit did it WORK.  That and Red Raspberry tea.

5:45am the next morning I had my first contraction–the one that brought on real labor anyway.  I laid in bed (leaving my husband to freeze in the weather-uncessary AC downstairs we had slept in) and thought.  I laid and I thought and I timed and I started to think I might not be imagining things.  Around 7am I trekked downstairs to check my e-mail and announced “Don’t get excited or anything but I think I could be in labor.”  I even called my girlfriend to ask the dumbest question ever “how do you know if it’s the real thing?”  She encouraged me to have Brian go to work and go about my day and see what would transpire and that many women can have timed contractions for awhile that stop and go away.  Within ten minutes of getting off the phone and five consecutive contractions later I said, out loud, “Fuck this.”  The nursing station at the hospital practically laughed at my husband when he called. “Has her water ever broken?  She’s only been having contractions for three hours?  I mean, come in, I guess and we will take a look.”

I showered.  I sat on a birthing ball, in my living room with a full length mirror and blew out my hair and even applied mascara (we went with water proof just in case I cried).  I installed the infant “snuggler” in the car seat between contractions.  We packed it up and just as we hit the road for our hour and twenty minute hospital commute I got nasty.  My husband had the audacity to call his father two minutes after leaving the house while passing a yard sale “Hey Dad.  When you drop the tomatoes off, if you pass this sale on 563 there are these two beer signs, don’t pay more than $10 for them but check them out.”  Things were going black.  He would not shut.the.fuck.up.

I very loudly and calmly screamed “GET THE FUCK OFF THE PHONE.”

A rhino was passing into my pelvis and he was talking about vintage beer signs and his father was dropping off homegrown tomatoes.  He had a prescription he had to pick up on the way and I knew if he didn’t get it right here and now he would have to come back the next day to get it.

“Can we still go to the pharmacy?” he asks me.

Are you serious right now?

“Go to the fucking pharmacy and STOP talking to ME.”

I think I sang some songs on my iPod during contractions.  I think Brian cursed a lot at people who changed lanes too much or drove too slow.  I begged him to not let them send me home under any circumstances once we got to the hospital because I would surely die, writhing in pain in our living room if they did.

I barely remember two nurses rescuing me from the car with a wheel chair and whizzing me upstairs.  I remember the nurse telling me to put a gown on and I very calmly looked at her and said

“No, I have an outfit.”

“You have an outfit?”

“They said at the tour I didn’t have to wear a gown, I could wear my own clothes.  So it’s a skirt and a tank top.  I would have worn a dress but wanted to be considerate of all of your belly monitors, and this way when I push this kid out you can just lift up the skirt…high school backseat style if you know what I mean.”

She looked kind of annoyed and amused.

“It’s going to get dirty you know.”

“Duh.  That’s why it’s black.”

She led me to the bed and laid me back to check me.

“So you are Jessica,” she says to me.

I look up at her and say “Yes and I apologize, I use a lot of profanity.”

“I’m Stacey and so do I”

We got along great.  She was the ideal combination of no nonsense and understanding.

She checked me and I was four centimeters…golden words to a woman who was triumphant to have already completed early labor in less than 5 hours.

“Does this mean I get to stay?”

A look of attitude from Stacey.  “Uh, you’re not going anywhere.”  Loved her.

I spent the next two hours asking every five minutes if I could get out of bed, to which I was denied.  Baby W did not desire to be monitored and as a result, I was not allowed to move.  Until I asked to get on the birthing ball for the thirtieth time.  Stacey allowed it.  Baby W refused to cooperate.  I had such horrible back labor that laying in bed again was not an option unless someone was going to either murder me or numb me.

I said “I’m not sure I want an epidural, let’s check me again and see where we’re at.”

She checked.

I was at 5.

I had a contraction.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get that epidural, that would be good.  Yeah I think I’d like an epidural.”

Until the anesteseologist came in with her wonderful drugs all I talked about was that she was coming.

When Miss Chipper arrived to turn me from Miserable Bitch Mommy to be to La La Land Lady in Love with everything including the railing of the bed, she pulls up my tank top and has the audacity to go “Excuse me, do you know that you have a horrible, bright red rash all over your backside?”

Stacey and I locked eyes.

Me: “Yes, I am very, very well aware I have a rash.”

Miss Chipper/Debbie Downer of the Day: “I have never seen anything like this.  It goes from your arms all the way down to…”

Stacey: “We know she has a rash.  It’s totally common in pregnancy, now can you just give her the epidural?”

 

 


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