To whom this may concern,
First and foremost, let me apologize on behalf of my body. I’m sorry I had to be wheeled into the labor and delivery at 9:30 P.M.
I know you must have had other plans as you sat behind the quiet desk as I came out of the elevator crying.
My midwife sat wide-eyed as my boyfriend frantically explained the current situation.
She knew I was late. Why was she surprised?
“Oh, Shannon, it’s not that bad!”
I’m sorry for not biting my tongue and not sucking it up. I should have been more courteous of the hour.
“Her water hasn’t broken, and she threw up everything she ate! Her contractions are consistently 3-5 minutes apart,”
My boyfriend had his head through the chaos of watching me at home, folded over his lap while I screamed through each contraction.
They have a great phone application that helps time it. Each interval told us to go to the hospital.
But we were obeying the doctors who said to wait. It was my first baby. We even called. They said to stay home until the contractions were closer.
Then I threw up.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Asked the doctor.
I understand that this must be very routine for you. But it was new to us.
Please know that I listened to you when you placed the epidural in my spine. I was very still. Luckily, my contraction was a small one at that moment. My stillness and silence were probably ideal for you anyway.
Maybe I should have been placed in a coma while my daughter made her debut.
“It’s late. Get some rest.”
Sorry, I put a damper on your evening.
The epidural kicked in, and I dozed off.
***
At 6:00 A.M., your shifts were ending.
You promptly woke me up and angrily reminded me that my contractions subsided due to the epidural.
“We need to administer Pitocin. Your contractions slowed down.”
We were on the fence about using Pitocin during labor. But we listened.
Immediately, my pain was back, regardless of the epidural. With it, so were the screams.
Again, I’m sorry.
My midwife came into the room.
“Okay, it’s time to push!”
She knelt behind my knees that felt like a world away. She broke my water, and I felt my daughter drop.
She encouraged me to push. I did. But only half-heartedly. I had no energy to push.
Push again. The contraction was more intense and, with that, my push was stronger.
My boyfriend caught on and began to coach. He watched the monitor measuring each contraction and knew when to tell me to rest or push.
My midwife looked at me.
“You can either rest for an hour, then push for an hour, or you can push for an hour now.”
Were those my only options?
10 minutes in, my midwife said her shift had ended. A new midwife was clocking in.
Sorry, I held you up from going home. Have a great day!
***
When the new shift clocked in and took over my labor, the midwife saw my boyfriend coaching between contractions. She caught on and left it to him to help guide me.
My daughter began to crown.
“Do you want a mirror?”
“NO!” I screamed.
I’m sorry I yelled. I wasn’t sure you had heard me the first two times.
“It might help!”
I should have responded “no, thank you,” respectively.
As my daughter began to emerge, my body suddenly felt the need to expel her completely from my body.
I pushed. You ordered me to wait!
I did. I sat in agony. “JUST GET HER OUT OF ME!” I screamed.
The room fell silent. My midwife looked down and told me to wait through one more contraction. I knew you didn’t want me to tear my vagina to my asshole.
I’m sorry I yelled. Again. I couldn’t control myself. At least I didn’t push.
You told me to push again.
My daughter was born at 9:17 A.M.
***
My boyfriend later informed me my daughter had her arm wrapped around her head. Probably why the pain felt as though someone was trying to tear me in half as I sat there waiting for my skin to stretch.
***
Perhaps I was a drama queen.
—
This post was previously published on Medium.
***
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