I’m not ready for this. I still have things to do. He’s not supposed to come for two more weeks. Well, at least another week. I was willing him to come the first week in November…after Halloween. No, I can’t be contracting. I don’t feel a thing. What the heck? I don’t have a bag with me. I don’t have anything with me. Ohhhhhh-myyyyy-gooooossssshhhhh (as though it’s one word drawn out).
OH NO!!!! This CAN’T be happening! This isn’t how I pictured it going. I look like HEEEELLLLLLLLLLL. I can’t have a baby looking like this! My hair is pulled back. I have no make-up on, AND my toes aren’t polished. They are always polished except for now obviously (as I roll my eyes in disbelief). What the heck?! OH…MY…GOSH–I didn’t shave my legs! This is SOOOO NOT happening!
Before I can really wrap my head around what’s happening, they wheel me up to my room. As we reach my floor, my sister stops and talks to someone she knows from working here. The nurse helps me out of my current bed into another. Before I get settled in, I tell her I need to use the restroom. Little did I know she would need to help me as though I can’t walk 15 feet to use the bathroom on my own. I still have full use of all of my faculties. She leads my IV into the bathroom and as she puts it next to the toilet, I feel “water” streaming down my leg. I say, “Oh, I’m sorry, I think I just leaked everywhere,” thinking that the leakage I was experiencing at home was just more profound now.
I pull up my robe to see how much I leaked. Thoroughly embarrassed at the sight, I shyly say, “What the heck? I’m so sorry. I’m bleeding.” I feel horrible for the nurse as I see there is blood everywhere…a huge pile on the ground, down my legs, and on my socks. Then I look to my right and see a trail of blood from my bed. I had no idea I was bleeding. Wait, so that must mean I’m also contracting. I don’t feel anything….weird.
The nurse says, “Don’t worry about it.”
I know it’s her job, but it’s not appealing having to clean up after someone else. I also know I didn’t do it intentionally and that I can’t help it, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
I ask, “Can I have a wet towel?” She hands me one, and I wipe my leg, as she cleans up the ground.
I say again, “I’m sorry. That’s what my sister is here for…to help me.” I whisper as though I’m talking aloud to myself, Where the heck is she? I can’t believe she is still talking to her nurse friend. It’s not like she’s much of a talker. Then again, it’s not like she thought I would gush blood everywhere while she was gone.
After I use the toilet, the nurse helps me to my bed. I take off my bloody socks, wishing I had another pair for two reasons. I hate walking around a foreign place barefoot…GROSS! And if my feet are cold, I’m cold. Yikes! This is definitely not going as planned.
My sister finally arrives back in the room. I say sarcastically, “It’s about time. You missed all the fun.”
She looks at me not understanding. I continue, “I just bled everywhere,” and I tell her the story. For me, it’s more embarrassing then anything…having someone you don’t know see you bleed, and then on top of that have to clean it up, because you aren’t able to. You feel helpless. And that’s one thing I don’t like….feeling helpless. I am an independent, grown adult. I have always been able to do things for myself. I’ve always had the mentality, “I can do it. I don’t need help. I can do anything!” Except for clean up a trail of blood when I’m 38 weeks pregnant. To be honest, I wanted to do this too, but the nurse wouldn’t let me.
I had heard that during labor and especially delivery, people will see every part of you. They will see your boobs, they will see your cooter (down there), and they will see you use the toilet. They will see everything, and you just won’t care. Well, I definitely haven’t gotten to that point…and am not sure I will.
The delivery nurse hooks monitors up to my stomach as I lay on my back. She gets me ice chips (YAY!) and instructs me to remain on my back, which proves to be uncomfortable. An hour after I get into my room I’m still not feeling any contractions when my delivery doctor comes in, checks me out, and says almost the same thing the OB triage doctor said…I’m at a 4 or a 5 and my sac seems intact but that I have a slight placenta eruption. That may be why I was experiencing a small leakage. He doesn’t want to break my water until he knows how I will progress.
I’m exhausted just from constantly being surrounded by strangers for so long. That may sound weird…but it’s late. I haven’t had any sleep. I’ve answered a million questions, been hooked up to monitors and IVs, and not able to move much. My sister and I are finally alone in the room, and I can somewhat relax. I crave being alone with her to share my thoughts and feeling and haven’t been able to do it so far tonight. Thankfully that time is here. More importantly, thankfully she is a nurse. She stands up to keep an eye on the baby monitor to know when I’m having contractions.
She says, “You’re having one now.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“I can’t believe you’re at a 4 or a 5 and still not feeling anything.”
“Well, I’m not.”
She sits back down, and I say, “Can you imagine if I wouldn’t have come here when we did? If I would have bled like that at home, I would have completely freaked out.”
The thought of bleeding like that, at my house, alone almost brings tears to my eyes. I continue, “I would have called you in almost hysterics saying, ‘Goddess of Love, you HAVE to come over here RIGHT NOW, something’s wrong. I’m bleeding badly.’ Then you would have been worried, trying to remain calm and hold it all in. I can’t even imagine what that would have been like for us.”
“Me neither. Or if you would have bled like that in the car on the way here.”
“Yeah, no kidding. That would have been my worst nightmare. I’m so glad we came when we did. It didn’t take that long for me to start bleeding like that. That was less than an hour after we arrived. That’s pretty scary.”
As she picks up her phone to answer it, she says to me, “Yes, thank goodness.”
Her husband is on the other end asking what he needs to get me from my place. Yes, he got stuck getting my bag. The problem is…it’s not packed. So my sister tells him there is a piece of paper on the kitchen table with a list on it of what he needs to find at my place and put in the bag…Lucky him. AND he’s totting around his five-week-old daughter. Now that’s every guy’s worst nightmare!
Find out how ACM’s labor progresses…
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