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.

Death Wishes and Ice Chips

Wait. Wait. Wait and wait some more. I swear, I'm going to have this baby in Triage, if I don't die from the pain first. I must have been delusional. Thinking I could waltz right into Labor and Delivery, be whisked into my private delivery room, welcomed with scented candles, Egyptian cotton sheets and soothing music. I would then endure a short and painless labor then be handed a perfect daughter. Sunshine and butterflies it was NOT. It was literally the opposite. It was dirty. It was gross. It was loud. It was terrifying.

The L&D ward was extremely busy that night which the nurses blamed on the storm. I was later told that over a twelve hour period, I was the ONLY woman who delivered vaginally. Everyone else ended up having an emergency C-Section. Protocol is that before they admit you, they send in an ultrasound tech for one final look at your baby when he/she is on the inside. This tech was terrible. She kept scolding me for moving during each contraction. Seriously lady. Can YOU stay still while you're being ripped apart from the inside out? I don't think so. Clearly, she'd never had a baby before. All the sudden her phone went off and she had to run out of the room, while only half way through my sonogram. She never did return to finish. Probably for the best.. .for her. She left the door open and we saw a herd of doctors and nurses sprinting down the hallway. As if I wasn't already freaked out enough. That only heightened my anxiety. I asked the nurse who came in right after the commotion for a Xanax IV drip. She politely declined and offered me a cup of ice chips instead. I have officially reached the stage in my labor where I hate everyone, and we are only 15 hours in.

The ice chip nurse tells me it will be at least an hour before I am moved into the room where I would be delivering. ONE HOUR. She must have a death wish. I don't have a choice so we wait, contraction after intensifying contraction. We have zero cell service in Triage so Joel steps out to call our respective Mothers and update them on the status of my vagina. He felt it was fitting to actually leave the hospital and go outside to vape while making the phone calls. He must also have a death wish. He and ice chip nurse should have started a club. Approximately nine contractions worth of time later, they finally wheel me into my own room. It is now after 6:30pm and I've been here since 4:45pm and still haven't gotten my damn epidural. These people are straight up ignoring my birth plan and I'm not OK with that.

Other than the great vaping incident of August 3, 2017, Joel was flat out amazing. He advocated for me, he calmed me down and he supported me, emotionally and physically. He hid how scared he was from me like a real life Neal Caffrey. He was my rock. I am so glad that my Mom, Sister and Father followed us to the hospital, not just to support me, but also to be there to support Joel. He needed it almost as much as I did.

I rolled my whale sized self onto the bed, get hooked up to the fetal monitor and contraction monitor which are attached to the rubber band like, uncomfortable belly belts. I'm relieved she still has a heartbeat. And of course, the contraction monitor says I'm still in labor. My nurse who will be with me until morning introduces herself and attempts to reinsert my IV that the crappy ice chip nurse screwed up. She tried my hand and my vein blew. Typical. Nothing medical has ever been easy for me. I've always been a hard stick. Usually it takes 3-4 tries but she gets it in two. I love her. I'd love her more if she could also start my epidural. I beg her to call the anesthesiologist and have Joel reiterate my birth plan to her as I can't talk because I'm having the worst contraction of my life, or so I thought. She obliged without question. She leaves the room for a moment and returns and tells me the anesthesiologist is in the OR, probably helping out with the emergency that happened while I was still in Triage. She tells me it could be a while. My thoughts: why is there only ONE anesthesiologist on this floor? Are women delivering at this particular hospital supposed to go into labor ONE at a time? Did I miss the sign up sheet for that? This is ALL Joel's fault.

Tears pouring down my face, I beg her to help me and offer me some sort of pain relief. I'm terrified I'm going to end up delivering this child without any drugs. I'm terrified something will go wrong just like every other time I've gone through anything medical. She says she can give me narcotics to "take the edge off for a about two hours". SOLD. Give me the juice. If that's my only option I'll take it! After asking if its safe for the baby she proceeds. Ahhh Fentanyl. She injects that magic juice into my IV, I feel the warmth of the drugs flow up my arm and down my body. For the first time in 15 hours I feel relaxed. Shitfaced yes, but more importantly, relaxed. Some of you "Crunchy Moms" are probably ripping your eyes out reading that I opted for narcotic pain relief during labor but, whatever. My body, my baby, my choice. You don't have to read this if its going to make you throw up your lunch of cooked-in-coconut-oil quinoa and kale chips into a cloth diaper. The doctor said it was OK to give narcotics as long as it will wear off before the transition stage of labor. And guess what? He is a doctor so I believe him.

I wouldn't necessarily say they were following my birth plan, but my amazing nurse was sure as shit giving it all she had. I take a nap, or pass out, I'm not sure. It lasts about an hour. I'm woken up by a contraction that takes my breath away.

"Where the F&CK is my epidural!" I yell.

Crickets.....

Must Go Faster

I really wanted my Mom and sister to come with us to the hospital. My Mom had said since the day she found out I was pregnant that she wasn't "that kind of Mom", she wouldn't hold my hand through labor or even be in the waiting room at the hospital while I delivered her granddaughter. She instructed Joel to let her know when I was 10 centimeters dilated and literally in the act of pushing the baby out. Only then would she get in the car and head to the hospital. Or so she thought. Now she says her "mom gene" kicked in and she couldn't sit home knowing what I was going through without being in close proximity. She got to the hospital about 2-3 hours behind us. She tried to be tough. It was cute.

I waddle to the car, still ugly crying. The next time I get into this car and pull into this driveway I will have a child in tow. I take a minute and look around while breathing through another freaking contraction, look up at the sky and see black clouds in the distance. Oh shit, we have got to move now. A storm is coming. Its creeping up on rush hour and I'll be damned if I birth this baby in the car on the side of the highway. I start to panic yet again. Over and over in my mind I kept saying "must go faster, must go faster" imitating Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park. I keep looking behind us and the storm seems to be creeping up on us faster than Joel was driving the car. Now is not the time to drive like a grandmother, Joel. Now is the time to drive it like you stole it, but don't kill us.

Somehow, during the entire 30 minutes, while navigating the city in his car which has a manual transmission, Joel manages to hold my hand and talk me through every contraction I suffered through. They are getting closer together, about 8 minutes apart now and the pain is only getting worse. This must be what dying feels like. The pain has now started shooting down the front of my thighs. I'm being split in two. I feel it necessary to make Joel repeat my birth plan over and over again so I'm certain he understands what I want. He puts up with my irrationality and does as I request not two, but three times. "You want all the drugs and both of you not die. The End" he repeats.

The Best Dad from Day 1

Finally, we make it to the hospital. I see the epidural light at the end of this tunnel of labor. Or so I thought. Joel asks where we should park. Park? Hell no. We aren't wasting time driving around to the three different lots on three different city blocks to look for parking! We are going to valet this bitch, throw the keys at the kid in the orange vest and get this mama to the epidural man. STAT.

Step one, security. We have to check in at the security desk because crazy people have a tendency to steal babies. Of course the day I go into labor would be the same day they are training a new guy at the security desk. "I'm in labor, this is my baby daddy, I need an epidural now". Translation: Hurry the hell up new guy before I throat punch you. Joel trades his drivers license for his Labor and Delivery/Maternity ward badge. They ask me if I want a wheelchair. Nope. It felt better for me to stand up through the contractions and I felt like I could walk faster than Joel could push me. Step two, the elevators. I knew it. I predicted it. It took forever for the damn elevators to do their thing. Time for me was no longer counted in minutes, it was in contractions. It took three contractions for us to get from the car to here. Unacceptable. One more contraction in the elevator before we get to the L & D floor. And then I see it. The labor and deliver triage window. I swear there was a beam light shining down on this particular part of the hospital with angels humming in the background.

Step three, convince these people I'm in labor and to keep me. I waddle up to the window. "Hi, I'm in labor and I'd like my epidural now".

"Lets start with your name", the nurse replies. Yeah, she probably needs to know that. I tell her all my statistics and she gets me into a room in OVERFLOW TRIAGE. Apparently the insane storm made every pregnant woman in the city and county go into labor. So, regular old Triage was full. GREAT. Later, I'd find out that just ten minutes after Joel and I arrived at the hospital, the storm had caused a giant tree to fall over the JFX, the same highway that we'd taken to get to the hospital, closing the road for hours and causing numerous power outages. Thank you Mommy for making us leave the house when you did, or else we'd have to have name our baby "Jones Falls" after the road I'd deliver her on.

So far, my birth plan isn't working out. I'm already at the hospital and I haven't gotten the drugs yet. This is not good. The nurse escorts me to my room, I get undressed and put on the ever so flattering gown and wait. Two contractions later, finally a doctor. She asks how I'm doing and I reply "better now that you're here to give me my epidural". She laughs. Apparently, that's not how it works.

"Let's make sure you are really in labor so we can admit you." She replies.

I say something to the effect of "Excuse me. I'm not leaving. I've been contracting for over 12 hours. I'm miserable and I want the damn drugs. Get this baby out of me. I have a very specific birth plan and you are ignoring it".

This is where Joel interrupts me, grabs a hold of my hand, puts his other hand on my forehead, brushes my hair back and replies to the doctor, "Ok that sounds great, thank you". I probably hated him at that point, but looking back, I am in awe of how he took control of the situation while simultaneously calming me down. Proving to me once again that he is "the one".

They hook me up to the contraction monitor and we wait. Foreverrrrrr. Ok more like an hour, or as I like to call it 7.5 contractions. Finally they move us into regular triage. One step closer to my delivery room. Every single nurse/doctor/sonogram tech that comes in to check on us, run a test, start an IV, etc., I ask for an epidural. I even asked an intern who replied "you don't want me doing that, this is my first medschool rotation". I didn't care. At that point I'd of let the damn janitor insert the epidural catheter. The doctor finally comes in to check my cervix. The moment of truth. I swear I'm at like 8cm with the pain I'm feeling. She sticks her hand under my gown and up my lady parts and proudly exclaims, "yes, you are in labor. We are not sending you home. You're three centimeters dilated!"

THREE CENIMETERS.
That's it?
I want a second opinion.
Where the f?$k is my epidural.



The Best Daughter Since Day 1