Home » Unmedicated Birth: I Wouldn’t Recommend It – Part II

Unmedicated Birth: I Wouldn’t Recommend It – Part II

I had NO intentions of leaving you all in such “suspense” this long.  (Although, it’s not a total cliff hanger:  the baby WAS born).

It’s this weather.  It’s killing us.  It’s been entirely too cold or snowy to drag a newborn outdoors.  Then with all the illness circulating, the Doctor strongly admonished us to stay out of public places as much as possible with said infant.  This leaves me about 900 some odd square feet of house to keep a toddler amused every moment for DAYS ON END.  So yes, my alcoholism is progressing well, thank you.

Anyway, when I so rudely checked out for almost two weeks, I left you (with me) headed into the Labor and Delivery area at the hospital with my Husband who had done a sneaky “call ahead” about a nurse we didn’t like and a bit of a rogue security guard. . .

We were escorted to the main desk.  Behind the desk was an entire wall full of flat screen TVs or computer monitors.  Each one appeared to be showing some poor woman’s real-time contractions; an endless display of jagged lines on charts.

Why is that necessary?  It was creeping me out.

“There’s some forms you need to sign.” said the receptionist barely glancing up from her computer while she shoved a clipboard and a pen at me.

This time I KNEW better than to read those stupid forms.  I signed them hastily.

No sooner had I laid down the pen, a young but tight-lipped nurse approached us.  “I’m Christine and I’ll be your nurse.”

“Oh heeeeeeyyyyyy. . .” I giggled glancing nervously at Chris to judge his first impression of her.

He was scrambling to gather the suitcase and purse I must have dropped in awe at the digital wall-o-contractions.

“So we need your weight.” Said Christine.


“Ok.”  I said gingerly stepping onto something that kinda resembled a treadmill.

Christine read off the number.  It was in kilograms.  What?

“I’m not sure what that converts to?” Christine mumbled as she read out the number to the receptionist.

This made me uneasy.  How can I trust you to get the dosage of all those drugs and fluids correct should you happen to need to convert kilograms to pounds or something?!  

“Follow me.” Christine ordered.

We followed her through the dimly light area.

I was expecting to hear whale call recordings or some other sort of bizarre “zen” audio any moment.

“Hey, so that’s a great view you guys have huh?” I said cheerily to Christine.  “This is a REALLY nice set up right?”


All-righty then. . .

She opened a door to a room that was easily as big as our entire first floor.

I smiled.  Things were looking up.  This WAS nice.  “Vacation” was ON.

Christine asked me a bunch of questions about pain and the bleeding and what I ate and then left me with a gown and orders to get completely undressed and put on the gown.

“Does the opening go front or back?” I asked Chris.  “Do you remember?”

“It always goes in the back right?” he squinted at me.

“I’m not sure?  Not always.  Not if you’re having a breast exam.”

“You win.” He sighed.  “Just tell me if you want me to help you tie it.”

“Yes please.  Now here, help me get all set up and then whenever you need to leave to get Mac to bed you can go.”  I said happily.

GO!  GO!  I’m going to get ALL the quiet!  

“I’ll at least try to wait until the Doctor sees you.” He said.

And we waited.  But not terribly long.  My IVs were all inserted.  And then reinserted.  (I don’t know.  They were leaking).

Some nice Doctor bounced in the room.  She asked me a bunch of invasive questions and then proceeded to actually BE invasive.

“So I think you’re about 3 or 4 centimeters dilated,”  She said.

“Oh.  That’s too bad.  I was hoping for 6,” I joked.

“Trust me,” she said,  “You’d be very miserable if you were 6 centimeters.  So I think we’re going to give you two hours and check back.  Then we’ll see if you actually need anything for an induction or if labor is progressing.”

I shrugged at Chris.  It sounded completely reasonable.

This was the next mistake:  REASONABLE!

Chris made sure I was all set up with my phone, and some water, and a stack of magazines.  And then he headed home to put Mac to bed.  “Try to get some rest, Deni.  I’ll be back soon.”

“Oh, there’s no hurry.  Love you. . .”

DEFINITELY NO HURRY!  TWO HOURS.  TWO HOURS OF UNINTERRUPTED QUIET!  If it weren’t for the beeping of the medical equipment, you could have heard a pin drop.

He shut the door behind him and I immediately lurched for the TV remote.  It’s on bitches.  I haven’t had control of a remote since Mac discovered The Big Year.

Click.  Click.  Click.  I soon realized I wasn’t missing much.  Sigh.  Click.  Click.  Click.


Was that the ahem holy cow he makes me swoon a little he’s so damned hot James Bond guy?

Click.  Click.

Where’d he go?  

Oh yeah.  Come to mamma.  

It was Casino Royale.  The only Bond movie I’ve ever watched in its entirety.  (I KNOW.  I’m just not a movie person).

One eye on the magazine and one eye on the TV.  I adjusted the bed making sure not to disturb the baby monitors.  Ahhhhhhhhh.

But no sooner had that creepy villainous guy started crying blood until I started feeling a red-hot pain.

That had to be a contraction.  A real contraction.  It was enough to make me grimace but it didn’t last long.

No worries, Deni.  You’ve got this.  Just hang tight for the next couple hours.  Enjoy the quiet.

But it KEPT HAPPENING.  (Surprise!)

Sonofabitch!  That’s not comfortable At. All.  Look.  Keep it together.  You’re being a baby.  They don’t last long.  Chris will be back soon.  The nurse will be back soon.  People do this every day.  You don’t want to look like a big baby do you?  SUCK IT UP.  

Every one is worse than the last.  

My vacation is being ruined!

And then Casino Royale ended.

Well, now what?  

You should meditate.  

I scrambled for my head phones.  My hands were shaking a little as I fumbled through the screens.

I got through the first 15 minutes but soon realized there was no way I was going to be able to relax.

Do. Not. Panic.

You know what they do on all those Baby Story shows?  

They grip the sides of the bed screaming in agony!

Not that, you ass, they switch positions.  Perhaps if you sit up, you’d be more comfortable?  

I struggled to an upright position and swung my legs off the bed.  I didn’t want to text Chris because I was certain he was in the middle of an epic nighty-nighty struggle with Mac.

Do NOT look at the clock.  

How much longer until the nurse gets back?  

Oh shit.  That clock on the wall says at least another half hour.

Listen you idiot, you can do ANYTHING for 30 minutes.  ANYTHING.  Try standing.

I scootched to a standing position but soon realized that was probably not the best idea.  The baby monitor stopped.

GET BACK IN BED!  You probably aren’t supposed to be out of bed!

Easy now.  I lowered myself back into the bed taking great care to keep the monitor just as it was.  It started working again.

Whew.  Close one.

OHMAHGAWD! Breathe.  Focus on breathing.  You don’t know how to focus on breathing because you NEVER TOOK A BIRTHING CLASS!  

And then I too grabbed the side of the bed and gripped it in agony.

This is bullshit.  You should call for the nurse.  Get some drugs.  

Just then Christine came back in the room.

I scrambled to be cool.  “Hi Christine.  Things are getting a little um intense.  Can we discuss some pain management?”


“On a scale of one to ten what would you say your pain level is?” She asked.

“I’d NEVER give myself a perfect ten,” I panted.  “I don’t know?  Maybe a 6? 7?  I have no idea.”

“Ok.  Let me get the doctor.  See how far along you are now. . .”