Allen and I had a "feeling" that this dumb thing probably wouldn't work, but we were there and decided we should try to inflict as much abuse as possible upon my body while we were in there. Hell, why not? I was getting chicken broth and jello every 12 hours...who wouldn't want to stay? Anyhow. They put this dealy-o in the proper locale and we set ourselves a time limit of 6 hours. If we hadn't achieved the level of "openness" so desired, we were out.
My doctor paid us a visit in the morning hours while we were waiting for the magic to take place. When he walked in, he exclaimed "I didn't even know you were this far along!" Screech. Like a record player coming to an ear-piercing halt. Say wha? In his defense, I hadn't seen him in the last 2 months as I was seeing the midwife. But, dude, YOU WROTE THE FREAKIN' INDUCTION ORDERS! He did the normal OB checks and asked me to try to wait it out for at least 8 hours. He also said our only other course of action was to schedule a c-section for the following week after the induction if we didn't have a baby by the end of the day.
Once again, we girded up my oh-so public loins and prepared to stay the afternoon. Now, it's around 11 a.m. and we made the choice for Allen to head home since all we were doing was laying around in a stuffy room. I wasn't going anywhere and it looked my cervix was in this for the long haul. The kids were on the fritz and Nana could use a break. With that, Allen took off.
Not more than 20 minutes later, I had this, um, well wet feeling back there. Again, if you're squeamish or don't want to hear about bodily fluids and cervices and other nastiness, please, don't continue. My doctor just happened to be back for another embarrassing visit and he suggested my water might have spontaneously burst and then we would have "lift off" and no turning back. They came in with those little strippy things and they tested and guess what??? It was testing positive. Yay hoo! Now, we had to have a baby one way or the other. Just to be certain I hadn't accidentally peed myself without knowing, they tested two more times. Positive! I made the phone calls, felt like there was hope in the world, and mentally prepared myself to make it through labor.
Another couple of hours passed. The deal with this catheter is that once you have dilated to the proper place, it just falls right out. Mine wasn't falling anywhere so the midwife came back in. She didn't look too comfortable. She had the "I'm going to drop a crap load of bad news at your feet and I wish someone else would just do this because I know you're going to go ape sh*t when I tell you the deal" look on her face as she approached my bed. She began: your contractions had not gotten stronger or closer together. Yes, thank you for clearing that up since I'm the one having them and could have easily told you that myself. The balloon thingy was still firmly wedged in there. Again, thanks for the clarification. Like you can just forget something like that is sticking OUT OF YOU. And, they didn't think my water had really broken because of said contractions. They were going to test again and then look at the fluid under the microscope because that is the definitive way to see if you have a broken water bag. If the water did not break, they were sending me home.
In a matter of minutes we went from absolutely having a baby to pack your junk and get the heck out. I was getting my eviction notice. It had now been 30 hours on "Satan's drug". While the contractions had not yielded any measurable results, they were annoying enough to wear me out. The bed was totally uncomfortable. My kids were stressed. The Nana was stressed. Allen has missed valuable time at work (hello, people, the man is working two full time jobs and one of them is in another state. Like he needs to miss work. I don't think so.).
When she broke it all down for me, I just laid there. I didn't say anything. I had been cheerful and chipper and quite pleasant, through the whole ordeal, but when she said all of that in one long winded breath, I was p.i.s.s.e.d. To say the least. She looked at me like any person would look at a caged, rabid animal. I think she thought I was going to fist fight her right there. She offered to have the doctor come in. I simply said, "No." I requested they unplug everything and take everything out of me and let me get on my way. "What should I do next?", I asked. Well, call the appointment line and try to get in to see your doctor on Monday. Call the line?!? Really. I've been here for 30 hours, poked, prodded, violated, and humiliated and you can't make the damned appointment for my section before I leave? No. I had to call the line and make my own appointment. Not even for the surgery. Just to see the doctor.
I called Allen. I called my dad to tell him we had no baby. I called my in-laws to tell them we had no baby. I was so embarrassed I didn't want to even tell anyone what had happened. How could I have let this get so far? Why didn't I make a scene and force them to take the baby? I'll tell you why. Honestly, I knew from the start, that the induction probably wouldn't work. I knew this would end in a c-section. I knew we could try labor, but for whatever reasons, this child would come by way of the knife. I didn't want to humiliate myself any further by having a temper tantrum in the hospital. Allen came and got me and we rode in silence back to our home to try and make sense of what we were going to do next.
The following day was business as usual. Allen went to work. My mom and I took the girls up for their annual well checks and immunizations (which could be my Friday installment of Hell Week, but I just don't have the time to write a whole entry on shots and crying and my aching uterus). I was beat all to hell and felt like crap, but I had a family to run and quite frankly didn't want to submit. And we didn't.
We did go in to see my doctor on Monday. When he walked in he exclaimed, "I thought you delivered!" followed up by, "Who ordered your induction anyways? It wasn't me!" as he read my chart. After seeing his jagged signature on the order, he then laughed, "HA! It was me!!!!" Allen and I sat in shocked silence. Honestly, we could have yelled at him, but what would it have accomplished? When he saw our faces, his flippant attitude changed. He cautioned me against another c-section. He said it was much better to try for a vbac. When we explained our concerns about my long labors, more induction, a huge baby, etc. etc., he agreed a c-section would probably be the best thing to do. He then offered to tie my tubes while he was in there. I told him NO. He gave me a look of disapproval and said, "Why not?!?" I said NO again. He pressured me further. I got pretty loud and stern and said, NO!!!! He let it go and put me on the calendar.
I don't think I had ever felt so insignificant in all my life. I feel like Allen and I chose dignity over our pride (and who wants to piss of the guy who will be cutting you open in 3 days?) but came out of this feeling like we need to make some different choices in our health care. I also have a much stronger conviction about my gut feelings. I knew how this would play out and instead of directing my care, I let others steer the boat. I did this pretty willingly, hoping to avoid what I knew would be our final outcome - a surgical delivery. I hope I've learned to trust myself a little more in that regard. I mostly wish that our birth stories would have a little less drama and little more dilation, please! But, in the end, we got our Emily here safe and sound and that is really what matters the most.
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