Part Two

My apologies for the format of Part One: for whatever reason I can't fix the spacing of the post, and even though I'm frustrated with it, not enough to figure out how to fix it. Oh well, here's Part Two!

So, after having my WTF revelation, which granted, when you are mere hours away from pushing out your child, seems a little late to be panicking, things went from pretty good (I mean, really, I'd had no contractions, so I was still kind of in denial about what was about to happen) to really bad. And fast.
So, when they gave me my pill of Cytotec, the nurse said, and I quote: "This is only your first dose. You will get a second dose in 6 hours, and 6 hours after that you will start pitocin. You will almost certainly need pitocin, because this pill has never helped anyone go into labor. I'm not even sure why they are giving it to you." Great. So, in my mind, it would be at least noon before I would even begin the actual work of labor, and maybe I could catch some sleep before then? My husband certainly thought this would be the case, and he promptly fell asleep on the little pull out couch next to my hospital bed. Because of the cytotec, I had to be hooked up to a heartrate monitor, so I was restricted to certain positions on the bed, which combined with my anxiety and racing mind, resulted in no sleep for me. Which allowed me to be perfectly certain of the exact time when I experienced the worst fucking pain of my life. At exactly 1:20 a.m., my entire body was wracked with pain, so strong that it caused me to scream and curl up on my side, making the heart monitor go crazy because it lost contact with whatever it was monitoring. Up jumps my husband, in rushes nurse, and casually sauntering in is Leslie, my midwife.
Nurse looks at me as if to say, "Um, I just gave you that f'ing pill 90 minutes ago, nothing should be happening now."
Husband looks at me as if to say, "Was it really necessary to wake me up with that banshee-like scream?"
Midwife looks at me as if to say, "I thought you were prepared for a natural childbirth?"
The next few hours are a complete blur, what I do remember are mere snatches. I remember Leslie rubbing my back and shoulders, telling me to simply breathe through the pain. I remember going into the bathroom, sitting on the floor and putting my head against the metal railing because I was so hot and it was so cold, and thinking to myself, this is undescribable and unbearable and I want to die right now. Part of what made it all so hard was that the contractions came one right after the other with about 30 seconds inbetween. Really. Apparently, cytotec has this effect on women. Making it a poor choice for inducing women who will probaby go into labor on their own if left alone. I do think I would have fallen into that category if given time, but I wasn't and I feel my midwife gave in to the doctor on call in pushing for an intervention...but that's a story for a different post.
Anyway, the contractions were coming, literally, nonstop, with no reprieve, not even enough time for me to breathe inbetween. The nurse looked kind of shocked, like she had never seen this reaction to this drug before, and I think this because she immediately became very nice and sympathetic towards me.
This continued until about 3:45 a.m. at which point the midwife decided to see how much I had dilated and the result -- a mere 3 c.m. Seriously, people, I almost lost my shit and killed my husband right then and there. Why him? Easy target and he was looking at me like, "What is up with all this drama? Didn't she think it would hurt?" As soon as Leslie said "three", I knew the gig was up. If I continued to progress at this slow rate, that would mean at least three more hours of these contractions, and I knew I just couldn't do it. I was already exhausted and pushing wasn't even on the horizon. I cried "epidural" louder than I've ever shouted I word before in my life.
Of course, because we had talked about this before, Leslie looks at me, and says, "No, no, you can do this! You don't need an epidural! You are strong!" and some other bullshit, I don't even remember what. Husband is looking at her like, "What the fuck is your problem, give her some meds or I'm going to" and the nurse, who by this point is my biggest fan and looks like she herself regrets giving me the stupid cytotec, just rubs my back and nods and says, "its okay, honey, its okay...whatever you want to do is okay." Consensus was, someone please do something to get this woman to stop screaming and start breathing. An epidural was thus ordered.
About 30 minutes later, in walks the resident who will administer this life saving drug. Those were a loooooong 30 minutes, my friends, a long 30 minutes. I mostly remember laying on my side, praying for something, anything to happen. So, here walks Ms. Suzy Sunshine to give me some relief. The best words out of her mouth? "I'm going to give you a little extra, because I think I went a little too left instead of dead center." Thank you! I'll take it! Instant, and I mean instant, relief was had. A huge sigh was heaved by all in the room, and probably the next room over too. At this point, everyone assumes I'll be getting some rest, as the room is vacated, lights are dimmed, husband is back asleep. Except...
The epidural gave me the shakes. REALLY BAD. My teeth were chattering. It was bad enough to keep me from sleeping, but of course, much better than the alternative, so nothing to do but lay in bed and let things take their course. Which is right where we'll pick up in Part Three!