The Last Thing you Want to Hear When you Call the Hospital in Labour

It has been a year since the birth of Baby MB and I am finally ready to write about it.

First, he was super late. Super, unbearably late. You can read my other post on that part here.

I began feeling contractions for 3 days before his birth, which were irregular and got my hopes up, but each day passed with no baby. Finally the day after my own birthday I woke up feeling pretty sure I should call the hospital. When I did, I was absolutely shocked at what they said. 

“We are cleaning the maternity triage right now. Can you wait an hour?”

Um, what? WHAT??? Sure, I’ll just tell the baby that now is not a good time.

I could try crossing my legs, but I’m not sure how effective that would be. After 41 weeks of pregnancy hell, I was ready for him to get out already, but really, one hour wouldn’t make a huge difference, so I said I would try to make it that long, and would come in.

I made it 40 minutes, and my husband and I went in to the hospital. The triage was in disarray, as promised but the nurse had cleared a corner in another room and set up a couple beds. It was like being examined in a closet.

My last pregnant picture. Notice how irritated I look? It is because I am still pregnant. Or because the hospital told me to wait an hour longer…. 

I didn’t mind that though. The worst part was that someone was ahead of me.  The nurses asked if they could see her first. She was in a lot of pain, they said. Well, no problem, because I felt pretty great. I was really enjoying these contractions and was hoping to continue feeling them un-medicated. Ha! I laid down on a bed while they checked her out. She was 3 centimetres, but they were going to get her a room.

They finally came over to my bed and said they were going to hook me up to a monitor for half an hour. I am pretty sure I audibly groaned because the nurse changed her mind and decided to check how far into labour I was instead.

“Wow,” she said. “You are at 7 centimetres. I think we’ll get you into a room. Are you trying to do a natural birth?”

“No,” I replied through clenched teeth, “Hell, no. I would like all the drugs. Can I have them now?”

And get them I did. I was rushed into a room, got an epidural and immediately felt better. Then labour completely stopped. Luckily I felt much better at this point, so I didn’t mind the delay. I would come to regret it later when my epidural ran out right as I was in the last part of labour. I could have lived without feeling that so acutely, but there was no time for another dose. When I say the labour stopped, I really mean it. Just completely ground to a halt. I was there so long there was a shift change. I will spare you the gross details, but I had to have my water broken and a large dose of oxytocin to restart the contractions. Three hours of pushing later, there he was.

But he wasn’t breathing.

So while I was being stitched up, a whole team of extra people came running in. They cut the cord, rushed him to the other side of the room and suctioned fluid out of his nose and mouth. The silence was terrifying. It was the longest moment of my life.

Finally, I could hear a cry and see his little legs moving and all the air I was holding in rushed out in relief. He was just over 7 pounds and he was just perfect.

See? Perfect. Photo credit: Dan Cook

So quick summary: 41 weeks of pregnancy, 3 ish days of labour, a closed maternal triage, 40985 people looking at my vagina and the epidural running out at the time I wanted it most, baby not breathing, but it was all worth it. Baby MB came home the next night, healthy and happy and mom finally, FINALLY ate a real meal. And they all lived sleepily ever after.

Our dependants meet. 

Oh, and one more thing. People have asked me why I call my son Baby MB on the blog. While I was pregnant, we had already decided on his name, but didn’t want to share it until after his birth. We called him Mr. Baby instead. So, baby MB he became on this blog. Though, now that he has turned 1, we may need a new nickname. Any ideas?

Photo credit: popularpatty via VisualHunt / CC BY-NC


2 thoughts on “The Last Thing you Want to Hear When you Call the Hospital in Labour

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