Not all heros wear capes

While Joel is hanging out in the bathroom eating his freaking cookies, my Mom and sister take turns being by my side, being beyond supportive. I am not being dramatic and I am not exaggerating. I have never been more miserable in my entire life. I cannot get comfortable, everything hurts, I'm sobbing, I dread ever single contraction, and I'm beyond worried about what is about to happen when I have to physically push my child out of my vajayjay.  If you know anything about me, I'm a planner. I love to plan. My motto has always been "fail to plan, plan to fail". I cannot plan how my delivery is going to happen. I am F'in scared y'all. These amazing women have kept me from having a full blown panic/anxiety attack since the epidural Nazi ran out of my room. I want nothing to do with cookie-face Joel at that moment.

Little did I know, there was also a storm brewing outside in the waiting room. Upon hearing the details from my sister, it has become apparent where my irrational personality trait came from. Read: My Mother. Apparently, while she was in the waiting room with my Father, she was watching Netflix listening through her ear buds. My Father was working on his computer as well. My oh-so-rational Mother began accusing my Father of "checking out" and not "being present" while his daughter was in a room down the hall in labor. So, both of them were doing the exact same thing, playing on their respective computers/tablet, but my Father was the one in the wrong. Makes total sense, right? I'm sure my Mom was just stressed and worried about me. My poor sister didn't know where to be, in the waiting room with two arguing parents, or in the delivery room with her sister who was on the verge of a mental breakdown from the epidural that almost was. I wouldn't want to be in either room either, but I didn't have that choice.

All the sudden, in walks the Nazi. He is back. AMEN. I probably looked like a child does on Christmas morning when they see the pile of presents waiting for them under the tree. This is it people. This is my moment. "Do you still want an epidural?" he asks. This is not the time for jokes, guy.

"Are you f&*king serious!?" It is now after 11:00pm. I tell him if he walks out on me again he won't live to see tomorrow. Yes, I threatened the anesthesiologist's life and I don't even feel bad about it. Not even a little bit, not even at all. Joel kisses me on the forehead and everybody clears the room yet again. I assume the position, again. This time he actually numbs the skin. Oh hell yeah, we have made it farther than we did last time! Deep breath in and he inserts the spinal catheter between contractions. I'm not going to lie, it hurt a lot. But nothing compared to the pain I was having every FIVE minutes from my contractions. They squirt in the juice, and oh shit, only half of my body is numb. Of course. Why am I surprised? Nothing medical ever goes right on the first try with me.

Not good enough. Redo. Try again. I am not going to deliver this baby if I can still feel half of what is going on. He pulls the epidural catheter out and reinserts it. Bulls eye. Thank you Baby Jesus. I look at the monitor, another contraction came and went and all I felt was pressure. SWEET, SWEET RELIEF. I am in love. Move over Joel, I've found a new man. I hug him and apologize for cussing at him and calling him a Nazi. He forgives me, promises to check on me soon, then he leaves my room to go save the rest of the floor from the excruciating pain that is labor. Not all heroes wear capes people. This one wears scrubs and jams needles into spines, but he's a hero nonetheless.

Nearly SEVEN hours after arriving at the hospital, I finally got the drugs I longed for. My birth plan is finally being followed. I am relaxed, numb from the waist down and everything is glorious. But its not over yet. I didn't really think it through, but when you can't feel anything from the waist down, you obviously can't walk either. So, I have to pee in a bag. The nurse inserts a catheter and I didn't feel a damn thing. Joel walks back in my room, and points at the bag of piss hanging off the side of the bed and says "is that what I think it is?". Yes honey, that's my pee. If he thinks that a contained bag of pee that he never has to touch is gross, fatherhood is going to be a real smack in the face for him. I can't wait to watch. Still smelling of cinnamon, Joel sets up camp in his recliner chair that he moved from the bathroom and promptly falls asleep. Prior to my epidural, this would have pissed me off beyond belief, but since I was experiencing a moment of rationality I let this slide. After all, he needs his rest too.

Joel wakes up just in time for the doctor to come check my cervix. I'm at 6cm, I have only dilated one centimeter in the past couple hours. She suggests that she breaks my water and starts me on a Pitocin drip to speed things up. I oblige. Yeah crunchy granola Moms. PITOCIN. I have three strikes with you people. Continuous fetal monitoring, an epidural and now, Pitocin. How dare I. OK look, I don't judge you for your choice to eat your placenta and to not shave your armpits, so back off and don't judge me for my choice to have medical interventions. I trust my doctor, I do NOT trust my body, my body needs help.

My nurse pulls out what is literally a crochet hook, sticks it up my lady bits and I hear an audible "pop". Then I see a flood of clear-ish fluid. I am relieved that there is no meconium, aka baby poop, in the fluid. And equally relieved that I didn't feel a damn thing. She swiftly, and I mean ninja-like, cleans me up and tells me to try and sleep and get some rest. The Pitocin is flowing and she tells me that things are going to start moving soon and I'm going to need all the energy I can get to cross the finish line. She dims the lights, Joel and I both fall asleep in no time. Seriously, nurses don't get enough credit. They are on the front lines and are tasked with the nitty-gritty, nasty part of Labor and Delivery. Their jobs are basically dealing with Moms in the most pain of their lives, worried Fathers, worried family members and bodily fluids. People, thank your nurses, they are the real champions.

I wake up a few hours later because I am starting to feel the contractions yet again. Not today Satan. My amazing nurse is already in my room, checking our vitals. She sees my heart rate shoot up during a contraction and intuitively knows that I'm starting to feel pain again. I didn't even have to ask her, she said "I'll page the anesthesiologist." At warp speed he comes in my room and with pushed a few buttons on the epidural machine, I feel nothing. I feel less than nothing. The juice is working stronger than ever. Literally my legs are like concrete.  Of course, NOW he shows up damn near immediately.

I finally got my F*&KING epidural.

The first of many Daddy-Daughter naps

Nazis and Snickerdoodles

The dreaded contractions are back and they are stronger than ever. Or the narcotics wore off and I could once again comprehend my level of pain. Either way, I wanted to die. The pain has moved lower in my body and is now also shooting down the front of my thighs. Then my nurse says the most magical words I've ever heard: "the anesthesiologist is on his way." I literally hugged her. Finally. I've only been in this hospital for five freaking hours begging you people for pain relief. This doesn't bode well for their Yelp review. Up until now, I feel like they have straight up ignored my birth plan. Everything looks good on the monitors and my labor is progressing. During a visit from my Mom, she sees a note on my chart that says "patient is tolerating labor well". Are they serious. Nothing about what I'd going through feels anything close to "well". I wondered if I wasn't being vocal enough about my pain level. If this is considered "well" then I can only imagine what "tolerating labor poorly" was like.

Epidural time. AMEN. Protocol is that everyone has to leave the room when they administer an epidural. So, they kick out Joel, my lifeline, the only person keeping me from losing my proverbial shit. They also wheel the big recliner chair he was confined to into the bathroom to make room for the man who is either going to paralyze me or make me the happiest woman in the world by sticking a huge needle in my back. The epidural guy comes in, introduces himself and gives me a consent form to sign. At that point, I'd of signed over my first born child I was about to birth. It's go-time and I couldn't be happier. I scribble something that hopefully resembled my name onto the form and tell him to call me Jenny because we are now best friends.

In order for the doctor to administer the epidural, I have to sit on the side of the bed, basically stretch out my spine by leaning over and try to touch my toes.  Fetal position while sitting up if you will. All while fighting contractions mind you. This was not easy. My poor nurse has to get on the floor in front of me so she can keep the heart monitor on the baby. The moment of truth. He tells me to stay as still as possible and warn him when a contraction is coming so he could insert the needle immediately after. For the first time I wanted a contraction to come because I knew I'd have relief right after. He slathers on the Betadine to sterilize my back and finds the sweet spot in between two of my vertebrae. He has the numbing needle full of Lidocaine in his hand to numb the skin ready to inject me. Then his phone/pager sounds off.

After a second of him on the phone he asks "do I have five minutes?". The answer was obviously no because then he tells me, "I'm sorry Jenny, I have to go, I'll be back as soon as I can". He was called away for an emergency. I beg him not to leave. Then I got downright mean and demanding.

"EXCUSE ME. OH HELL NO. YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE."
"You f*&king Nazi!"
"We are NOT friends anymore!"
"My birth plan is drugs and you assholes won't give me the drugs!"
"I want the f*&king drugs and I want them NOW!"

If I wasn't strapped to the fetal monitor I'd of chased him down the hallway. I'm sure my objections were heard by everyone on the floor. I was MAD. My anger and hatred towards this man quickly dissipated and turned into a feeling of defeat. The pain is winning and my morale has plummeted. I start sobbing again. I cried so hard the monitor alarm went off saying I had low oxygen levels so the nurse had to put an O2 mask on me, eventually silencing the alarm. Contraction after intensifying contraction, I laid in bed and sobbed, ugly crying, spewing snot into the O2 mask. We had no idea how long it would be until the anesthesiologist returned. With the level of intensity my contractions were, I was certain I'd be delivering this baby au natural. The nurse checks my cervix, I'm dilated to 5cm, AKA the halfway point. At the very least, I find some happiness in the fact that I will most likely not be giving birth on Tom Brady's birthday. She does her best to reassure me that we still have plenty of time to get the epidural. Of course, I don't believe one word she says and sob harder than before. She suggests I try to bounce around on the birthing ball for a few contractions and see if that help give me some relief.

While I barely hold it together bouncing on the ball, my nurse heads out to the waiting room to grab Joel so he could be with me until the epidural man returned. Joel was no where to be found, but my Mommy was. My Mommy walks in, sees my lily white ass hanging out the back of my hospital gown bouncing away and the first thing she said to the nurse was "get her off that f*&cking ball!". She was concerned about my knee. I had forgotten about my knee. Later my Mom told me when she walked into my room and saw my pathetic-help-me-doe eyes, the "Mom gene" kicked in and she had to take control and advocate for me. My Mom turns into an actual Mom for a few minutes and helps me off the ball and through a series of contractions, holding my hand and wiping away my tears.

Then Joel strolls into the room all nonchalant like, smelling like cinnamon. He is chewing, obviously eating something yummy. Oh. No. He. Didn't. While I was dying from pain and having a mental breakdown after the epidural man's premature exit, Joel went to the cafeteria and visited The Great Cookie. For those of you who don't know, The Great Cookie makes and sells the best snickerdoodles that I've ever had. Chewy, gooey, warm, cinnamon and sugar covered deliciousness. Labor burns a lot of energy, therefore I'm starving. The ice chips aren't cutting it. And my fiancé/baby daddy had the audacity to go get a damn cookie while I'm experiencing the worst pain of my entire life!

"GET THE F*CK OUT OF HERE" I scream at him like I've been possessed by the devil himself. I can see terror in his eyes. He is probably thinking that he has made the biggest mistake of his life by agreeing to embark on this journey with me.

Naturally, Joel does what any man trying to support his partner through labor would do. He finds his recliner chair in the bathroom, sits down, reclines it back, throws his feet up and enjoys his cookies. I still hate him for this. He never did bring me a cookie post delivery. Word of advice: NEVER EVER bring food into the delivery room while your laboring partner is going through hell to bring YOUR child into this world.

And still I'm left wondering...

Where the f*$k is my epidural??

Joel STILL owes me a cookie.

Mean Muggin' just like her Mama. She wanted a cookie too.