The Week In Review

It's been quite a week in the Uberimma household. Too much for one post, so I'll do this in parts.


Part I: Precipitous

I had really gotten it in my head that I would have the baby last Sunday. It was Barak's second birthday, and for some reason I just thought I would have the baby then. I'd been having contractions off and on since Wednesday, coming and going, never very strong. They went on all day Saturday, then stopped, then started again Sunday morning. And then they stopped. We went for a walk, got bagels for breakfast, went to the park, went home. No contractions. I put Barak to bed, considered making chocolate cookies, decided not to, wasted some time on the computer, and went to bed.

Around midnight, I woke up feeling funny, and thought I was hungry. Went to the kitchen, pondered my options, ate a spoonful of ice cream and went back to bed.

Around one, I woke up, and thought, "Ow." Then I went back to sleep.

At 1:05, I woke up, thought "Ow," looked at my watch, and went back to sleep.

At 1:10, I woke up, thought "Ow," looked at my watch, and went back to sleep.

And then I thought, "Hey, I can time these." And then I went back to sleep.

At 2:30, I woke up and thought, "Wet. Very wet." And I did not go back to sleep. I got up, dripping all over the floor, and went to get a pad. Then I got another one. Then I went to wake up MHH.

Or at least I tried. But he didn't wake up, and I thought I'd just go call the midwife first. I went back to the guest room, where the computer is, and had her paged, then wrote an email to the friend who was going to come when the baby came and another to the friend I was on the phone with for a good chunk of early labor with Barak. The midwife called me, and I told her that my water had broken, I knew I was four centimeters dilated, I was fully effaced, the contractions were five minutes apart but not strong. I said I thought it was time to go to the hospital and she agreed. I called the babysitter, called the cab, and went to wake up MHH. This time I was not as polite about it, and turned on the bedroom light.

I told him that my water had broken and I was going to the hospital. "Wait till the babysitter gets here, then call a cab and meet me at the hospital." He thought this was a little odd. Last time, I'd been in labor for days. Why didn't I just wait for the babysitter and we could go together?

No, I said, I'm going now. And I'm leaving my labor bag, because I don't want to freak out the cab driver. So could you bring it, please? He said fine, and then started getting together a pile of books and CDs. Remember, last time I was in labor for four days. He wanted to be ready.

The cab came and I got in, after following it as it rolled down the street, the driver not seeing that he'd already passed the right house. I told him where I wanted to go and how I wanted him to get there. And off we went.

It's a twelve-dollar cab ride to the hospital. The midwife's office is right next door, and I'd been there by cab enough times to know this. I felt fine. The contractions weren't bad. I watched the meter go up.

And then I had a contraction that wasn't a joke. I tried to breathe deeply (but not loudly enough that the cab driver would hear me.) And then I had another contraction. And we were only three dollars into the ride. Four dollars. Four thirty-five. And that's when I started davening, please, do not let me have this baby in the cab. I need to get to the hospital.

By eight dollars, I felt desperately like I had to go to the bathroom, and thought of all the stories of women who'd gone to the bathroom and had their babies. Ten dollars. Eleven. Twelve. We pulled up to the hospital entrance, and I think the driver figured out what was going on when I handed him a twenty and got out of the cab without asking for change. I walked into labor and delivery, told the receptionist my name and that my husband was coming. She got me a room, and the midwife appeared--only she wasn't my midwife. It was the only one in the practice I'd never seen. "Where's Fran?" I asked. "Fran's not on call." "Yes, but she told me that she'd come anyway." The midwife looked at me, and was obviously not thrilled. "You didn't say that on the phone." She had me get on the bed, took a look, and said, "You're seven centimeters. I'll call Fran. But I don't know where she is."

I apologized, and saw that she was annoyed. She went off to call Fran. The nurse came, checked my blood pressure, and left. I took my knitting out of the bag. I put it down. And my Gd, it hurt. I leaned against the wall, went into the bathroom, tried to sit down, couldn't, walked back into the room, tried to breathe, didn't think I could do that either. Nobody else was in the room. Then the nurse, who I remember was Jamaican, came back, and called out into the hall, "Get the midwife."

I think it must have hurt worse than it did with Barak, because I never screamed when I ws in labor with Barak, and I was certainly screaming then. The nurse came back, and the midwife had me get on the bed, which I didn't think I could do, and she had a look and said, "Well, there's no time for Fran to get here, because you're ready to push." Which I did. It's true that it is a relief to push when you get there, because it eases the pain, but it was still blinding. At some point, I heard someone ask, "Is she alone?" I said, my husband's coming, but don't let him in!

And I had the baby. And I heard him crying, and I asked if it was a boy or a girl, and the midwife said she hadn't looked, and then she showed me, and it was a boy. She let me hold him, and said, careful, he's still attached.

MHH, meanwhile, had waited for the babysitter and taken a cab. When he got to the hospital, he went to the labor and delivery desk and told them who he was there for. They asked him to wait for a few minutes, and then told him he could go in. "Congratulations," one of them said. "Why?" he asked. "Go in and see."

There I was with the baby, and I heard him come in and say, in a tone of total incredulity, "You had the baby already?!" Indeed I had. And he nursed right away, and stayed awake and alert and nursing for almost two hours.

When it was time to go up to the maternity floor, someone came with a wheelchair and the piece of paper giving the bare bones of the labor that you take upstairs. I looked at it, and then I looked at the back. There were a bunch of boxes to check for what had happened during the labor: epidural, spinal block, forceps, etc. There was a box for "prolonged labor (>20 hours)." And there was a box for "precipitous labor (<4 hours)."

Welcome home, Mr. Precipitous.

And he is fine, and B"H is beautiful.