So, where was I? Oh yes…proposing to the anesthesiologist. He laughed at me. The end. I am still engaged to MB. Which I suppose is as it should be…

After the epidural, the pain stopped altogether. I mean, I couldn’t feel anything from the bottom of my ribcage to the tippiest tips of my toes. And it was glorious. After about fifteen minutes, though, machines started beeping and a woman bolted into my room and stood in front of my heart monitor, looking clueless. At first, I thought she might just be lost. Or mildly retarded. But then when my nurse came in looking a little frazzled, I started to get a little concerned. Mind you, this is where things get a little hazy for me. Baby L’s heart rate slowed and my blood pressure plummetted to 70/45 and I felt weak and panicked and completely out of my mind. My nurse assured me that it was nothing to freak out about (SERIOUSLY?!) but I was convincing myself that one of us was not going to make it. And not because I felt like I needed to be all doom and gloom about the birth of my daughter. But because I had never had so much as a tooth pulled up until about two years ago and being in a hospital and hooked up to all these crazy things and all the beeping machines was the most terrifying thing that I could have imagined. After a few minutes of the “everything’s okay” and “these things happen” from the nurses, they dropped a bit of ephedrine into my IV.

Now I want you all to keep score here, okay?

First, they give me pitocin. Which I don’t want in the first place. And which evidently makes me puke.

Then, I get the epidural. Which is amazing because I can’t even feel this “pressure” that I keep hearing so much about, but which also, evidently, wants to kill me.

THEN, they basically dose me with methamphetamine. Which I am pretty sure was the reason that I was suddenly acutely aware of the growth of every, single strand of my hair.

That’s a lot of stuff…But, they aren’t done, internet…Oh no…

After about an hour of monitoring the bejesus out of my pulse, BP and baby L’s heart, and things had started to return to normal (all except for my pulse, which was ridiculously high, but probably because I was on METH), they upped the pitocin. Because, naturally, when someone says they DO NOT want something, the best thing to do is to give them MORE.

And then I puked again. And again. And then again. And every time I threw up, MB called the nurse and told her. And she rushed into the room and handed me a weird, green contraption to vomit into and then she gave me more ice chips. (I never thought I could hate ice as much as I have grown to…)

At this point, I had been in labor for about 12-14 hours. And the contractions were getting stronger. To the point where this “pressure” that I hear so much about, was beginning to become “a thing”.  I was tired. I was cold. I was hungry and vomiting. And now I felt like someone was attempting to push a cantaloupe out of my rectum. Yes. So, they told me I could start pushing. And I thought to myself, “SWEET! This is almost over! Because once you start pushing, the baby comes out. And then they put the baby on your chest and you cry and then you get to go home.” (This is totally inaccurate, as it turns out…) I pushed and I pushed for a couple of hours and I even made some progress. There was mention of some sort of vacuum that the doctor could use to expel the baby, but I wasn’t progressed far enough yet for this to be used and it became evident that Baby L was warm and cozy and completely content to stay inside a little longer. So, the nurse told me to go ahead and rest for an hour or two and that she would be back to resume pushing around 4am.

And then I threw up again. Because who can rest when a cantaloupe is trying to get out of them?

After the last puketasm, the nurse offered to give me some Phenergan. Which, if you are familiar with medications, is an anti-nausea medication which has a tendency to make you VERY, VERY sleepy. This, on top of the meth and everything, made my mind…well? WRONG. Everything was wrong.

The ephedrine was making me feel like a crackhead, the pitocin was forcing the NOTHING out of my stomach, the epidural made me paralyzed completely, and the Phenergan made me so tired that I was actually mumbling incoherently in between the contractions. Which, by this time, were painful again. Not that I really had any idea what was going on or anything.

Then it was time to push. Again. This time, I, being on a host of medications which were very contradictory to each other, I couldn’t even remember HOW to push. Or make sentences. Or stay awake.

(AND…to be continued again…Sorry, ladies and gents, my kid is hungry…again!)

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