April 4, 2017 – 6:00 pm – I arrived at the hospital, a very cranky husband in tow, to be “induced”* – a procedure for which I THOUGHT I knew entailed. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. And I was about to pay the price for not knowing. I should add that my doctors did a very good job of informing me how the procedure would be conducted – but all of it meant fuck all to me – all I know was that it meant they were scheduling my son to be born on April 5. So, swooning, I made my way to my hospital room and disrobed so that my obstetrician could administer a medication called Cervidil to speed up the process of dilating my cervix. Sounds easy enough, right? Yeah, I thought so too. Boy, was I in for quite the rude awakening.
By 10:00 pm, it started to feel like my back was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces – a feeling I had initially attributed to the fact that I have a microscopic hole on the right side of my lower back – but, low and behold, I was once again very, very wrong. I begged and pleaded, to no avail of course, with the barbaric nurses of the night shift, to put me out of my misery – or, at the very least grant me the courtesy of some pain medication. But alas, my tears of woe fell on deaf ears.
12:00 am – Someone (conveniently) forgot to tell me that I was going to be an extra in a brand new slasher film I had never heard of called “Contractions: Slowly slicing your guts apart for the next god-only-knows hours! Featuring a machete!” Mind you, not only do my insides feel like they’re being ripped apart from the inside, but I STILL don’t have any pain meds. -_-
7:00 am – Finally another of my obstetricians arrive to check the progress my cervix has made. Or should I say, lack thereof? After 12 hours of this nonsense my doctor informs me that my cervix has decided it does not want to cooperate – big surprise! Needless to say, my cervix had not dilated – AT ALL. ‘Ok, so what now?’ you may be asking yourself, as was I. But remember, curiosity killed that poor kitty cat. At this point, I was pretty jealous of the cat. And my husband was jealous of the deaf man in room 317 – because to him, I sounded like a cat being dipped in battery acid and skinned alive.** While my doctor very calmly explained to me what the next steps were in this process, my body (and brain) went into full on panic mode. (Though panic and I had grown to be best friends over the last 30 years or so – I was in no way anticipating a visit anytime soon) A few seconds into her very lengthy explanation (which was basically a rerun of step 1 for another 12 hours – say WHAT now?!) my brain forgot how to breathe, my body seized, and my vision blurred in and out of focus. I must have scared the pants off of my poor doctor with my vulgar display of anxiety because she backed away very carefully and suggested we consider the possibility of a caesarean section.
8:30 am – Ok now, I will preface this by saying that I know tons of moms who have given birth 100% naturally (and some without drugs!) and they’re all super badass – like legit warriors complete with battle scars. I’m not one of them. I’m more of the “Gimme the drugs and nobody gets hurt!” kind of mom (as well as the “hand over the bottle and no body gets hurt!” kind of mom – notice a pattern?) But really, props to all the badass bitches that pushed a human out of their lady business – you’re the real heroes! As for me, I’m sure you could guess that I did not, in fact, push out my little nugget. Rather, in a matter of 45 minutes, a surgical team of competent doctors (and one kickass anesthesiologist) gracefully guided (more like yanked) my beautiful little boy out of my abdomen. And just like that, at exactly 9:22 am, Dylan Jameson was born! Sure, my entire body from the boobs down was numb as fuck and I could smell the flesh burning from my incision – but my little nugget was born safe and sound – and I was feeling high on life (plus whatever drug cocktail they ended up finally giving me) – so high in fact that I made a Jesus joke to my Jewish anesthesiologist (luckily he found it – or me – funny and chuckled).***
So, to recap, childbirth is a son of a bitch and not a single thing anyone can say will prepare you for what it feels like to be ripped open – but the end result is pretty fucking awesome.
*For those who don’t know, the process of being induced includes having your obstetrician shove their hand so far up your lady business that it feels like you’re being violently fisted by a group of German porn stars who refuse to use lube in order to insert this medication and soften the cervix, preparing it for the process of pushing a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lime.
**Disclaimer: No actual cats were harmed in the writing of this blog. Except mine, who fell off the table just a moment ago when I sneezed just a tad too loud.
***If you really want to know what the joke was, you can message me privately – though I’m all for stirring the shit pot, I’d prefer not to offend someone – YET.