Don’t read any further unless you’ve seen parts one and two.
2:14 p.m.
By this time, the epidural had taken full effect, and the doctor had returned to perform another cervical check. Luckily, things were moving along, albeit still at a snail's pace: I was ninety percent effaced and eight centimeters dilated.
Eight centimeters dilated! No wonder the pain had been so intense; I was in the transitional phase of labor, that magical and pain-riddled time in which the cervix dilates from eight to ten centimeters and the baby drops lower into the pelvis—both of which are required to dispense a human being through one’s vagina. I’ll be the first to tell you about my low threshold for pain (my dentist would probably be the second), so I was extremely proud of myself for moving through the first half of labor with natural coping techniques and not crying “Uncle” the first chance I got. While it’s true they don’t hand out gold stars for Best Laborer, it was important for me to get a small taste of what natural (Pitocin-inspired) childbirth felt like. I’m happy I did.
But I was even happier about the epidural.
My ob/gyn proceeded to break my water, and a warm gush passed through my legs. Surely this baby would be coming any minute now.
3:00 p.m.
Another cervical check revealed I was fully effaced but the baby was only at -2 station, meaning her head had quite a way to go before fully descending into my pelvis. Bertha’s shift also came to an end; she would be one of three L&D nurses I’d interact with that day. Angela was number two.
4:38 p.m.
Molly and Samantha, who’d both arrived around lunchtime with gifts and good will, took turns massaging my feet while I drifted in and out of a half-conscious sleep, still optimistic about wrapping things up before dinnertime but confused as to why the induction was taking so long.
4:47 p.m.
I received my very first catheter. Good times.
5:15 p.m.
For the first time since the Internet's outrage over it last year, I saw that infamous breastfeeding commercial where the pregnant woman rides a mechanical bull and the caption reads, "You wouldn't take risks before your baby's born. Why start after?" That's one way to promote boob juice. I guess.
7:18 p.m.
Another nurse, another check, another disappointing update. Still no dilation past eight centimeters, and the baby's head was holding steady at -2 station. Any confidence I had in my body's ability to get this baby out the old-fashioned way was rapidly fading fast.
7:35 p.m.
My doctor paid me a visit and did a check of her own, even kept her hand up my girly parts to see how my cervix fared during a contraction. "Well, at the height of your contractions, you're almost at nine," she said. "But other then that, there's still no change. Let's start talking about our options here."
I nodded.
"You've had a long day," she said, "and your contractions have been doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. In my opinion, the fact that you've been at a standstill for such a long time means Mother Nature's trying to tell us something."
"You think it's her size?" I asked. This time, she was the one who nodded.
"I think we've got ourselves one big baby."
She went on to explain that mini-Bree (who at that point still didn't have a set-in-stone name) had fared wonderfully throughout my entire ordeal, and there was no medical reason to rush into anything. She was more than willing to let me labor for another hour or two and see if a vaginal birth was still possible, if that's what I wanted. I agreed to take the time, and she made plans to come back by nine. Once she left, my face crumbled, and I let myself sob, really go at it, because I knew in my heart I'd be getting that c-section. The extra hour and a half was less about letting things progress and more about preparing for my first bout with major surgery.
To be continued…
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Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2008 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.
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