The anesthesiologist still isn’t there a few minutes later and one of the nurses hits my IV with the Stadol. It was like I had just drunk four margaritas in quick succession; I could still feel the pain but I didn’t really care anymore. Just about that time the anesthesiologist finally strolls in the room. I have a nurse on either side of me trying to get me through the contractions and finish admitting me and Yale fanning me with some random laminated folders that happened to be in the room while this guy asks me questions that I could have much more easily answered had he been there earlier. Am I allergic to anything? No. What medication am I currently taking? I responded to that one by jabbing Yale in the stomach because I could not speak due to the pain he was supposed to be preventing. The doctor was very lucky that I was unable to get out of the bed, as I was not feeling too charitable to the male half of the human species at that moment and I certainly wasn’t feeling charitable to him, especially with the attitude he had. I’m sorry sir that my child decided to be born after you had already gone home for the evening and that my labor was inconvenient for you, but considering you are making an awful lot of money for this, you can kiss my ass. When he was finished asking the questions he could have found the answers to in my chart, which he was flipping through, he asked the magical question: Are you ready for your epidural?
Now remember, I had been given a rather powerful drug that relaxed me enough to feel great hatred towards the man who arrogantly was standing in front of me as if he were God. I had already had this conversation with the nurse before I was given drugs and pissed off and at that time I was undecided. I stared at the guy who was as sympathetic to my pain as I was to his having to leave his house in order for him to do his job. While I may have been in pain and this may have been the person able to relieve it, I was still Jenna and still mean and lucid enough to know the victory I was about to claim. “No thanks. I’ve gotten this far without it; I’m pretty sure I can make it the rest of the way.”
There was no going back at this point. I had gone without anything but Tylenol for most of the day and I certainly wasn’t going to voluntarily do something to myself that was going to prolong this, no matter how much less discomfort I was going to experience. Jenna was getting this shit done.
The on call doctor arrived and introduced herself to me—this is when things started going really fast. It seemed like everyone (except Dr. God) was in the room. Yale was told to grab one leg, a nurse grabbed the other, and off we went. My water was broken and the contractions began even faster. I hadn’t planned on a natural birth so my poor nurses had to talk me through it. I had so many directions being hurled my way I felt like I was some poor understudy who never planned on having to star on opening night.
Of course one pushes with each contraction—I had learned that a long time ago from watching Discovery Health. What I didn’t know was that I was going to have one rather annoying nurse standing over my left shoulder telling me to push when I wasn’t having a contraction and to breathe when I was. Had I not been so busy, I believe I would have punched her. This was the same nurse who was saying “Don’t make so much noise, you’re just going to tire yourself out.” Now, I didn’t want to make a scene and had not planned on screaming or anything. However, when one is doing something as primal as giving birth without pain killers, a little noise should be expected. I personally didn’t think I was that loud and it wasn’t like I was yelling curse words (although I could have and she just didn’t even know). Luckily, a more competent nurse told her to stop trying to direct me because I was doing just fine.
I was having trouble breathing even though I had an oxygen mask. The contractions were coming so fast I didn’t have time to catch my breath between them. I knew I should have not pushed on every contraction (everyone was telling me to slow down), but the sensation to do so is overwhelming. I can honestly say I have never been so concentrated on what my body was doing that almost everything else was blocked out—there was no reasoning with myself, no thinking about what I should do, just what I was doing. I did hear them say the baby’s heart rate was slowing down.
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