The beginning of the wee-bean’s story is a little bit sad. I want to be completely honest about what I experienced before and during labor which is why I’m including it.
Seven weeks ago today I was already several days past my due date, and I confessed my anxieties and reservations about being induced to you. Time continued to pass, and by Friday, February 10th it looked as though the induction was happening. My midwife booked an appointment for me to meet with an obstetrician for the following Monday, though we both had our fingers crossed that I would go into labor naturally over the weekend.
Well, the weekend came and went and the wee-bean still rested comfortably in my belly. The Hubster and I woke up bright and early on February 13th to begin our day of appointments–the OB, the midwife, then another ultrasound.
I was really nervous to meet the OB. Here I had spent months developing a close relationship with my midwife, whom I love, thinking that she would be the one to deliver my baby. Now I was faced with the idea that some strange man would be the one do it. I wasn’t terribly impressed.
The Hubster and I arrived for the appointment and I immediately got the impression that this doctor’s office was not a fan of midwifery. As the nurses began my check-in, there were continually comments like: “Did they have you taking prenatal vitamins?” or “We’ll just get you on the scale. I know midwives don’t check things like that.”
…umm, thanks, but my midwife was very thorough and followed my weight at every visit.
I returned to my seat and waited to meet the almighty OB. After the attitude of the nurses, my nerves were even more raw than they had been before though I tried hard to cover it. Finally the doctor came out and invited us into his office.
He seemed nice enough, though he had a strange sense of humor and his attitude was a little brisk. We quickly covered the basics, then went over how I would be induced. He then confirmed that it was time for the wee-bean to be delivered and booked me a check-in time at the hospital for the following morning. The Hubster and I looked at each other and realized that our little girl would potentially be with us the following day.
As we began grasping this new reality, the OB asked me to jump up on his examination table to see how far I had progressed. He left the room for a moment so I could get ready, and my anxiety level flew through the roof.
Not that anyone enjoys it, but I hate being examined. I am extremely shy / private and even had a hard time letting my (female) doctor or midwife do it for my yearly tests. As they themselves are both female and understand that it’s an uncomfortable procedure, they both take their time and are very gentle.
This doctor was not.
As I lay in utter discomfort on his table, I prayed that this would not be a glimpse of what I faced tomorrow. He revealed that I had still not dilated at all, and began making jokes that I would definitely need the epidural the next day, and commented that a c-section was still on the table.
As he left so I could redress, I felt my anxiety level rise and my emotions began to bubble over. It took everything in my not to cry in his office. I didn’t really want to have the baby this way, and I wasn’t 100% comfortable with this new man delivering it. Still, I knew it was the best option for the baby so I pulled myself together and agreed to check in to the hospital at 7:30am the following morning.
The rest of the day was hard for me, and even seeing the wee-bean’s cute face during the ultrasound did little to diminish my fears.
So, after all our appointments the Hubster and I headed home. He had a few tasks to finish around the house before the baby arrived, so I slipped upstairs for a few quiet moments in our bedroom.
And I cried.
I wanted to be excited so badly, but all I felt was… loss. I felt like I had lost the calm peace I had felt throughout my entire pregnancy knowing that Olivia was delivering my baby. I felt like I no longer knew what to expect, and the uncertainty was devastating to me. And most of all, I felt that not going into labor naturally was my body failing to do what it was supposed to, and I lost the confidence that I’d had. I no longer felt like I could do this.
I curled up into a ball (a big ball) on my bed and wept for a good half an hour before I picked myself up, called my sister, then cried some more.
It was the first time I really let myself be scared about what my body was going to go through in just a few short hours. The Hubster came upstairs and found me, and bless his heart he did his best to console me. Knowing that he had absolute confidence in me helped a little, as did knowing that we’d have our sweet girl at the end of the experience.
But I still felt like I was missing out on an experience I had imagined for months… you know, the whole waking up with contractions and trying to decide whether or not this was real labor thing. I had imagined myself curled up at home, doing housework or watching movies as I endured the early hours of labor, not being cooped up in a hospital room.
But, c’est la vie.
By the early evening I had accepted my new reality and my parents arrived to help distract me. We spent a few hours visiting with them, then it was time for bed. The Hubster and I curled up and again he tried to reassure me. After letting him know that I’d be okay, he rolled over and fell asleep, trying to rest up for our big day tomorrow.
Sadly, I did not.