Our Little Miracle

It wasn’t long ago that I was at work, wishing I could just go into labor. I was miserable; I was uncomfortable; obviously, I was pregnant. Little did I know, the time would be on me before I knew it.

I was at work doing my normal everyday work routine. I came in later than normal (my boss said I looked exhausted and since I had no appointments early in the day, I might as well take advantage of it.) So, instead of doing my normal open to close shift cutting hair, I came in at 11:30 a.m. I did a few haircuts before taking a break for lunch. Taco Bell was the pregnancy craving for the day.

After Taco Bell, I started to feel horrible. You know what they say about Taco Bell! Apparently it wasn’t agreeing with me, and I went from being productive, to just sitting around waiting for my request haircut appointments. After doing several haircuts, and trying not to show how uncomfortable I was, I decided it was time for me to leave, 2 hours early. I called my husband and had him meet me back at the house (a 30 minute drive from work) and told him to grab my bag. We were going in, I thought I might be in labor. Of course, he didn’t fail to mention how insane he thought I was for driving home, instead of just going to the hospital. But, I was stubborn and didn’t want two vehicles in Green Bay, whether we had the baby that night or not.

Through abdominal cramping and the occasional groan, I was finally home and pacing the driveway waiting for my husband. He had dropped off our two older children at my parent’s house while I drove home. I was feeling sick and the tears were starting to roll down my cheeks. I just wanted to feel better. He finally speed into the driveway, obviously concerned that I was going to drop the baby any moment. He was a madman, something I might have expected more if this was our first child. I got into the truck and we headed back to Green Bay, about a 20 minute drive to the hospital.

Halfway there, I told my husband he should turn around. I believed I was no longer in labor. The pain had ceased. I was still uncomfortable, but hey, that was to be expected. After all, I was pregnant. He refused. He told me I was stubborn and that whether I liked it or not, I was going to the hospital to at least get checked out. Five short minutes later, I was glad he felt that way. After all, the pain came back tenfold, and now I wish those Sunday drivers would get off the road on a Friday night! I told my husband to step on it. I whined, I cried, I even shouted angrily.

When you are in full force labor, something takes over your body. You suddenly leave and a something mean and pitiful takes its place. At least that is how I am. Closing in on the hospital, we got stuck behind two old drivers who decided to pace each other. My husband honked and I did my lamaze breathing to demonstrate the situation we were in and the dire need to get around them. Both attempts to get around were ignored, and we hauled butt at 15 MPH in a 25 MPH zone.

Finally the light at the end of the tunnel was there. I could see the driveway. My husband turned on the left blinker and without even looking slammed his foot on the break reeling us into the hospital parking lot and up to the door. He had barely slammed the breaks before throwing his door open and trying to flag down the nurse with the wheel chair. She ignored him; he ran inside, leaving his pregnant wife to struggle out of the vehicle and waddle into the hospital by herself.

I huge pregnant body managed to weeble and wobble but not fall down all the way up to the hospital entrance, and without even one kind person to open the door as I huffed and puffed and grunted. I finally made it to registration where I found my husband. He left me to finish registering while he went to park the truck (which by the way… the hospital has valet parking… which by the way… the employee in charge of valet parking is one who stood there and watched this whole scenario). When he finally returned, I was sitting on a wooden bench waiting for someone to come down and fetch me while they got my room ready. I almost felt like I was going to a hotel. He was furious. I just concentrated on my breathing.

Many people walked passed, hacking and coughing (the entrance is the same for the hospital and the emergency room), wishing me luck or asking if I was having a baby. Almost as if it wasn’t obviously clear, as I held my big, round belly and huffed and puffed through those breathing techniques you are supposed to use. Finally, the lady from upstairs was walking toward us. A big huge smile on her face, which I just wanted to rip off (I already told you, I get mean and angry when I am in labor)! I thought to myself, if she was walking any slower, she would have been in yesterday!

Either way, it may have seemed like an eternity, but she finally arrived, and then asked if I needed a wheelchair or if I thought I could walk to the second floor. Now first off, I thought it was protocol to put a pregnant woman in labor into a wheelchair. Second off, why would you even ask, when it is obvious that I am bent over mid-contraction.

I am finally settled into my room… 2 hours since I left work. It is now 7 p.m. on a Friday night and they have yet to check me. I keep telling them my labors have gone fast in the past and they need to get going, yet they continued asking questions I already answered in my last doctor’s appointment. While I didn’t mind the questions, I really wanted to know if I was in labor, since earlier I could have swore it was just Taco Bell not agreeing with me, and I have a nasty habit of showing up for false labor. And I am grateful for the questions to make sure I was who I was. After all, I would have hated to have my leg accidentally amputated when I was just having a baby!

The nurse finally checked me and all of a sudden everybody started moving. They didn’t tell me what was going on, but they did tell me they were going to keep an eye on me cause they “didn’t trust me”. Obviously there was something that told them I was going fast. I don’t know what, since I am not part of the medical field, but there was lots of whispering. They hooked me up to an IV and told me the anesthesiologist would be coming soon to give me my epidural.

I could feel the cool liquid from the IV pouring into my arm and traveling through me. It made me cold and I started shaking uncontrollably. I could barely talk; I could barely ask for a blanket. The shivering made it nearly impossible to sit still for the anesthesiologist. With the epidural in place, I finally felt a little better. I even updated my status on facebook through my phone.

For a little while, life was good, until the pain started coming back on my left side. They told me to roll over to help the medicine flow, but it really did nothing. I finally told the nurse to get me the anesthesiologist; I wanted more drugs. She checked me first and told me I was nearly ready and if they gave me more medicine, I would be ineffective at pushing. My response, “If you don’t give me more drugs, I refuse to push. I have done this once without medication and I refuse to do it again. So, if you want me to push, you better get me more damn drugs!” (Of course - it might have been a tad more colorful than that. In fact, it almost looked like the nurse was going to cry!)

While they complied with my request (and they probably only gave me a little saline solution to satisfy me), they weren’t in happy with my decision. Either way, I got my way. The doctor was finally in the room and everything was ready to go. With all dignity gone, I slid down to the bottom of the bed, my legs spread and my feet up in the air. My behind fully exposed to several people.

The doctor had his face mask on and his catcher’s gloves; my husband stood at my foot, his head down south to see the whole show. My sister (who wanted to be there, but uncomfortable seeing her sister’s privates) held my hand. My mom stood back, camera ready for action. Push.

I grunted and bore down as hard as I could. My breath was held and it seemed to me like my hearing went dull. Everything was an echo in my head, except for the doctor, whose voice came out above everything else crystal clear. He told me to keep with the push; the head was almost out. With all my might and whatever energy I could possibly muster, I did what the doctor told me to do. The head was cleared. Another small push and the shoulders and the rest of the body slipped right out easily. My little baby boy was here and all it took was two pushes. They put him in my arms and he was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen!

It has been a year now since that day, and believe me, it has gone by incredibly fast! It seems like only yesterday that I was holding him in my arms. Then he started learning how to roll over and crawl. Now he is walking and you can’t get him to sit still. Instead of the little whimpers, he is jabbering up a storm having a full on blabbering conversation with you baby style.

He is a wonderful child, and while all babies are equally a miracle, he is definitely special. After having our first two daughters, my husband and I decided we were done having children. In fact, he had gotten a vasectomy. We had been going through a bit of a rough patch, but, the medical procedure had failed, and I was pregnant. He was a miracle child. Not only did we get our little boy, but it also saved our marriage. He was one in a million, and while we struggled to name him, we finally came up with something perfect. He is our little Maxamillion