The Beginning of the Day

At midnight, Friday, July 30th, I was wheeled into the labor ward at the hospital. They hooked me up to the dreaded CTG and this time the doctor listened to the fact that I was in pain and couldn't take anymore: because the baby's heartbeat was affected.

We watched in terror as it went from a healthy 135 to 100 to 70 and even lower. She told the nurse - the same one who had checked us in when I came in earlier in the week with the bleeding - to get the other doctors on duty and prepare the team.

My mom and husband were holding their breath; an oxygen mask was put on me and I was told to breath deeply. Between the oxygen mask and another one they gave me for gas to numb the pain, I was concerned as well in my pain crazed state.

"If we give you the epidural now, it will slow things down," a very confident, South Asian looking doctor with a stylish bob was saying to me in what I'm sure she thought was a comforting tone. It came across condescending.

"Slow me down to what?" I said, knowing that I had been 2 centimeters or under for the past 48 hours. "I can't take this anymore."

The CTG chart to my left attested to the strength of the contractions. My darling mom and husband had their eyes glued to the machine, rather than at me. Thinking they were helping, they started telling me when to brace for the contractions.

"Look at me," I told them. "Not the machine."

While the rule in the labor rule was only one person at a time (see my notes on our trip via the emergency room) this evening the nurse made one attempt and then let it go.

I had both my soldiers there with me.

Finally I won the argument on the epidural; They said I need two bags of an IV before they could give it to me.

"The gas isn't working," I was telling my husband who was pressing the part of my back that hurt the most when the contractions came.

"Get the children's books and press it in my back," I heard myself say vaguely as though from a distance.

"Mom, she's talking gibberish," I heard him whisper on a half laugh.

I know you are making fun of me! I wanted to say but I couldn't force any words out.

The nurse was trying to stick me for the IV and without success on my left hand.

"Why are your veins like this?" She asked me in exasperation as though I could respond. This was the typical sort of question you could expect to hear in my house growing up. If something wasn't working you never had anyone to blame but yourself.

"You need to lift weights, baby," my husband said, trying to find some humor. I rolled my eyes at both of them. She gave up on the left hand and found a steady, non-rolling vein on the right hand.

The bag drip started, along with my vigilant observations to see when I could have the magic drug.

An eternity later, a very tall German man in blue scrubs came into the room. The anesthesiologist - my hero.

"She needs to sit up straight," he was saying, as nurses were busy behind me.

"Sit up straight," my mom was saying to me.

After 48 hours of contractions, this was like saying to a blind man, walk along the dotted line on the floor.

"I don't know what straight is," I said. My mother let my husband take over. He pulled me up by my hands, forward, as the nurses held me still. Four people were making sure that I was ready for the epidural. There were still contractions wracking my body: the doctor said, "okay, we wait."

I knew in order to get the epidural you had to be still. I was terrified that my inability to sit up would mean that they wouldn't be able to give it to me. But the team was patient and they waited.

"Does she have back pain?" The doctor was asking my husband.

"No," we both said.

"That's amazing," he said, "I think she has scoliosis."

Hearing that my back was an inverted comma was not really high on my list of things to find out about during delivery. But having delivered this news, a feeling like liquid sugar raced started high on my back and raced through my veins, spreading a delicious numbness.

The epidural was taking effect and for the first time in two days, I could sleep.

"Go and sleep," I said to my cheerleading duo. They were reluctant but I finally convinced them when I said that none of us would stop talking unless they went. We all needed rest.

I spent the next 8 hours on the labor ward, in my bed, hooked up, but not feeling any pain. What remained was to see how much I would dilate.