Never Giving Up (Never #3)(44)
You could imagine my surprise when, after arriving at the hospital and making quite a fuss about how I was going to give birth right there in the emergency room, I found out I was actually only dilated three centimeters. That’s right, seven to go.
“Are you sure?” I asked the nurse with her hand shoved uncomfortably up inside me. “Can you check again?”
“I am checking, Honey, and you’re only at a three, maybe three and a half.”
Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t rob a woman of that half a centimeter.
They hooked me up to monitors and that was, by far, the best part—getting to listen to the heart beat all the time. It was a soothing sound, however, it did nothing to make the pain go away.
Porter tried his hardest to make me feel as comfortable as possible, and in return I tried my hardest not to physically harm him. The contractions came and I turned into a woman I had never met before. I swore. I yelled. I was just plain rude. But when the contractions went away I apologized and promised to be better during the next one.
It was a vicious cycle of pain and lies. It hurt more every time and I never got any nicer. Eventually on a down swing, I told Porter that I wouldn’t hold it against him if he left me.
“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I don’t know why I’m being like this. I wouldn’t want to stay with someone like me. You can go, in fact, I insist. I don’t deserve you.” I blubbered. I had come unhinged.
“Baby,” he said sweetly as he brushed the sweat-soaked hair from my forehead, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re doing great. I love you and you’re not doing this without me. You swear at me and call me names all you want. I promise I won’t hold it against you when all of this is over.” His words just made me cry harder. He was a saint. “Now, Ella, don’t get upset, but what do you think about getting some pain meds?” He looked as if he was waiting for me to smack him upside the head.
“We said we were going to try to do it naturally . . .” I whined. We had a plan. I wanted a peaceful, calm, productive labor. Ha.
“Baby, you’re doing so well, but I think maybe it would be good if you got just a little help with the pain.” He ran the back of his fingers down my cheek and I leaned into him. Pain relief sounded wonderful, but admitting that was breaking my heart. I had wanted so badly to do this right.
“There is no right way to have a baby, Ella,” he said, reading my mind. “You’ve put in a lot of work, but maybe your body is trying to tell you that it needs a little help.” He kissed my brow.
“You won’t think less of me if I get an epidural?”
He laughed a little. “No, Baby, I won’t. I think it might save our marriage.”
“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” I whispered as he leaned down to embrace me.
“It’s up to you, Ella. I’ll stand here until the end of time listening to you yell, taking your insults, but it’s killing me not being able to help you at all. Watching you in this much pain tears me apart. Plus,” he said with a gentle smile, “I think you’re scaring some of the other moms in the maternity wing.” My lips turned up into a smile, but then turned right back around as another contraction came upon me. This time I buried my face in my pillow and stifled my screams until it was over, trying not to break Porter’s fingers as he held my hand. When it finally subsided, years later, I looked up at him with fresh tears in my eyes.
“Ok, I think it’s time for an epidural.” He let out a huge sigh of relief. I pushed the little button on my bed and heard a voice come over a speaker system telling me she’d be there soon. When the nurse appeared, I was just finishing another torturous contraction.
“How are you doing?” The nurse asked with sincere concern.
“I think I want an epidural.” I said, trying to hide the shame in my voice.
“Ok, well, there are a few things to consider. First, let’s do an exam to see how far along you are now. If you’re too far along you won’t be able to get one. Do you feel any pressure when you have a contraction? Urges to push?”
“No,” I answered. “Just the distinct feeling like someone is ripping my stomach to pieces.” My comment came out more snarky than I had anticipated.
“Ok, you’re going to feel a little pressure now,” she said, breezing past my rude comment. She lied when she said ‘a little’ and I cried out from the seriously uncomfortable feeling of someone trying to shove their fist inside my cervix. “Alright, you’re at four centimeters so you can still get an epidural if you want one.”
“FOUR?” Porter and I both cried at the same time. The nurse tried to hide the fact that she rolled her eyes at us and then patiently continued.
“Yes, four. Would you like me to call the anesthesiologist?”
“I’ve been sitting here in agony for hours and you’re telling me I’m only at FOUR centimeters?” This woman was a pro because she did not even bat an eyelash at me.
“This is very typical, I can assure you, Mrs. Masters. This is your first delivery. You could be here for hours and not make any progress. Now, would you like for me to call the anesthesiologist?”
Oh, she was good. “Yes, I would very much like the epidural.”
Epidurals are scary. In theory, you go into it knowing what is supposed to happen, but when someone actually tells you to sit still, through your contractions, while they put a needle into your spine, it very quickly becomes terrifying. There’s no way I would have been able to get through it had I not been leaning up against Porter’s chest. I think the doctors planned it that way. They know you’re going to freak out, so they tell you to lean against the one person who is supposed to make you feel better. Leaning up against him, smelling him, almost took away the fear, but not totally. Wood and soap, those scents are what got me through it.