I awake at 7am with sharp pains radiating around my sides. As normal, I get up to go to the bathroom because I have a big, acrobatic baby performing his routine on my bladder. I see blood. Panicked, but not totally upset, I tell my husband who says "Call your mom." (Smart daddy.) I call my mom and explain to her. Her reply? "He'll be here soon." No explanation of what I should do next or if I should go into work. My last day would be tomorrow, the 26th. I could power through this, right?
I arrive to work, still hurting but playing it off as Braxton Hicks. I tell my lead what is going on. She generously gives me a stool on which to sit and a breezy little fan to keep me cool while I repriced jewelry in the clearance case. I hurt off and on all shift, still bleeding. I drive myself home (my 45 minute drive) in agony. My husband and dad are at the house waiting on me and after a little bit of walking around grasping my stomach, they force me into the car and on the same 45 minute drive back to Cookeville. (It might've been a bit quicker this time.)
They get me strapped in the monitor, see that I am, in fact, having contractions. I am 3.5 centimeters dilated, but they won't keep me until 4 or 5. (Seriously?) I sit there for about 3 more hours hooked up while they see if I'll progress, which I didn't. So they sent me home without letting me walk or do anything to get the show on the road.
Saturday, April 26th
I'm up all night long. No. Sleep. Who in the world sleeps through these things, anyway?! (My husband, obviously.) My contractions are sporadic. Anywhere from 3 minutes to 10 minutes apart. So we decide I'm not going into work and we're gonna walk, walk, walk. We hit multiple retail sites in Cookeville and even a flea market. I walked until my husband basically had to drag me to the car. By that night, my contractions still weren't evening out. So I took a hot bath and tried to sleep. I got around 3 hours of sleep that night, so that was better than nothing.
Sunday, April 27th
I'm in agony. Pure agony. I have been monitoring my contractions for over 24 hours and they showed no sign of evening out. Upon my first 2 calls to L&D, they tell me not to come until they were 5 minutes apart for at least an hour. I was screaming profanities in my head, but I understood. No way in the world was I making that drive again just to be sent home. But they were getting stronger. Some of them were so strong they made me feel like I had to "take a dump" as I once told my mother. (I soon learned that is the feeling when you need to PUSH.) My husband went in to work (I'm not kidding) and my mother accompanied me. Finally, at 7pm, I had gone through enough and I had tried enough to get the pain to go away or the contractions to get closer together. I was going to the hospital.
I arrive around 9pm. I was a 5.5. Yes, a measly 5cm. After 2 full stinkin' days, I had moved 2cm. We were dumbfounded. I was going in and out because I literally had about 6 hours of sleep all weekend. Against that "birth plan" I had so neatly drew up, I got the epidural. In my head, all I could think of was relaxing. If I relaxed, maybe my body could do what it needed to do.
And that's exactly what happened.
The break my "bulging sack" of water. (Could they give it a grosser name?) Midnight rolls around and my body is no longer working against me and baby.
Monday, April 28th
Sometime around 2, they prep me for delivery. Nobody warned me that the epidural wouldn't work here! I couldn't feel contractions in my stomach, but holy cow I felt nearly every inch of my baby born. Honestly, I think I got the best of both worlds, but according to some women this is NOT how it works and usually you're either completely numb or feel both. I think my body did something wrong.
Or maybe not. ;)
After a weekend of labor and 20 minutes of pushing, James Easton was born at 2:24am.
7lb 11oz and 20.5 inches of pure perfection.
If there was anything I would do differently, it would've been to go to the hospital o Saturday again and hope to be admitted and get an epidural. Some "anti-drug" people would disagree, but an epidural saved me from a c-section and gave me a safe delivery. Because of the amount of time he spent in the birth canal (estimated over 60 hours), Easton was born with a rather large hematoma on his head. The doctors explained it as a "hickey" from being there too long. Thankfully, within about week, it was gone. He is the greatest blessing God could've ever given us.
Who knew 1+1=3?