A. Sean reads this blog. And if you even say the word "cervix" (sorry Sean) to Sean his eyelids flutter with the threat of a faint. Sturdy stock this one.
B. My dad reads this blog. My dad had to aid and abet in the processes of the 8 labors and births of his own children. I think the man's seen/heard/been through enough gore.
So if A:B as B:A then let C be:
This is not going to be a graphic story the stuff of which heroes are made. These facts will be accurate, but pared down for the sakes of certainly the only two males who read the philosophical workings featured herein.
Q. E. D. (quod erat demonstrandum: that which had to be demonstrated)
^one of the few things retained from my 2 years at a liberal arts college.^
that and my flawless and irrefutable logic. (right Sean?)
On a stifling Wednesday afternoon in early August of 2011, my OB performed a routine checkup of my "progress" (inference, people) and cheerfully suggested: "Oh, get comfortable! You've got a couple of weeks yet."
First of all "get comfortable at 39 1/2 weeks" is an oxymoron. And she should know that. Furthermore, what?? I was 5 days shy of my due date, and haven't they honed in on some exact science of due datery so as not to inspire false hope in a full term pregnant woman? No. They'd not.
Fast forward approximately 36 hours to Friday morning, August 5. Back in 2011, Sean had a job at which he worked 40 hours between Monday and Thursday, and then had a three day weekend. So he was still sawing logs when I woke up around 8 to - what else do you do at nearly 40 weeks? but - go to the bathroom. Only something was a bit off about the color of my pee... I called my mom and described it and she didn't sound worried but thought I should call my doctor just in case. I started whipping up some scrambled eggs as I phoned the office and spoke with a nurse. After a brief description, she said gingerly, "You know, that sounds like meconium. You should probably come in to the hospital."
It's not really in my nature to panic too much, but it is slightly(strongly) in Sean's, so when I went in to wake him up, I sat on the bed, rubbed his back and whispered, "Hey, good morning. I'm making scrambled eggs. It's a three day weekend! Oh, we should probably go to the hospital. Do you want some coffee?" Sean had kept his eyelids firmly and stubbornly shut for the first three sentences and they FLEW open at the fourth. Like a cartoon.
We never got around to the scrambled eggs, (which later we found out you should ALWAYS eat before the hospital because they.don't.let.you) and the half-whipped batch sat on the counter and made for a pleasant smell on our arrival home. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We got to the hospital in twenty minutes, found our way up to labor & delivery, and they got me a super flattering gown.
the great white whale
The nurses confirmed that there had been a meconium leak (to which we were like, "huh?" and nurse was like "the baby pooped in there" and Sean was like "ew.") and that I'd be staying until a baby materialized. The thing was, I hadn't even had so much as a Braxton-Hicks contraction, like, ever. Nothing had started at all. By this time it was 9:30 or so.
The nurses started me on Pitocin and by 11 I was in serrrrious labor. And by that I mean pain. Because ouch, why didn't someone tell me? Labor sucks. By about 1 or 1:30 I was being hit with contractions one on top of the other on top of the other yet SOMEHOW, I was not progressing at all. The doctor on call was new to the OB practice I'd been going to throughout my pregnancy, so I'd never met her. Sean and I both agreed: cold and calculated. She was professional and all, but she made us so so anxious. Which you probably shouldn't do to a laboring woman? She would check that little graph thingy that charts the baby's heartbeat and would mutter "hm. I do not like this heartbeat. This heartbeat... hm." AND THAT WAS IT. She didn't elaborate. Of course we were asking all types of questions and wondering if our baby was ok, and she'd just fumble something about the heartbeat shooting way up past 200 when a contraction started, then plummet down to the 80s when it ended. Um ok. Now I'm panicked.
Somewhere in the midst of this a nurse had felt up my belly and proclaimed out of the blue: "oh you've got a little peanut in there! This one's going to be tiny." In no previous doctor's appointments had anyone said the baby was undersized. So now I really felt great. Labor room = panic room.
Are you on the edge? Great. Cuz I'm gonna break here.
Until tomorrow then! Mwa ha ha.