Catch up on part one here.
9:49 a.m.
My Pitocin drip was up to 6ccs. Bertha checked me again and found I'd dilated another centimeter. "How are you doing on pain?" she asked. "Is it time for the epidural?"
"Not yet," I said, and it wasn't. The contractions were faster and closer together, but they weren't so much painful as they were uncomfortable. The breathing exercises I'd learned in childbirth class were enough to keep me focused and calm. I was seriously considering forgoing pain meds altogether.
"You're a big, strong woman," Bertha said.
10:21 a.m.
My ob paid her first visit since my admittance to the hospital. Her cervical check revealed no change in dilation or effacement, and in fact, my cervix was in a posterior position, which meant she had to navigate her fingers around the baby's head to feel it. She wanted to break my water but decided to wait until my cervix was closer up front.
11:17 a.m.
Up to 12ccs and still managing the pain just fine. I asked Bertha about the highest amount of Pitocin she'd ever administered. "I once gave 100ccs," she said, and I gasped. "Don't worry," she added. "I don't think we'll need to do that with you."
11:24 a.m.
Realizing I'd forgotten to swipe my armpits with my Dove bar that morning, I implored Luke to dig out his Old Spice deodorant from his hospital bag and hand that bad boy over because HOT DAMN, did I smell.
12:38 p.m.
Up to 20ccs, and it was getting more difficult to talk through contractions. Bertha had to excuse herself briefly in order to rescue her husband, who had locked himself out of his car. Fabulous.
1:08 p.m.
Slight leak draining through my special place. Did my water break? I summoned Bertha's temporary substitute to do another check.
1:10 p.m.
No breakage, just pee. Figures I made it through nine months of pregnancy with nary a urinary accident only to break my lucky streak in active labor.
1:40 p.m.
22ccs and the four-count deep breathing wasn't cutting it anymore. I graduated to the hee hee hoos and made Luke work through them with me. Hearing the pattern of his breaths was the only thing that kept me calm enough to focus.
1:46 p.m.
Bertha was back and happy to see the consistency of my contractions. I, however, wasn't as pleased. She decreased the Pitocin down to 15ccs to ease my discomfort, but it wasn't enough. My eyes were glued to the monitor, and with each spike, I could feel my uterus tightening as if it were trying to drain the essence of my very soul. I couldn't concentrate on breathing anymore. I couldn't stop crying.
"I'd like the epidural now," I sputtered.
2:00 p.m.
The anesthesiologist arrived armed with The Good Stuff. The bed was elevated, I was propped up with a pillow, and I think I was holding on to Luke and Bertha while the doctor numbed my back. The needle stung, and I cried out, but after living through the torture that is natural childbirth, the pinch was nothing. This? Was child's play.
2:11 p.m.
Oh, blessed, sweet relief! Bring that baby on.
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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