Part III – In the hospital

So defeated. So frustrated. We both tried to keep our spirits up, but I for one was as zoned out and teary-eyed as a person can get on the ride in to the hospital. There is no way to accurately describe the mix of emotions we were both facing. We were both very aware that this was how it was now supposed to be – we were not willing to take any chances with the health of our baby or my health, and under the given circumstances, the hospital became the safer place to be. We really understood that, but it was a hard pill to swallow. I began to try to brace myself for the operating table, to try to reconcile that we had exhausted all other possibilities and it would be necessary if we had to get to that point. I was trying to think of what else to tell Legal Midwife. The interesting thing was, I wasn’t really… scared… I sort of knew everything would be ok, but I was really nervous about how we’d get there. I kept reminding myself of that saying, "God doesn’t give you anything more than you can handle", and that whatever was coming next would be something I could survive. We pulled into the hospital parking ramp and found a space towards the top. We were about four floors from the ground, and we waited for what seemed like about 10 minutes for the elevator to come before I decided that stairs were a better option. Did I mention I really had to pee? At this point, anything that brought me closer to a bathroom was a good option. So down all those flights of stairs we went, and I managed to not have a contraction. Some hospital staffers were at the ground floor waiting for the elevator, and made jovial comments like, "I know why you’re here". I know they had no idea what I was going through emotionally, and tried very hard to be polite and smile at them. As we made our way out of the ramp, across the street towards the hospital, it was clearly the end of the day for the working world around there. I really did not want to have a contraction in front of the whole world, but was sort of forced to. I tried so hard to hide it. My Beloved tried to tell me it was ok, but I really didn’t want to hear it. At the end of it though, it was impossible to hide, but it didn’t seem like many people were paying attention. This hospital is kind of a maze, but we had been there a few times before and knew our way through the bends of the hallways that would bring us up to the labor and delivery floor. I was grateful that LMW had told me exactly which floor, as I had made a concerted effort to avoid knowing anything about the hospital. I just didn’t want to be able to visualize being there lest that distract me from focusing on my birth at home. We made our way up to the L&D floor and checked in. It took forever to give the woman our information, exacerbated by the fact that the woman checking us in was kind of an idiot. (MB actually confirmed this because she had once worked with him in his office and had been terminated.) And then we were stuck in the waiting room for what seemed like forever, though it was probably less than half an hour. Finally, we were called in to the admitting/exam room. The table I had to sit on was adjusted so the back was really low and uncomfortable, and I was paranoid about moving in any way that might encourage Lindsay to turn in an unproductive way. I was so miserable in there. I was hooked up to an Electronic Fetal Monitor (EFM) and we waited for LMW to come in. While we waited, I noticed a chart on the wall that gave a visual reference for centimeters of dilation. I looked and thought, "Oh my gosh, I think I’m only 4cm". I did not say anything to MB about it, but that just made things worse. Finally LMW came in the room. We spoke for a bit, and then she said she had to do an exam. I assumed the position uncomfortably. She went to get a tool of some sort, and it wasn’t there. So I had to lie there while she went to find what she needed. That part may have felt the longest yet. Until… she gave me an internal vaginal exam with a speculum (AKA, "the duckbills"). VE’s are miserable for me in labor, and usually spawn the most painful contractions imaginable. And then, to top it there was this hard piece of metal inside me too. Augh. I screamed with pain and yelled, "TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT!" Which, at last, she did. And then she did another VE without the speculum. Like Illegal MW had said, she thought that the baby had hair and it made it difficult for her to tell how dilated I was, but she was pretty certain I was at 4cm. Yes, the dreaded 4cm. The number I got "stuck" at with Little Girl. 3 days of labor had brought me to 4cm. Unbelievable. I just wanted to give up right then and there. I was beside myself. We were then taken to the L&D room where I would spend the rest of my labor. I uttered the words to my husband, "I don’t know how I can do this anymore. I can’t. I want to give up." He was feeling just as sad as I was. He was really scared too – scared of what was going on, scared of what might happen, scared of how I might handle it. He was not anxious to relive everything we’d worked so hard to get through over the past 2.5 years. I think he was most scared of trying to help me get through that kind of depression again. He was still trying to figure out how to deal with me Immediately I was hooked up to an EFM – not a telemetry unit like I had specified in my birth plan, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of moving around – I needed rest. And hospital policy would not allow me to have a hep-trap, so I was hooked up to an IV. The first of nearly every part of my birth plan to go out the window. The nicest thing was that everyone I dealt with in the L&D came in to introduce themselves to me. And, they all told me they had read my birth plan, and asked me questions about it. It was so refreshing, and I actually felt respected. This was a major plus. (Of course, in an hour or so the shift changed and I didn’t have the new people do that, but I didn’t care by then!) Meanwhile, I was weighing my choices. How much more labor could I endure? Would it be better just to let it go and have the surgery? But, if I had the surgery, would I still end up wondering "what if?" Might it be better if I did decide to do it – because it would be on my terms? Or would it only lead to hating myself even more? I knew one thing: I needed desperately to rest. So, against my better judgement, I requested an epidural. LMW suggested one other thing which was against my better judgement: pitocin. I did not want to hear about that. I was certain that pitocin would cause a rupture, or that it would cause the same decelerations that led to my c/s. LMW said that my contractions were strong enough, and that Lindsay was right there at my cervix, just waiting for it to open up, but they needed to get closer together. LMW left the room, and I talked to MB about it. He wasn’t sure what to say. He understood both sides – why I did not want it, but also why it might be good. He suggested I call IMW and get her opinion. I thought this was a good idea. IMW said she would definitely take the pitocin. She was concerned about hemorrhage, and felt it was actually important to try this route. She said she didn’t know what else would work, and things weren’t picking up for me by any other means. So I agreed. More to come… Is this exciting or what?