by Unknown
I’ve been having back spasms for a couple of days now, and absolutely nothing has been helping. Katrina, who used to give back rubs in class when the teachers weren’t watching, went on to become a massage therapist. And Lord, are her hands magical. At first, she gave me a gift certificate for a massage at her work, and I promptly used that at her next available time slot. But when I told her about my back spasms, she actually came to my house.
Aiden took me up to Womack the day before yesterday, and they hooked me up to all the machines and saw I was having small contractions. They called them Braxton Hicks. It didn’t seem right to me, because from all the reading I’d done, Braxton Hicks aren’t supposed to come at regular intervals lasting all day. But whatever, there’s nothing I can do about it, because the policy at the hospital is they can’t admit me until I’m four centimeters. I’ve been at one centimeter since my last doctor’s appointment. So they sent me home with 800mg Motrin, the military’s solution to everything.
Then yesterday, the pain still wasn’t lessening, so we went back to the hospital. This time, they sent me home with Percocet, telling me to come back only when I go into actual labor. How they think I’d be able to tell the difference between this pain and ‘actual labor,’ I have no idea.
Today, though, the back spasms are tremendously worse, and I called Katrina to see if she had a time slot open for a massage appointment. Being the sweetheart she is, she said she’d make a house call, since it’s her day off from work. And so here I lie, in my sports bra and pajama shorts on my bed with my body pillow between my legs and under my belly, as Katrina works her magic on my lower back.
Aiden has been trying to call Susan, my doula, for an hour to see if she has any recommendations to help ease the pain in my back, so when the phone rings, he snatches it up immediately when he sees her name on the screen, putting the call on speaker so I can hear from the bed. She apologizes for not answering right away. Another one of her clients is in labor. Aiden explains what’s going on, and tells her what the hospital told us. She also thinks the Braxton Hicks thing isn’t right, and she tells us she’ll do some digging and call us back.
After about an hour, Katrina leaves, telling me if I need her, not to hesitate to call. In the two hours she’s been here, I’ve felt more taken care of than I have in the past year. What a wonderful, selfless friend.
But only a short time later, the eased pain is back, and it’s a hundred times worse. I know these aren’t just ‘practice contractions.’ Maybe in the beginning, two days ago, it was my body preparing to go into labor, but since then, they have been coming more and more frequently, and getting stronger and stronger. Each time it happens, I can feel the muscles of my stomach squeezing tightly, taking my breath away. I try to use the techniques they taught us in the class, but it’s so painful I can’t catch my breath.
Soon, I’m in so much pain I’m screaming through each contraction, which I know for a fact is what these are, no matter what the asshats at Womack say. My mom holds one of my hands in hers and rubs my back with the other as she sits next to me on the edge of my bed, my head resting on her shoulder as I cry out my agony. I’ve held off calling Susan, because I know her other client is in labor, but thankfully, before we even try to contact her, Susan calls us and tells us to go to the hospital. According to what I’ve told her, she thinks I’ve actually been in labor for two days now, but she has a feeling there’s something wrong with my cervix.
When we get there, I’m greeted in Labor & Delivery by a beautiful, petite, and curvy brunette. I don’t know how I notice what she looks like through my torment, maybe because I’ve felt like I look like crap for the past few months, but she looks anxious to get her hands on me. When she approaches, she asks quietly if I’m Susan’s girl Kayla, and I nod vigorously.
“Come on,” she says, taking my arm. “I’ve got you a bed saved in here. If what is happening is what I think is happening, things are going to start moving fast. But don’t worry. I always take care of Susan’s girls.”
Aiden stays behind at the station to fill out some paperwork as the nurse, who tells me her name is Jamie, leads me through a door and then into a curtained-off section containing a bed and a few machines. Just as I go to hike my butt up on the bed, another contraction hits, and I double over. Jamie wraps her arm underneath me, across my collarbone, to help hold me up, and instructs me to match her breath as she pants. Surprisingly, concentrating on matching her works a lot better than trying to use the breathing techniques by myself, and soon the pain fades and she assists me as I get up on the bed.
Once I’m settled, she hooks up a blood pressure cuff to my arm and wraps two Velcro belts around my belly that have monitors hooked to them. She adjusts them, explaining one is to track the baby’s heartbeat to make sure she’s not under too much stress, and the other is to track my contractions. When another one hits a few minutes later, Jamie pulls the scrolling paper up to look at the squiggly lines, and then looks up at me with wide eyes.
“How long have you been like this?” she asks, visibly trying to keep her voice calm.
“Um…it started two days ago, but got really bad early this morning,” I explain, glancing at the giant round clock on the wall and seeing it’s now four in the evening. “I’ve come to the hospital every day, and they just kept sending me home saying they were Braxton Hicks, and they couldn’t admit me until I’m four centimeters.”
“Has anyone checked your cervix?” she asks, moving to a drawer and pulling out a tube of lubricant.
“Not since the first day I came. They said I was still at a one.” Feeling her anxiety, I wonder what is going on. What is it she thinks is going on? “Is everything okay? Is my baby all right?”
“Your baby is doing great. It’s you I’m worried about. I’m going to check your cervix and see if you’ve dilated anymore. According to the readings, you should be at a seven,” she says quickly, pulling up stirrups for me to place my ankles in.
It’s my turn for my eyes to go wide. We learned in the birthing class that with each centimeter, the contractions get stronger and stronger, and once you hit a six, that’s when they get to the highest level of pain. If the machine is reading my contractions are that strong, saying I should be dilated a seven, it’s no wonder I’m in so much agony.
“Exactly what I thought,” the nurse breathes. “I feel scar tissue on your cervix. Have you ever had a terminated pregnancy? It says this is your first one on your chart,” she asks, her brows furrowed.
“No, this is my very first pregnancy,” I state.
“Can you think of anything that could cause trauma to your cervix?” she asks, clearly trying to think of other reasons there could be scar tissue there.
“No. The only thing I can think of is at the beginning of my pregnancy, my pap smear came back abnormal, and I had to do a colposcopy. I had yelled out in pain it had hurt so bad, but the doctor told me it only hurt that bad because of the extra blood flow down there from being pregnant,” I explain, talking about the biopsy they did on my cervix when I was about eight weeks along.
“The doctor was wrong. You should barely feel a colposcopy because there are hardly any nerves in your cervix. I’ll look into it later and find out who that butcher was, but right now, I’ve got to fix what that asshole screwed up,” Jamie tells me. She pats my thigh, indicating to come out of the stirrups, then grasps my hand to help me sit up in the bed as she steps on the pedal on the floor that moves the back up into a seated position. “I’ll be right back. I have to go get a few things.”
As she hurries away, Aiden walks in through the curtains. He looks anxious, with his hands in his pockets and stiff posture. I don’t have time to say anything to him before another contraction hits, and I crumple the paper sheet in my fists as I try to pant my way through it.
Aiden comes up next to the bed and takes my hand in his. I concentrate on trying to crush the bones in his hand, and soon, the pain subsides. I let go of his hand and internally smirk as I se
e him flex his fingers.
“What did the nurse say?” he asks, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.
“The colposcopy I had while you were deployed caused scar tissue to form across my cervix. It basically sewed me shut. I’m not really sure what she’s going to do, but she ran out of here to go gather supplies,” I tell him.
I can’t help it. I’ve tried to be so strong through this whole thing, but sitting in the awkward quiet of the hospital room with Aiden suddenly gets to me, and my chin trembles. I stave it off as long as I can, but I’m so exhausted, only having been able to sleep a couple hours in the last three days while the Percocet had worked its magic, the dam finally bursts.
Aiden jumps out of the seat and rushes to me, pulling me into his arms. It’s a weird feeling, both hating his touch but at the same time needing to be held. I make a decision to pick my battles today, and give in to the comfort his arms provide. I soak the front of his shirt with my tears, and I cry into his chest, “I can’t have a C-section. Didn’t you hear the horror stories your friends told us about C-sections at a military hospital? They’ll butcher me. Just like what the nurse said the doctor did to my cervix. They can’t cut me open! I even wrote in my birth plan I don’t want an episiotomy. Susan said if the baby is too big, then I should just tear naturally, and I’ll only tear as much as she needs to get through. If they cut me, the healing would take a lot longer. I wanted her to come naturally. I wasn’t even going to get an epidural, but I don’t think I can take this much longer. It hurts so b-bad.”
I continue to bawl into his chest as he rubs my back, rambling on and on about what I had wanted, how I had planned for my daughter to come into the world. It was going to be peaceful, with my wonderful doula there to hold my hand and guide me through it. I was supposed to transition into different positions while using specific breathing techniques to help move the baby along until she would finally come into the world and be immediately placed on my chest.
But instead, I’m here with a husband who I feel is only here out of obligation, after being in labor for three days with no help even from the hospital, waiting for the nurse to come back with God only knows what kind of supplies she’s going to have to use to ‘fix’ what the doctor had done to me. So, I let myself cry until Aiden rocks me into a stupor.
When Jamie comes back, she’s not alone. The other nurse introduces herself as Heather, and she tells me she is going to hook me up to an IV to get some fluids in me.
“Once she does that, we’re going to move you into your L&D room,” Jamie says, and then to distract me from the needle about to go into my arm, she explains what is to come. “I know you are in excruciating pain—”
God has perfect comedic timing, because at that exact moment, the strongest contraction yet hits, and both she and Aiden hold my hands as I pant and cry my way through it.
Jamie continues her explanation when the tightening releases. “This is called a Foley balloon.” She holds up what looks like a small, clear whoopee cushion attached to a tube. “What we’re going to do is roll this up really small and put it in the opening of your cervix. Then we’ll fill it with water very slowly, and as it fills, it’ll break apart that scar tissue that's holding you closed.”
“Oh, my God, that sounds painful,” I breathe.
“You won’t even feel it. As soon as we get you moved, the anesthesiologist is going to come and give you an epidural. After the balloon does its job, we’ll hit you with some Pitocin to get your cervix caught up in centimeters with your contractions,” she informs me, undoing the Velcro belts from around me.
“Oh, God. Pitocin? They told us about that in the class. That shit sounds like devil jizz,” I blurt. Jamie and Heather laugh as Aiden helps me stand and then move to sit in the wheelchair that’s waiting for me at the foot of the bed.
“If you’re going au naturel, then yes, devil jizz is the perfect description for it. Makes you feel like there is a demon inside you trying to break out. But since you’re having an epidural first, you won’t even tell the difference.”
Jamie takes hold of the wheelchair’s handles behind me as Heather walks beside us pushing the rolling metal stand holding the bag of IV fluid. At the end of the hall, we wait for the elevator to arrive, and then they roll me in, the four of us not talking, as if we’re all waiting for the next contraction to hit. Surprisingly, we make it into the private delivery room without one coming.
Soon after I’m settled in the bed with all the monitors reattached to my belly and arm, the anesthesiologist comes in. He’s young, with a dark high-and-tight haircut and pristine scrubs, very handsome. His youth doesn’t bother me at all, because this…this is the bringer of the drugs. By now, I couldn’t give two shits about having my baby without medication. Nope, I’m ready to drop to my knees and do terrible things to the doctor if he’ll just give me the damn drugs.
He glances at the chart and then slides it into the plastic holder on the wall. “Mrs. Lanmon, I’m Dr. Williams. I’ll be giving you your epidural. I know from your birth plan you didn’t want one, but I think circumstances have changed your mind. Am I right?”
“Dear Lord, please just give it to me,” I half-growl, surprising everyone, including myself.
Dr. Williams chuckles then instructs me on what to do. “Alrighty then. You’re going to sit up at the side of the bed and drape yourself over either the nurse or your husband, hunching over as far as your belly will let you. You’ll take a deep breath, and as you let it out, I’ll insert the epidural into your lower back. You have to be very still when I do it. Don’t jump, and try your hardest not to even flinch. One wrong move and the medicine won’t work. Or maybe it’ll only numb one side. You don’t want that to happen.”
“Okay, so roll into a ball and don’t move. Got it. No problem, now give it to me!” I say, leveraging myself up.
Jamie rushes forward to help me as Aiden stands at the side of the bed. I don’t care who it is I drape myself over. Aiden’s there already, so he’s going to be my leaning post, since that’ll get me the epidural fastest.
I feel the doctor work as he explains everything he’s doing, prepping the area with alcohol where he’s going to insert the needle. And as luck would have it, God and his sense of humor strike again, sending me into a contraction of epic proportions as Aiden instinctively wraps his arms tightly around me, holding me still as the doctor inserts the needle.
The good thing about the timing of the contraction is I don’t even feel it when the epidural goes in, and when it wanes off as Dr. Williams tapes everything in place, I lie back on the bed, deliriously exhausted. A few minutes later, I feel my stomach tighten, but there is no pain.
Jamie smiles. “Look at the monitor. See? There is your contraction, but it doesn’t hurt, right?”
I watch as the neon green line on the black screen spikes high above the bottom line, and then I turn back to her and grin. “Thank you, sweet baby Dr. Jesus.”
The last thing I remember is everyone in the room bursting out laughing as I finally drift off into blissful sleep.
It sounds so sweet, coming from the lips of an angel
“They’re waking her up now,” I hear Aiden say, and I crack one eye open to see he’s on the phone. “Yeah, they’re going to do the balloon and give her Pitocin, and then you can head up here.” After a pause, he replies, “No, we don’t need anything. The hospital bag was already in the car. She’s not allowed to eat or drink anything except ice chips until the baby comes. One sec, Ava, she’s coming out of it.”
I lift my head to see Jamie carefully rolling the Foley balloon until it’s about the size of a cigarette. I look to my right and see Heather rubbing my arm, and everything suddenly clicks into place, where I am, what’s happening, and who it is on the phone.
“We let you sleep for a couple of hours, but we didn’t want to wait any longer to get things moving. Susan told me on the phone you hadn’t gotten any sleep in the last couple of days, and I thought it was important
to get you a little rest to have strength to get this sweet baby out,” Jamie tells me.
All I can do is nod in my stupor, and I listen as Aiden tells my mom, “They’re putting it in. Now she’s got a big-ass syringe and is filling it, pushing water into the tube… She’s good. She looks like she’s falling back to sleep.”
With that announcement, I feel Heather rub my arm again, bringing me back. I don’t know why I have to be awake for this, but since it seems so important to them, I concentrate on staying conscious.
“There we go. It worked,” Jamie says with a bright smile. She uses the syringe to suck the water back out of the balloon then sits it on the metal rolling tray beside her. She gives a little tug on the tube to remove the balloon, and when she does, I feel a huge release inside me, and all of a sudden the bed beneath me is very, very warm.
I look up at Aiden confused as he stops explaining what the nurse is doing midsentence. I watch half amused, half concerned as he wobbles on his feet, his face turning ghostly pale. “Is she okay?” he finally whispers to the room.
Jamie gives a short laugh. “Oh, yeah. She’s great. Her water just broke. Won’t be long now.”
After he revives some of his color, he speaks into the phone, “Her water broke. I’ve never seen anything like it. I…I gotta go, Ava. You coming up here soon?” A pause. “Okay, see you in a few.” And he shuts his phone.
Relief fills me knowing my mom will be here in a little while, and I’m sure she’ll be bringing Granny with her. That was my number one wish in my birth plan. I couldn’t care less if Aiden was here, but I wanted my mom and granny to be here. Granny was the nurse when I was born, and I thought it would be amazing to have her here with me for the delivery of our little princess. If I can at least have that one thing go right, then I will be happy.