Two Years ago tonight...

We watched the Godfather...again. Or rather, tried to. It was on some cable channel and we'd tried watching some before (my mom said she'd watched it when she was in labor, too, I think) So they had compiled several Godfathers together, and try as I might to understand the plot, interrupted as it was by obnoxious ads and numerous rounds of contractions...well, it wasn't going anywhere. Then, BAM. At about 10:30 things were rhythmic and intensifying. Just as Al was being lulled to sleep by yet another furniture commercial, I gently nudged him to take a shower. I called the doc. We stalled. We showered. About midnight we had my parents in route, and, after stopping for gas and ALL the red lights in the middle-of-the-freakin-night, Al pulled me up to the valet door at the hospital. We walked in. I had a contaction in the elevator. Another in the hall. Don't talk to me while I'm laboring. Don't let anyone talk to me while I'm contracting. Through the double doors and into triage. They wanted me to change in the bathroom. Contraction. Almost dressed. Another one. Back in the first stall of triage and another. Annoying sound of those metal beads pulling back the curtain. No. Hang on please wait. Breathing. Ohh. OOOOooohh. Don't ask me questions yet. Okay good it's gone. No I can't lay on bed. Reluctantly, I did so they could put the elastic bands with external fetal monitors on me. Aaaahh, ouch, damn it no talking. Al do your job! Nurse is rolling her eyes. I can't believe her name is Chiquita. She calmly and hautily tells us we will have to get 20 minutes of data on the EFM. I can't lay down. Do all my contrax leaning over the bed. She comes in several times readjusting, smushing gel and probes all over my taught belly. The monitors slip and slide off. Resident greets us with one hand, alternate fingers lubed; checks me. Where is my doctor? Only 4 cm dialated. Can't read contrax because patient is non-compliant. Finally they admit me. Did you know I asked for a room with a laboring tub? Yes (again, you feel the eye roll, even if it is done at the nurses' station later) Room hums with HVAC system proximity. Tub is like that of a 1950s home. My ass won't fit in there, much less achieve bouyancy for my ripe belly. Al is sleepy. I request my birthing ball (aka yoga ball) Can't lay in bed. IV for group B step. Pushing that bag, but I'm now listening to my iPod and giving up on anyone stopping talking to me, I flat out ignore them and their monitors. For a brief while, I feel so powerful, so in charge, so empowered and womanly. Loose muscles, breathing through the pain, not clenching, focused but just letting the river ripple past me. It is just Yo Yo Ma and me. Ball arrives. Good. That feels --- oooh, no break in the contrax. Resident comes to check. I have to return to bed. Can't. Must. Lay. OOOOOOUCH. He says, snapping off nitrile glove, pompous and unattached: Progressing nicely, probably hard labor in a few hours. WHAT?! Hours? Al asks for permission to drink coffee in room. Dejected, I order epi and instruct Al to go downstairs for coffee. The idea of the smell of coffee makes me fume. Sit on ball. Cello. Slamming contax. No break for air in between. Can't get a grip. Can't feel strong. Feeling scared. Noone to remind me or have the presence of mind to say, "Steph you are in transition." Overcome. WHere is everyone? Noone in the room. No air. Loud HVAC. Al returns, sees my face and calls for the nurse. Chiquita wants me on the bed. On my back. Cervical exam. Immediately presses emergency dr/resident button. I'm crying and yelping. Help me. Please. Where are the pain meds? Resident strolls in. Checks. Stirrups. Lights. Fully dialated; baby is right there. On my back. No! NO! I need to be on my knees. I just instinctively and vehemently needed to be on my knees so badly. Head nurse pulls my knees apart and says I cannot. Ripping pain down my spine. Arching back. Please I beg. Look, she's coming. I can't! All I can do is this. Fists clenched. Al's lip sweats and his eyes plead Lord help her pain cease. Two pushes and out came this gorgeous creature with her fist at her eye. About 20 minutes had passed since that resident told me it would be a matter of hours. Never mind. But it was such a headgame I didn't need. One big ibuprofen and I was good. Smiling and relaxed. All good natural hormones on board and nothing I didn't need. I held her all day, routing deeply into my happiness while Al ushered in rounds of adoring siblings, grandparents, an aunt. All happiness. Bliss.
20 minutes after I delivered, my dr. arrived. All fresh and shaven.
Less than 24 hrs later I left the hospital AMA. That night, Evelyn Bea and I slept at home in her room together. She smelled like the most amazing powder never manufactured. She nestled in my chest. She was perfect. We are all hers.