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