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When Childbirth attacks!

Updated on January 16, 2009
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Sunshine is a wife, mother of four, a relationship expert, a journalist, a photographer, a public speaker, and author.

My labor was tedious. What does that mean?

Warning, if you are about to have a baby, you might not want to read my story. I never get to tell it, because the only time it comes up is when there was a new mom near, and I was always afraid to scare them.

My labor was tedious. What does that mean? Everybody's labor was tedious. All labors are just that, labor. Labor is painful, horrible, uncomfortable, irritating, and debilitating. My recount is about my worst labor, my most horrible delivery, and my second of four baby girls.

When you enter your third trimester, time slows down. Pregnancy is one of the only things that slow time down once you reach adulthood, but the third trimester turns it into thick gooey slime running down the wall of time.

Then labor starts, and time stops. Your world shrinks to the size of your head, and everything past that might as well be outer space. Sounds run together in a muffled mess, and all you know is that you have to have some drugs, or you're surely going to kill the next person that comes in your field of vision. People's orbit around you drift farther out until you have that miraculous eight-inch needle inserted into your spine, so you can have a few hours of normalcy.

Let's slow it down a bit. My labor lasted three weeks. Every five minutes, a contraction brought me to my knees, or woke me from a deep sleep. I even threatened my doctor with dying and haunting him forever if he didn't induce me. Of course, I was too early for that. My cervix, who I have decided hates me with a passion, wouldn't cooperate at all.

Finally, after trying every balsamic vinegar concoction, drinking oceans of raspberry tea, walking, vacuuming, driving over bumpy roads, and everything else you can imagine.....nothing happened. I did, however, beg the hospital to kill me, and instead, they decided to induce.

Now, we're back to the people orbiting away from me while I threaten to kill them all. Before I knew it, my water was leaking all over the place, and that nice drug was flowing into my spine, and my brain. My head exploded in horrific shards of pain. I sat up in terror that my brain might explode right out of my head, and asked the nurse what was wrong with me.

The next hour was a blur. I remember people running, lights flashing, and a lot of yelling. Faintly, I made out words like, "Where the hell is my crash cart?", "Her B.P.'s bottoming out!", "Epinephrine, stat!" and "I'm loosing pulse!"

Wait.....crash cart, epinephrine? The muffled mess of sound suddenly became very clear. OH NO! I WATCH ER! THIS ISN'T GOOD! Am I dying? My fears were confirmed when I looked into the faces of my mother and husband. They were watching me die. Sadly, I made peace with God, and prayed.

Somehow, they saved me, but it's not over yet. They decided that I shouldn't have drugs anymore, because they didn't want me to die, so they left me to scream at the top of my lungs with every movement of my labor. Soon after, she was coming. I screamed at the nurse that I needed to push, and she told me no. There was no way I was complete already. What she didn't realize, was that I was in so much pain, that it didn't matter what she said. I told her I was pushing with or without her help. She checked me, and all she could say was, "Oh dear. Don't push, let me get the doctor."

She used my nurse button to call the nurse's station, and again, I told her I was pushing. She told me no, so I grabbed her by the collar and informed her that she didn't have to push, but I was going to. Quickly, she ran to the end of the table, and delivered my daughter, who came out in three pushes.

Don't forget, I had no drugs, I was mostly dead, and my pain was through the roof. I didn't care what the nurse said, but I soon realized how bad of an idea that was. My Dr., who ran from across the hospital, came in and saw my baby just in time for me to hemorrhage all over the place.

Again, the emergency crew came running in, as if on cue, with all the scary words, and again, saved me from a horrible death. I was alive, and it was time to sew me up. Twenty six stitches later, the nurse had the audacity to say, "That's why we don't push until the doctor says." I would have punched her, but I was staring into the eyes of my beautiful baby, and I was alive.

For seven days, they wouldn't let me leave the hospital, for fear that I might almost die again, but here I am, and my second baby just turned ten.

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