I was awakened at 5:30am for another blood pressure test, that showed normal; another cervical check, that showed no progress; and a new IV order, one for pitocin...again. This made my third round, in just as many Monday mornings, of pitocin. I was convinced that I was just going to stay pregnant forever!
Around 6am the pitocin started. Except this time, instead of dozing back to sleep I was in PAIN! I'd had contractions and such with the other rounds of pitocin, I'd get a shot of darvocet and all would be well again. I wanted to walk. I wanted out of that bed. I wanted to be held. I wanted someone there to talk to, at least!
Alas, I was alone. The dead-beat was still out 'celebrating' his last night that he was ever going to drink...for the umpteenth time just this month. I was 12 hours from family. After after two weekends of all of this already under my belt my new friends in the area were no longer all that interested in hanging out at the hospital with me, again. I was feeling quite dejected and alone.
6:30am...I decided I was no longer going to be able to sleep, so I might as well as watch some TV....I semi-sat up...and then it happened.....
I sat there for a few minutes, completely unsure of what was going on. I was quite sure I didn't have to pee prior to trying to sit up, but at that far along, in such a position, accidents do happen. Such as the week before when I'd made a similar motion, of attempting to sit upright, and freaked out thinking my water had broke, only to be sorely disappointed by the nurse confirming it was urine and not my water breaking. So this time, instead of instantly hitting the call button, I waited.
A contraction hit me...and I could of sworn I was actually going to rip in half this time.
Now, I have a VERY high tolerance for pain. I live with a high level of pain on a daily basis. This new set of contractions made every other contraction I'd had over the past month look like comparing a finger prick to cutting off your finger with a butter knife.
After four of such contractions in about 15 minutes I was finally able to get to my call button.
My contractions were one right on top of another, I felt like I was dying, and by the time a nurse came in to assist another 20 minutes had passed.
7am...two things happened. First...the deadbeat finally showed up. Of course he was drunk and ready to sleep, so that's what he did. Handed me a box of food - once again *drum roll please* it was a cold grilled cheese sandwich and tater tots. Now where this asshole determined I liked cold grilled cheese and cold tater tots, I'll have no idea, especially when I asked him to SNEAK me in some TacoBell, during the night, when the nurses weren't as in and out all the time...but whatever. The second thing to happen - the nurse finally came in. She confirmed my suspicions:
A contraction hit me...and I could of sworn I was actually going to rip in half this time.
Now, I have a VERY high tolerance for pain. I live with a high level of pain on a daily basis. This new set of contractions made every other contraction I'd had over the past month look like comparing a finger prick to cutting off your finger with a butter knife.
After four of such contractions in about 15 minutes I was finally able to get to my call button.
My contractions were one right on top of another, I felt like I was dying, and by the time a nurse came in to assist another 20 minutes had passed.
7am...two things happened. First...the deadbeat finally showed up. Of course he was drunk and ready to sleep, so that's what he did. Handed me a box of food - once again *drum roll please* it was a cold grilled cheese sandwich and tater tots. Now where this asshole determined I liked cold grilled cheese and cold tater tots, I'll have no idea, especially when I asked him to SNEAK me in some TacoBell, during the night, when the nurses weren't as in and out all the time...but whatever. The second thing to happen - the nurse finally came in. She confirmed my suspicions:
~*~*~*~MY WATER HAD BROKE!~*~*~*~
I was dilated to 1cm...that was it...and she told me that 1cm was 'stretching' it.
I never wanted to be up and walking so badly at that point! Sitting was uncomfortable and laying down was worse!
I cried for pain medications as I watched my contraction monitor go up the chart...then off the chart...and 45-60 seconds later the marks would be back on the chart.
I BEGGED for more pain medications as this pattern repeated every 7 minutes for over an hour.
I called my mother numerous times, in between contractions, mainly just crying, sobbing, just pitiful.
8am...The doctor came in. He ordered that the pitocin dose be lowered. Almost instantly my contractions eased up in frequency.
8:30...I had my epidural ...and the pitocin was increased, I'm sure of it. My doctor jokingly asked me if sleeping was all that the deadbeat did, seeing as every time he came in the deadbeat was passed out. Unfortunately the doctor wasn't there to see the harassment to the nurses and the screaming he did at me prior to him leaving out to get drunk again.
The hours passed by slowly. At one point the deadbeat left out to take care of work, since I wasn't able to go into the offices for him, AGAIN.
Noon...the doctor came back and checked me again. I was still at 1cm dilated...two if he really tried to stretch me.
I was completely helpless. Stuck there, medically paralyzed from the waist down. Nothing to read, nothing of interest on television, no one to talk to, unless I called them. At least until the battery died on the phone.
I wept. This was in no way how I had planned on giving birth. I had envisioned going Au naturale, as I'd done with Alonna. Four hours with her and it was all done and over with. Here I was sitting at week 3 of inductions, hooked up to pain meds, no one around.
3pm...The dead beat returned, as well as did the doctor. The doctor chatted with the deadbeat for a few minutes before checking on my progress. My progress: I was at a 2...maybe a 3...but he wouldn't confirm the 3 part. That's when he dropped the bombshell. He told me that I had 3 hours to make some progress or he was going to order a cesarean. I was PISSED! If I wasn't completely drained, starved, weak, and unable to move I would of jumped off that bed and slugged him square in his smug mug! I wanted the drugs all stopped. I wanted to be unhooked from all the monitors. I wanted to go home and just finish it all on my own. I didn't want to go back to the apartment I shared with the deadbeat. I wanted to go back home, to Oklahoma. I figured a 12 hour drive from Indianapolis would do me some mental good and physical good. Driving had always been my release. Driving and fishing. I wanted to be on White River, just down the mountain from Eureka Springs. The absolute last place I wanted to be was right there in that hospital room with these 'men' looking at me like I had somehow screwed up my own son's birth. I don't think I ever wanted to hit somebody so badly as I did at that very moment!
I wept some more. I tried pushing, thinking if I can't stand up and let gravity help me than I was going to induce some 'artificial' gravity of my own...I WAS going to make some progress if it was the last thing I did!
4pm...a nurse came in and checked me. She confirmed 3cm dilated. But was also worried about the drop in Mikeal's heartbeat when I'd have a contraction. I PLEADED with her to just unhook me, remove me from the meds, and just let me be. She of course refused.
4:30pm...the doc came back in. I hated him, but I was defeated. I was helpless. And for the last 20 minutes I was forced to listen to the dead beat screaming at me about how worthless I was as a woman. He ordered the cesarean and preparations were made. The pitocin was stopped and I was wheeled into the operating room.
I watched as they prepped me for surgery in my reflection in the overhead light...completely frightened and overwhelmed. My arms were strapped down. I just laid there and cried.
5pm...prep work was done, deadbeat was allowed in the room in full scrub suit. Surgery was to begin. The deadbeat left the camera in the room and it was too late to go back for it.
5:17...I heard it. The most beautiful sound in the world. Mikeal Alan Paul had made his entrance into the world. He was cleaned up, weighed, measured, scored, wrapped up tightly, and then handed to the hungover deadbeat. What I saw of him when I finally got to actually see him was a tiny little face inside several layers of blanket.
Mikeal weighed in at 9lbs 5oz. He was 22in long. With a head circumference of 18cm. We had found the root of the reason why he was not descending...that lovely head of his, that even after multiple ultrasound attempts they were still unable to get a measurement of, was not able to squeeze itself into the birth canal. I felt better after wards about having a cesarean...chances were fairly high that a natural birth would not of fared as well.
His first Apgar score was a 9, immediately at birth, improving to a 10 5 minutes later. I was quite adamant that he not get a bottle or pacifier, but that too was ignored. They gave him sugar water in a bottle because they claimed his blood sugar level was low. Seriously! What the hell is up with that?! I hadn't had anything at all to eat in over 24 hours, of course his blood sugar is going to be low you dimwits! Seriously, I think the medical community often lacks basic common sense. Any idiot can be a doctor, it takes a special sort of genius to have some common sense!
After what seemed like forever the nurse finally brought him to me. I was in complete love. Everything that had happened over the course of the previous 20 years of my life no longer mattered. All that mattered is the man of my dreams was right there in my arms, nursing.
I have completely enjoyed the last eight years of his life and I can't see that ever changing.
I love you my dear Monkey Mikeal!! Happy 8th birthday!
I was dilated to 1cm...that was it...and she told me that 1cm was 'stretching' it.
I never wanted to be up and walking so badly at that point! Sitting was uncomfortable and laying down was worse!
I cried for pain medications as I watched my contraction monitor go up the chart...then off the chart...and 45-60 seconds later the marks would be back on the chart.
I BEGGED for more pain medications as this pattern repeated every 7 minutes for over an hour.
I called my mother numerous times, in between contractions, mainly just crying, sobbing, just pitiful.
8am...The doctor came in. He ordered that the pitocin dose be lowered. Almost instantly my contractions eased up in frequency.
8:30...I had my epidural ...and the pitocin was increased, I'm sure of it. My doctor jokingly asked me if sleeping was all that the deadbeat did, seeing as every time he came in the deadbeat was passed out. Unfortunately the doctor wasn't there to see the harassment to the nurses and the screaming he did at me prior to him leaving out to get drunk again.
The hours passed by slowly. At one point the deadbeat left out to take care of work, since I wasn't able to go into the offices for him, AGAIN.
Noon...the doctor came back and checked me again. I was still at 1cm dilated...two if he really tried to stretch me.
I was completely helpless. Stuck there, medically paralyzed from the waist down. Nothing to read, nothing of interest on television, no one to talk to, unless I called them. At least until the battery died on the phone.
I wept. This was in no way how I had planned on giving birth. I had envisioned going Au naturale, as I'd done with Alonna. Four hours with her and it was all done and over with. Here I was sitting at week 3 of inductions, hooked up to pain meds, no one around.
3pm...The dead beat returned, as well as did the doctor. The doctor chatted with the deadbeat for a few minutes before checking on my progress. My progress: I was at a 2...maybe a 3...but he wouldn't confirm the 3 part. That's when he dropped the bombshell. He told me that I had 3 hours to make some progress or he was going to order a cesarean. I was PISSED! If I wasn't completely drained, starved, weak, and unable to move I would of jumped off that bed and slugged him square in his smug mug! I wanted the drugs all stopped. I wanted to be unhooked from all the monitors. I wanted to go home and just finish it all on my own. I didn't want to go back to the apartment I shared with the deadbeat. I wanted to go back home, to Oklahoma. I figured a 12 hour drive from Indianapolis would do me some mental good and physical good. Driving had always been my release. Driving and fishing. I wanted to be on White River, just down the mountain from Eureka Springs. The absolute last place I wanted to be was right there in that hospital room with these 'men' looking at me like I had somehow screwed up my own son's birth. I don't think I ever wanted to hit somebody so badly as I did at that very moment!
I wept some more. I tried pushing, thinking if I can't stand up and let gravity help me than I was going to induce some 'artificial' gravity of my own...I WAS going to make some progress if it was the last thing I did!
4pm...a nurse came in and checked me. She confirmed 3cm dilated. But was also worried about the drop in Mikeal's heartbeat when I'd have a contraction. I PLEADED with her to just unhook me, remove me from the meds, and just let me be. She of course refused.
4:30pm...the doc came back in. I hated him, but I was defeated. I was helpless. And for the last 20 minutes I was forced to listen to the dead beat screaming at me about how worthless I was as a woman. He ordered the cesarean and preparations were made. The pitocin was stopped and I was wheeled into the operating room.
I watched as they prepped me for surgery in my reflection in the overhead light...completely frightened and overwhelmed. My arms were strapped down. I just laid there and cried.
5pm...prep work was done, deadbeat was allowed in the room in full scrub suit. Surgery was to begin. The deadbeat left the camera in the room and it was too late to go back for it.
5:17...I heard it. The most beautiful sound in the world. Mikeal Alan Paul had made his entrance into the world. He was cleaned up, weighed, measured, scored, wrapped up tightly, and then handed to the hungover deadbeat. What I saw of him when I finally got to actually see him was a tiny little face inside several layers of blanket.
Mikeal weighed in at 9lbs 5oz. He was 22in long. With a head circumference of 18cm. We had found the root of the reason why he was not descending...that lovely head of his, that even after multiple ultrasound attempts they were still unable to get a measurement of, was not able to squeeze itself into the birth canal. I felt better after wards about having a cesarean...chances were fairly high that a natural birth would not of fared as well.
His first Apgar score was a 9, immediately at birth, improving to a 10 5 minutes later. I was quite adamant that he not get a bottle or pacifier, but that too was ignored. They gave him sugar water in a bottle because they claimed his blood sugar level was low. Seriously! What the hell is up with that?! I hadn't had anything at all to eat in over 24 hours, of course his blood sugar is going to be low you dimwits! Seriously, I think the medical community often lacks basic common sense. Any idiot can be a doctor, it takes a special sort of genius to have some common sense!
After what seemed like forever the nurse finally brought him to me. I was in complete love. Everything that had happened over the course of the previous 20 years of my life no longer mattered. All that mattered is the man of my dreams was right there in my arms, nursing.
I have completely enjoyed the last eight years of his life and I can't see that ever changing.
I love you my dear Monkey Mikeal!! Happy 8th birthday!
