Number Three

The winter of 1991 came early with a three-day blizzard beginning on Halloween dropping nearly thirty inches of snow. As is usually the case after a nasty storm like that, the following days were filled with sunshine and brutal cold. And, as luck would have it, I caught a cold. Given that I was about 34 weeks pregnant, I couldn’t take any serious cold medicine, and so over the course of the next few weeks the cold turned into a cough turned into bronchitis. I had nothing within me to fight it. All I could do was wait for the baby to be born and then hit hard with antibiotics. At least, that was my plan.

My doctor had other ideas. He knew how tired I was from being sick and from getting ready for the holidays and he worried I wouldn’t have the strength to deliver the baby on my own. Ha! I was determined to deliver that baby or die, probably the exact thing the doctor was concerned about. And, the doctor had another concern. The two of us had been patient-doctor for fourteen years and because my previous two babies had come into the world too rapidly for him to attend in person, I think he was defending his pride a little and didn’t want a third strike. So a history of rapid delivery combined with a sick momma and a doctor taking a personal stand resulted in the doctor ordering an inducement for December 9.

On one hand I didn’t want to be induced. It wasn’t natural. I thought we would be messing with both Mother Nature and the Divine and I just wanted no part of that. On the other, I was too sick to care. By December 2, I was not getting any better and so the doctor told me to start taking Sudafed. He also told me his colleagues thought December 9 was too early to induce and they wanted to give me a few more days to feel better, so it was pushed back to December 16. One problem. That day was my second daughter’s birthday and I didn’t choose to have the kids share the same birthday. The doctor consulted with his colleagues and they agreed to change the date, to Friday, December 13, 1991. No! Not on a Friday the Thirteenth! My doctor laughed at me. This man who knew so much about me couldn’t believe I was superstitious. He gave me a lecture combining science and religion and basically delivered the message that I had no choice.

Funny how life likes to throw you a curve ball when you think you’ve outsmarted Mother Nature. With the morning of December 12 came a fever of 101 degrees, sore throat, chills, and a very irritated digestive system. Basically, I had a very nasty cold and stomach flu. I was so afraid that if I didn’t get better fast the doctor would cancel the inducement. My husband had worked the third shift the night before so he was sleeping. I sent my oldest daughter to school and then laid on the couch while my four-year-old played around me. At lunchtime I ate some soup and then woke up my husband to take care of our youngest. I crawled into bed and tried to rest as best I could.

At 1:30 the phone rang and the township needed my husband to go out and plow and sand the roads. Nothing was happening with me, so he left. Ten minutes later the school called to let me know my oldest daughter was now sick. I couldn’t go get her, so I arranged for my in-laws to go pick her up. When she got home, I put her on the couch and told her little sister to play doctor and make her big sister feel better. I went back to bed.

At 3:00 I started to feel some kind of pains. Because there wasn’t any pattern to them, I told myself it was just more false labor. Within a half hour, it was clear these were contractions and they were consistently ten minutes apart. But they just didn’t feel like the real deal, so I wasn’t too concerned.

At 3:45, my husband came home and we talked for a while about what to do. We decided I should call the doctor and let him know what was going on. So at 4:30 I called and left a message and the doctor called back right away. He wanted me to come in as soon as I could get to the clinic. So we tracked down my niece who was going to be our sitter and she came to our house. We headed out at 5:15 but the clinic was now closed so we went to the hospital. The doctor was waiting for us and he checked me right away. By that time my contractions were six minutes apart but still very tolerable. I wasn’t dilated any more than I had been at my previous appointment—about one and a half. He told us to go in the lobby and wait an hour. So we did.

During that time the contractions got closer and closer but I still wasn’t in any pain. I knew I wasn’t in active labor. At 7:00 the doctor came out to check on things and my contractions were staying consistent at three minutes apart. He decided to admit me. That took a while but finally I was in a bed with a fetal monitor, contractions still at three minutes apart and fever still at 101. As I laid there and relaxed, the contractions got weaker. I tried to sit up to keep gravity on my side but that didn’t seem to help. The doctor checked in with me around 10:00 and said he was spending the night in the hospital to be close by. He was convinced I would have the baby by morning.

It was a quiet night but I wasn’t getting any rest. Everyone knows you don’t go to the hospital to sleep. About 3:30 in the morning my fever broke and the contractions stopped completely. I was so disappointed, and so worried that they would call off the inducement.

The doctor came in to see me again in his morning rounds and we talked about how neither one of us got much sleep, and how disappointed we both were that the baby was being so stubborn. The doctor was reluctant to continue with the planned inducement but I argued that my fever had gone and I was already on the schedule for it. He agreed.

I was eager to get the show on the road but it wasn’t until 11:00 when the nursed hooked me up to an IV with Pitocin. Within a half hour contractions started. Things were going well and by 1:30 contractions were again three minutes apart. But at 2:00 things started to slow down and an hour later the nurse discovered the IV pump wasn’t working properly. She consulted with the doctor and he said I needed to start all over with the minimum dose. With the afternoon shift change, the new nurse was determined to bring a baby into the world and she was shocked at the “off the charts” contractions my body was having as shown on the monitor printout, except I wasn’t feeling anything at all. I was as relaxed as one could be given the circumstances. Even though I hadn’t slept, I did feel better from being so well hydrated but the nurses were getting a bit peeved with how often I needed to use the bathroom. With the IV, the contraction monitor, and the baby’s heart monitor, it wasn’t a quick or easy process and not one I could do on my own.

Evening arrived with no baby. I wasn’t progressing—dilated only to a 3—and the nurse was growing concerned about how long I had been receiving the Pitocin. She said I wasn’t uncomfortable enough. At 8:00 the nurse said she would give me one more hour and then turn everything off and send me home. Every fifteen minutes she amped up the dosage but still no progress. I was so depressed and frustrated and tired. Even so, as tired as I was, I quickly discovered I still had energy to fight. The nurse was resigned to the fact that I would be sent home and I refused. I told her I was a walking time bomb now that they had messed with nature and I insisted I was going to stay there until a baby came, if it took a week. The nurse and I argued and she said she’d have to consult with the doctor. I was so disappointed. And frightened. I was convinced the baby would be born at home on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. We had gotten lucky the first time that had happened. I didn’t think we’d be as lucky a second time.

And then, at 8:55, I felt and heard something pop inside me and I felt the baby fall. Instantly I felt the hormonal switch in my body turn on, just as if someone had entered the room and turned on the lights. I told my husband to call the nurse. He didn’t believe me. I had to ask him a couple of times and finally he went and got the nurse. She came in a few minutes later and I told her to check me. She didn’t believe me either but she checked just the same. As soon as she inserted her fingers, the bag of waters gushed out and the nurse swore.

Immediately I was in hard labor. I was still only dilated to a 3, but I knew things would go very fast now and so I asked the nurse where the doctor was. He had gone home for supper. I told her to trust me and to call the doctor back to the hospital. I was somewhat surprised that she did as I asked.

Another ten minutes passed and the nurse came in to tell me the doctor had arrived and would be in to see me in a few minutes. I was in the middle of a hard contraction. I could see the shock on her face. Twenty minutes later I had an urge to push and breathed through it. Two more times I was able to breathe through the pushing urge but I knew I wouldn’t be able to for much longer. I called the nurse again and told her to check me again. She really didn’t want to but I kept insisting. I knew I had to be at a 10. Whatever I said or did to convince her, she finally checked and she smiled ear to ear. “You are amazing!”

An alert was put out for the room. I was ready but they weren’t. The bed had to be prepared and supplies put in place. All the while I fought the urge to push. I was too tired to stop it. And it was unlike anything I had experienced before. I knew it had to be the effects of the Pitocin. Finally the doctor came in and he told me to go ahead and push. The urge to push was so strong that I couldn’t tell if there was a contraction. It was like my body was in one solid, long contraction. Just when I thought I couldn’t handle any more pain, the baby was born, at 10:04 p.m. on Friday, the Thirteenth of December, 1991.

Another girl. Beautiful. Dark brown hair, almost black. Gorgeous eyes with very long lashes and perfectly formed lips. At seven pounds, nine ounces she was the smallest of my babies. I was so relieved she was born in the hospital, and so grateful everything worked out as it should. She was our second child to be born just before Christmas. As I held her in my arms and welcomed her to the world, I was reminded that there is no greater blessing, no greater connection to the reason for the season.

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