Sunday, September 28
Since it’s Sunday afternoon, my doctor’s office is closed. I call the after-hours emergency line and tell the woman on the phone about my leakage. She seems bored until she gets to the part where it says I’ve tested positive for some Strep B thing. Basically it means that I need to get to the hospital as soon as my water breaks, because there’s a high chance of an infection developing.
The woman stresses to me that the hospital is probably going to send me home, but that I need to go get checked out. I guess curly fries are out.
I tell Luke what the lady said, and we start gathering our stuff for the hospital. He is very calm and level-headed, and even though I’m freaking out inside, I’m trying not to get my hopes up. I can’t let myself believe that I’m finally having this baby, because if they send me back home, I’ll completely fall apart.
We drive into the city and park in the garage three blocks away from the hospital. I didn’t bother to really get dressed, instead opting to wear one of Luke’s white t-shirts and a clean pair of pajama bottoms. I laugh at how I must look; hugely pregnant, walking in Murray Hill wearing pajamas with Luke following me with a suitcase.
We get to the maternity ward, and they stick me in an exam room. They send in a resident to do an exam, but since my contractions are still pretty far apart, they clearly don’t think I’m a priority case. Their suspicions are confirmed when they do the exam and find my amniotic sac still intact– my water hasn’t broken. The doctor tells me this and I mentally prepare myself to go home, since they’re going to discharge me. However, they do one more test. There’s a strip, much like a PH strip I remember using in high school chemistry. This one is used to detect the presence of amniotic fluid. The doctor surprises herself by confirming my suspicions– my water is leaking and I’m having this baby.
It’s 5:30 in the evening when I’m officially admitted. The first few hours are uneventful. They hook me up to the machines and ask me a bunch of questions. My contractions hurt, but are still manageable. A few hours go by, and we’re watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition on TV. My labor isn’t progressing fast enough for their liking, so they give me a bag of Pitocen. That sucks.
All the sudden, my contractions get stronger, faster and more painful. It never gets to the point where I feel like I need to scream, although there were a couple of “ow, OW. What the fuck, baby?” statements in there. This goes on for a few hours, and then I come to an important realization: I’m planning on getting an Epidural anyway. What the hell am I waiting for? I’m not a hero.
I call the nurse in and tell her I’m ready for the sweet, sweet release of drugs. She informs me that the anesthesiologists are in surgery, so I’ll have to wait.
THREE HOURS LATER…
