LABOR AND DELIVERY: PART 1

I made elaborate plans to ensure that the happiest day of my life was to be the day my daughter was born.  While it was nothing short of a blessed miracle, I somehow connotated “happiest” with blissful, rapturous and being fully present. Ha!
Off to the hospital her father and I went, at 7 a.m. on July 10, 2003, so that I could be admitted and induced, at 38 wks, due to a development called polyhydramnious, or, in layman’s terms, excessive amniotic fluid.  Why this happened late in my pregnancy remains a mystery, but I was told that if my water broke “unexpectedly” that it could present an emergency situation. Like what, I wondered? A flash flood? No, more like the pressure of the fluid could cause problems with the umbilical cord.  My midwife used words like “choking” and “strangling”.  Enough said.
So, already Phase 1 of my plan had been seriously mis-managed. Didn’t the Universe know that I was supposed to go into labor naturally and deliver my girl soothingly and all Enya-like into a warm bath at the Birthing Center?? For crying out loud!  Instead, I found myself in the hospital, hooked up to monitors and whatnot.  I was tethered to the bed but comforted myself with the fact that at least I was laying on some crisp, white sheets.  Oh well, just go with the flow I told myself. Really, it’s up to me to create the environment that I want. I had brought my Enya and Stevie Nicks CD’s, lavender-scented candles and favorite pillow and jammies.  Sounds like Girls Night In to me!  How about we order a pizza? What? No food? Oh, okay...
I glared at the smiling nurse as she followed monitor cords and I.V. lines with her fingers, braiding and unbraiding them. Her hair fell in crispy curls, obviously the victims of too much styling product.  A few rogue strands scraped my face and I bit my tongue.
I was told that the Pictocin used to induce labor would cause my contractions to be even more intense and, well, painful than “normal” ones.  I was encouraged to have a walking epidural.  Well, seeing as I was trapped in bed, what was the point of the “walking” part?  Not to mention the fact that I thought I had been perfectly clear in my request to not have an epidural because I was going to deliver my child naturally and Zen-like.  Again, I was informed that given the “gravity” of my “situation” I would need to have an epidural needle in place, just in case, God forbid, I needed to go in for an emergency C-section.  Okay, I’m going with the flow, I reminded myself, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed while the nurse parted my gown in the back, exposing my extra-wide derrière.  What a bitch, I thought, as she poked at my spine.  Oh my God! I thought. Where is this hostility coming from?  Followed by: What’s wrong with you; stop being so hateful! Then: If you’re going to be hateful, get a load of J. over there, snoozing. What the hell is his problem?
My baby’s father was curled up in a chair in the corner, snoring shamelessly. No surprises there, but somehow, in my elaborate planning of how the day should unfold, he somehow miraculously transformed into an attentive, capable, take-charge, mind-reading Johnny-on-the-spot.  Bummer.  Major bummer.  That glimpse of him in the chair was the last time I recalled seeing him until after our daughter was born, although he insists he was “right there.” I remember the midwife being right there, massaging my back, feeding me ice chips and smoothing my furrowed brow, but him? Not a trace. Did I mention that we’re no longer together?
So, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, curled into a “C” shape, bracing myself for the needle that sent my brain into electric freeze as Crunchy Curls squeezed my hands and, all of a sudden, my water broke! It was as if someone has upturned a 5-gallon bucket onto the floor.  A flash flood indeed!  An “Oh!” escaped Crunchy Curls lips as water splashed up over her white Danskos and splattered her nauseatingly cute pink-with-multi-colored-teddybear print scrubs.  She dropped my hands and jumped back, knocking over the tray table and spilling even more water onto the floor. I looked behind me as a river of water wound it’s way under the bed and toward the bathroom in a stream.  “Holy shit!” I exclaimed.  Little did I know that those words were to become my new Zen mantra over the next 12 hours....