I’ve never been good at waiting. It’s not one of my virtues. So waiting for my due date was not easy for me. In fact, I was begining to think I was going to need to be induced at some point, maybe forty three weeks into pregnancy.
My due date was June six and everyone said that I was not going to last until then, but I knew it had to be June. It couldn’t be May, I don’t like May. So, I got a little anxious when I woke up leaking liquid at five thirty in the morning Thursday the 30th of May. It wasn’t a lot, maybe some 60 to 100 milliliters (a measurement that I gave to every doctor that saw me in the subsequent days and they all looked at me like “milliliters? Seriously?” and I had to be all like, I’m a lab technician, I’m giving you the only measure I know by heart.) but we didn’t wanted to take any chances obviously, so I went to the OB’s office for a checkup.
I should mention that this all happened on the day that manfriend was supposed to be away for the day on a business meeting because that man almost cut himself in two equal pieces to fulfil all his duties and I’m forever grateful that he managed to be with me.
I knew I wasn’t going to be ready for labor but it was still pretty discouraging to hear I was dilated zero centimetres. And even worst to hear the baby’s heartbeat was too “flat” (not a lot of “activity” reflected on the graphic) for the doctors liking.
Next morning at six in the morning though, I knew something was going to be different because I felt my first contraction and I was amazed that I could clearly point it out and know it, even though I had never before felt a contraction.
That night at 9pm we gathered our things and went to the hospital. My contractions were 30 mins apart and I later learned that I was zero centimetres dilated, AGAIN. For all I knew I was going to be zero centimetres dilated forever because how could it be that my body was not responding? This wasn’t going to fly, I kept repeating to anyone that would hear. Hey nurse, this ain’t gonna fly. I mean it!
I stayed the night in an observation room, no one could stay with me, my doctor was reachable only on his phone and all I had with me was a towel that was attached to my hands because I was under the impression that being in the hospital meant my water was going to break any second. My water never actually broke like in the movies. All lies. LIES.
The next morning my doctor woke up early to see me. It was Saturday and I liked him better for it. I was three centimetres dilated and after he checked me my contractions got stronger and I was ready to rumble. I was finally admitted to a private labor room where two family members could be with me. I had never longed so much to be with someone, to not be alone, in my entire life.
From here on all I remember was pain and screaming my heart out while holding on to manfriend and my sister-in-law. I was breathing the right way though. I’m very proud of that. I couldn’t hold back on vocalising because it was the only way I could manage to get the pain out but I kept breathing correctly and it paid off because in four hours I felt ready to push and my doctor felt it was time to get the whole crew in the room. Suddenly my most intimate parts were in display for about eight people. I don’t know why they call them “intimate” parts if you are a woman who could potentially get pregnant. They are never going to be that “intimate”.
And then it was time to push my baby out. I clearly remember telling my doctor and everyone else that they could forget about it because I was done with labor. I was exhausted and if someone was going to bring that baby to the world it was going to be the very sharp edge of a surgery knife, thank you very much.
Next post, my baby arrives.