birthing: day -1

This post could also be titled The Night Karen Turned Into a Crazy Lady.

As I alluded to before, labor wasn't an easy task for me. Five days before he was born, the contractions began. They came fast and hard. But not fast enough. So we waited. They usually showed up at night and I had my trusty yoga ball to bounce the pain away. But after the fourth night I was tired and beat. And I'd already decided the epidural was a must.

On Monday I was at the commissary with my mom and barely made it through the line and back to the car. It wasn't that I was having contractions, but my back hurt, my stomach was heavy, and walking was difficult. So I decided I'd go into Labor & Delivery when Jim got home, contractions or not, and hope for that magic number: four centimeters. If I was four centimeters, they couldn't send me home.

But I wasn't. I was only three. So I cried. I couldn't imagine another night tethered to my yoga ball and a clock, counting in pain but to no avail. Gratefully the tears made Bad Bedside Manners Midwife and her trusty Doesn't Say Much Nurse soften a bit and they discussed sending me home with a sleeping pill.

I initially protested, but Jim was for it from the beginning. He'd taken Ambien before and thought it was great stuff. So down to the pharmacy we went. When the nice guy behind the window handed me the bag, he had a look of concern and gave me this warning: "When you take this, be in bed ready to fall asleep. Don't read a book, don't mow the lawn. You can out-think this medication and it'll really mess you up."

Jim's response: "Don't worry, I'll get my other 9 months pregnant wife to mow the lawn at 9:00 at night." The guy just kinda looked at him.

Back home we went, Ambien in hand, the promise of a peaceful night before us. Or so we thought. (This is where the muppets come in. I'm sure you were starting to wonder.)

By 9:30pm the pill was in my tummy and my eyes were closed. Unfortunately the next thing I remember is having to go to the bathroom, stumbling in the dark, surrounded by muppets - by the hundreds. Now it should be said that I don't like muppets the way some people don't like clowns. They are scary little monsters wrapped in fur. And they were everywhere. If I opened my eyes they were gone. But I'd taken a sleeping pill, people. My eyelids felt like bricks.

As I stumbled, I felt Jim and could tell he was a little concerned. His wife had clearly flipped her lid, and he was the one who talked her into it. And I think I can say with confidence that he didn't leave my side the rest of the night. Because every time I opened my eyes, there he was telling me to relax. And I'd feel better.

Pretty soon the contractions began again and this is my memory of the night (I'm not making this up, it's 100% true). I'm imagining this is what LSD must be like.

With every contraction, a muppet would hand me something that I had to give to Jim. But to get it to him I'd have to bounce on the ball. And I could tell how hard the contraction would be based on what they gave me. Once I distinctly remember being handed a belt and telling Jim not to worry, "this one won't be bad because the belt was small." So I rolled onto the ball, bounced away and the belt disappeared. I assume it went to Jim.

The next one was a doozy, though. And I knew it would be because I somehow turned into a muppet. I remember that vividly and could even draw it out for you if I wasn't so artistically challenged. So my big bottomed muppet self rolled onto the ball and, well, the details are a little sketchy after that point. But somehow the muppet was given to Jim.

All the while I remember Jim saying over and over again, Relax. And then at one point he said something about needing two more good contractions. I was aware enough to realize that meant something and asked, Why two? He said that for the last three hours I'd been contracting pretty steadily. The first two hours at 4 minutes apart, and the last one at 3 minutes apart. If it keeps up, we should go to the hospital. At that point it was 3:30am on Tuesday morning.

Somehow I was able to put together that my husband had been by my side for the last 6 hours with his watch, coaching me through contractions. He walked me to the bathroom everytime I had to go, which felt like every 10 minutes. And whenever I realized he was there, I felt safe. Seriously, this man deserves Husband of the Year.

After my two contractions we woke my mom, told her she had 5 minutes to get ready, and we were out the door.

Once we got to the hospital, we heard the magic words: I was 5 centimeters.

These are some quotes from the evening as told to me by Jim (since I don't recall alot):

• "I'm worried because there are at least 100,000 people and only 50,000 subways." (We're assuming by people, I meant muppets. Scary muppets.)
  
• "Ok, right now I need to focus on contractions, ... (something else) ..., and sleeping." To which Jim replied, "No, the thing you need to do is relax and go to bed." To which I replied, "Ok, first priority: relaxing. Second priority: sleeping."
• And then the thing about the belt.

Our take-away from the evening: Karen will never take Ambien again, pregnant or not. Even though there are 9 pills in the bottle. I think I'll donate them to charity.

Next up: Eli's birth day.