That Magical Time I Broke The Hospital’s Record For Longest Labor Ever

February 10, 2014 — 87 Comments

baby_eviction_notice_luggage_handle_wrap

Everyone loves to hear the story of how I was almost born on the FDR Drive, which runs along the East side of Manhattan.

We lived in the Bronx, but the hospital was in Manhattan. I came out so fast,

I was crowning in a 1960’s woody on the FDR somewhere in Spanish Harlem.

I’m having have that printed on a tee shirt.

I just assumed my baby would arrive just as expeditiously.

By week 40, I had blown up like a ball park frank.

There was no sign that I was EVER going to deliver this baby.

STOP asking me if I'm having twins. Just STOP.

STOP asking me if I’m having twins. Just STOP.

 

I wasn’t dilated. the baby hadn’t dropped.

My cervix wasn’t effaced.

Look that up. I’m not providing a Wikipedia link to that shiz.

After 40 weeks – which is 10 months, people –

I WAS SO DONE WITH BEING PREGNANT.

fuck this

 

 

Everyone had advice for me.

Exercise more. Exercise less.

Do the labor-inducing “pregnancy dance” (this is a THING; you can watch the YouTube videos.)

I did not feel like dancing. I wanted to punch random people in the side of the head.

Hulk

 

Nipple stimulation (Three HOURS a DAY to release oxytocin. As lovely as it was that my now gargantuan breasts had eclipsed Playboy and gone to National Geographic status, I did not have all day to spend copping a feel on myself.)

Order labor inducing salad dressing from Caioti’s Pizza Cafe restaurant in LA. (I’m not ashamed; I did).

Eat spicy Indian food

Have sex.

At week 40? Sure, why not?

Amy Polen

 

A doula informed me that the most effective way to dilate a cervix was with sperm.

Doulas are midwives who try to brainwash you into giving birth at home. Without drugs.

They have hairy armpits and want you to crank that baby out in a candlelit bathtub while womyn hold hands around you, singing Kumbaya.

But I had done some research on the Internet regarding dilation of the cervix with sperm, and apparently, there was some truth to this.

So, we propped me up with pillows.

“Honey, just do this please. Jesus, it never took you this long before.

ow, ow, OWWW!!!

No, I’m fine, just make it snappy.

Talk dirty to you?”

Alex Baldwin and Mark Wahlberger

 

NO.”

This is why God invented porn.

 

My friend Destiny had gone into labor with both her daughters while walking through the mall.

She claimed it was the best way.

I HATE malls. But I was elephantine. And desperate.

I walked the mall leaving a sweaty trail of crumbs between Auntie Anne’s and Mrs. Fields.

I rehearsed my story:

“I was trying on shoes (as if any would fit around my disgusting bloated Shrek feet) at Nordstorms when my water broke.”

Said no man, EVER.

Said no man, EVER.

 

Nothing. Nary a twinge.

My due date came and went. And went.

I stopped answering the phone.

“Hello, you’ve reached Samara. I’ve not had the baby

STOP CALLING ARRRGGHHH!!!”

 

Finally the doctors in my OBYGYN group decided to induce labor.

I arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning, husband in tow, with books to kill the time while they pumped me with drugs.

I was hooked up to 75 machines. I’d been instructed not to eat, so I soon became curmudgeonly.

The doctors told us I was in for the long haul, so my husband escaped – purportedly to do some “errands” – and I started to read.

 

I never dilated.

They inserted pills,

gels,

a team of midgets.

I'M GOING IN!

I’M GOING IN!

 

Nothing.

Then, they broke out the pitocin.

JUMPING JESUS ON A POGO STICK.

Pitocin is

LIQUID HELL

My contractions were instant and agonizing.

I refused pain meds – because the doctors said it would slow down labor.

So, like millions of women before me, I just endured it.

Keep in mind – I have a low threshold of pain and a high sense of drama.

My husband showed up.

Whose guts I MASSIVELY hated, now that ELECTRIC FIREBALLS OF DEATH were being lacerated into my uterus,

while he sat around and munched on Five Guys Hamburgers.

 

All those techniques you learn in Lamaze

I didn’t want to breathe, I didn’t want a backrub, I didn’t want new age-y music, or to sit in a tub, or to roll on a ball.

I managed to find a position that was semi-tolerable – on my side, half on the bed and half off,

with my tongue hanging out of my mouth.

Like a dog, who’d been locked in a car on a hot day.

And was now having heat stroke.

Not even this good.

Not at all as pretty as this

 

This was nothing like anything I’d seen on on “The Baby Story” and I’d watched a TON of them.

I was PISSED.

 

Throughout this debacle, the various doctors in my OBGYN group couldn’t understand why I didn’t just wave a white flag and say, “CUT ME ALREADY!!”

I wanted the experience of pushing my baby out of my body. I wanted that centuries-old female rite of passage.

Looking back, I have no idea why I was so committed to the idea of having this thing literally tear me a new asshole. But, I was.

So, they just made little “tsking” sounds as I descended further into madness. Said I was “tenacious.” And that the baby was not in danger.

The only one suffering was me.

 

The whole next day was blur of pitocin, excruciating contractions, beeping monitors, nurses bustling around, my husband smelling of whatever he’d eaten.

I was exhausted, starving, and delirious with pain.

By dinnertime I’d listened to now a SECOND baby being born in the room next door. I officially went insane.

I started screaming.

“Put me next door!! That’s where all the babies are born!! I want to move next door!”

My husband tried to reason with me.

“Babe, I don’t think-”

“‘MOVE ME NEXT DOOR!! MOVE ME NEXT DOOR MOVE ME NEXT DOOORRRRR!!”

“Okay, but Sama-”

“MOVE ME MOVE ME MOVE ME MOVE ME MOTHERFUCKER OR I SWEAR I WILL CUT YOU!!!”

You wanna die

They rolled me and all my beeping monitors into the room next door.

I still never dilated past 2 centimeters.

 

At 9pm my doctor stopped in to see how I was doing. Chatted with my husband.

I had been given pitocin for 36 hours almost continuously. I no longer felt pain –

I WAS pain.

 

My husband had given up even trying to come near me.

Everytime he did, my head spun around 360 degrees

and I spewed obscenities and pea soup on him.

“YOUR MOTHER SUCKS COCKS IN HELL!”

(okay, I didn’t say that, but that is a great line from The Exorcist)

 

I looked up at my doctor through unfocused, bloodshot eyes.

He and my husband were watching The Victoria Secret Lingerie Special on TV.

YES. THEY WERE.

I DID NOT “IMAGINE” THIS.

He asked how I was.

“I’m just peachy. Other than having to figure out how to home school this child in my uterus.”

Dr. Norwich said, “You’ve officially broken the record for the longest labor in this hospital. Were you trying to set a new record?”

 

All of a sudden-

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The machines went crazy. The nurses began rushing around. The doctor said the baby’s heartbeat was faltering.

Emergency C Section!

STAT!

NOW.

I got scared.

“DON’T LET MY BABY DIE.
DON’T LET HIM DIE!”

They unplugged me, wheeled me into surgery.

As they wheeled the bed out of the room the wheels got stuck on the door hinge and they struggled to coax it out of the room.

I went MAD.

I SCREAMED at the doctor, nurses, orderlies that they were trying to kill my baby.

 

I am absolutely terrified of surgery.

All I remember about that room was that it was the whitest, most unforgiving room I’d ever seen.

And that there seemed to be many more people in it than there should be.

At least a dozen. Why on earth were there so many?

I just kept chanting/praying

“please let my baby live”

“please let my baby live”

and holding my husband’s hand so tightly I left grooves in it that were still there the next day

 

I don’t remember any details of the surgery.

Except,

when my son was born

everyone in the room sang out,

“happy birthday, Little Dude,”

only they used his real name, which we had already picked out.

And tears streamed down my face. And my husband’s.

Our baby was gorgeous. Like C-section babies always are.

And my doctor exclaimed,

“IT’S A WEST WING BABY!!”

 

I panicked.

“Oh my God! I’ve given birth to a deformed child! He has a wing instead of an arm! Oh, no!”

“Relax,” he said.

“Your baby is perfect.

It’s 9:32 on a Wednesday night.

West Wing is on.”

And so it began…

tumblr_m13skduMgk1rrbmuao1_250

(Great TV show.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you have a baby delivery tale to tell? Or your wife’s, mother’s, or sister’s?

Talk to me. I’m listening.

Enhanced by Zemanta
Advertisements

87 responses to That Magical Time I Broke The Hospital’s Record For Longest Labor Ever

  1. 

    Lordy. My tale is kid came about 6 weeks early, doctor thought it was false labor and I would go home but I was dehydrated so they kept me in the hospital.

    Good thing. Five hours later, my water broke and the kid came out exactly 21 minutes later. I was told if I had any others that I had better hope my water didn’t break at Walmart unless I wanted to be on the news that night.

    He was a little small, but fine 🙂

  2. 

    Hahaa! What a great post! 🙂

  3. 

    Haaaaaaaaaaa! You’re fucking hilarious! Stuff shot out of my nose with you telling hubby you were trying to figure out how to homeschool this baby inutero, sheesh! Yeah, my Queen had a long labour with my Princess. She did it without any drugs or intervention in a hospital that had the highest rate of elective caesarian section in the state. I remember having to have to comfort the midwife at 3am because she’d never seen anyone go through natural childbirth and couldn’t bear the thought of the pain my wife was in. I’d be like massaging and doing all the supportive stuff with the Missus and then as soon as she went into a contraction I’d get out of arms reach and go over and the console the crying, distraught midwife, then back across to Queenie between contractions…great fun.

    • 

      YOU were consoling the MIDWIFE??

      Hahahahaha!!

      I couldn’t stand my being touched while I was in that kind of pain. OMG – no way! I. Was. Dying.

      Your Queen had no drugs? Wow.

      • 

        I know, she was a fucking athlete when it came to this stuff and yet has almost no tolerance for pain any other time…wierd! Oh yeah, the midwife was balling her eyes out. and she’d had 2 kids herself ha!

  4. 

    Holy crap, Samantha. That’s a record you never want to hold. How you took so much pain for so long … If men were the baby bearers, mankind would be no more.

  5. 

    A team of midgets… holy hell, Samara. Great story. I totally felt that, like in ways that I never thought possible… can you have sympathy pains reading blogs???

    • 

      Trent!!

      I think one of the midgets got lost forever…

      • 

        Are your birth juices energized enough to power his cell phone? We can still save him! Okay, dude. Gross. Dude, so gross.

      • 

        Send in his friend!

        SAVE HIM!

      • 

        Trent, you must be immune to this stuff. Surely you watched the birth of all of your kiddos, did you not??

      • 

        I did. Pretty up close. All homebirths, the last one a waterbirth. But I don’t recall any midgets…

        Surreal experience watching from the other side.

      • 

        You did the homebirth thing? The waterbirth thing???

        No. Way.

        Your missus is a brave one. I wanted drugs. Right from the start. It was in my “birth plan” from day one. But then everything went awry…

        I don’t understand how a woman can go through that entire experience without drugs. At least, recreational ones?

      • 

        That girl has never even sipped a touch of alcohol in her life. Drugs just weren’t in the cards. She has a high tolerance for, well, everything (she’d kind of have to, married to me and all).

      • 

        Trent-
        Here is my early Valentine to you.

        You sound like you would be the best husband ever.

        There is a blogger who writes about how not to be a shitty husband. I think you should guest post for him. That’s how good of a husband I intrinsically KNOW you are.

      • 

        I’ll take the compliment, but honestly, what I write about in here is so removed from who I am that I pretty much feel I’m living at least three lives simultaneously. I always wonder about who people really are, based on what I read of them – I’m sure it’s varying degrees of accuracy, or truth (whatever that means).

      • 

        But I KNOW things-
        it’s a sense I have. I just do.

        And I can tell, although you never blog about your family, that you are a king among men when it comes to being a husband. This I know.

        I just do.

        If you wanted to (and I’m not even remotely suggesting that you do) would you not feel like you were in a position to blog about how to keep a marriage happy? Hypothetically?

      • 

        Liar.

        I just feel like your wife is a lucky woman. And that you so appreciate her.
        Okay, I’ll shut up about it now.

  6. 

    Another excellent story to embarrass little dude with when he’s older!

  7. 

    Okay, that was an AWFUL birth story! Except for the part where he came out beautiful and healthy of course. I’m a giant puss. I requested drugs at conception.

    But seriously. I had Pitocin, too, and it’s NO JOKE. My first killed me with 3 days of “early labor” before they’d finally admit me and start Pitocin. After about an hour I was like, AM I NOT DILATED TO A 3 YET? MOTHER FUCKER. Finally they could give the epidural to me….and then it was heaven. Relatively. I sucked ice and slept until he was finally born a million hours later, just before they’d decided to do a C-section. All the sudden he’s crowning and I got a chance to push. Took me nearly 30 minutes but he eventually came out.

    My second shot out with one push. No joke. I could’ve sneezed him out.

    This post was HILARIOUS. Well done.

    • 

      They won’t give you an epidural unless you’re like, 3 or 4 centimeters.

      I was dying on that Pitocin. Are you KIDDING me? We should use that as a weapon of torture.

      Drugs at conception – hah!

  8. 

    “…OR I SWEAR I WILL CUT YOU!!!” Yeah, sometimes people don’t take you seriously until you threaten to cut them. It’s unfortunate, but that’s how it is. I almost fainted three times while reading your post.

  9. 

    Unbelievable story. I’m in tears. Thanks for sharing

  10. 

    This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read!!! LMAO you could make a movie about this!! The only thing that happened during my labor was I asked my husband for a wet wash cloth. He came back with something white and wet I was so grateful to cool off from the pushing that I didn’t realize what I had actually smothered my face in. It was a pair of the lovely mesh hospital underwear. Yes it was the giant ones that fit a maxi the size of a mattress in. 14 yrs later I can’t look at white underwear the same again 🙂

  11. 

    how utterly cruel! I felt so guilty laughing haha.

  12. 

    Holy schmoly, pitocin and cesarean in one pregnancy?

    Yes, you know Cimmy had pitocin with our first– dunno if we mentioned that she had caesarean with our second.

    Now, why was Boy caesarean? Oh, a few things, but Cimmy usually says he has a big head. Because he does. And he got it from me. (I can’t wear most hats.) Recently, the specialist that diagnosed him was worried maybe his brain was too big for his head (macroencephaly). I said, “He’s just got a big head.” No, they wanted to check, and so he had an MRI scan. He had to be sedated, of course (I’ve had like 3 or 4 MRIs, so I know you have to be still) and… I was right, they were wrong. Hehe.

    • 

      Yes, I would imagine a big head would lead to a C section.

      Pitocin is EVIL.

      • 

        Dear Lord, Samara. I completely agree. As jak said, I had Pitocin with Princess and Caesarean with Boy. Neither was fun. I had ineffecient labor with princess and, when they hooked me up to the Pitocin, the nurse called it “the Pits,” which it was. I didn’t have drugs either and by the time jak asked me if I was sure I didn’t want them, it was too late, I was already 10cms dialiated. As for Boy, his head just didn’t want to come out of my hips, so the last three months felt like I was carrying a freakin’ bowling ball down there. I’ll blog about my birth stories some time if you want me to.

  13. 

    Doulas are an evil force in the world, along with those lactose nurses. The ones who fill hormone-raved women with DREAD about not breastfeeding your baby. They’re sweet dictators with grins and clicky heels.

    During her labor, I was whispering encouragement into my wife’s ear. At one point, she turned to me, looked me in the eye and said, “SHUT UP.” So I did.

    This post made my toes curl back to my ankles. I thank blessed Bog above that he made me a man because I surely couldn’t handle something like childbirth. Even the kind that goes without a hitch. No, thank you.

    • 

      OMG!

      Mark- those lactation stormtroopers, they are relentless!

      I’d planned on nursing my baby, but when I was thinking of giving up, because I was exhausted after this debacle, and needed sleep, and my baby ate every TWO HOURS – they came in with these gigantic pins with baby bottles with huge RED SLASHES across the bottles-
      and talked me out of it.

      They are relentless.

      • 

        My wife was having trouble nursing and was in tears because of a lactation nurse relentlessly hammering her. It broke my heart to see it. I wanted to smash her face in. The nurse. Not my wife.

      • 

        EVERYONE except maybe my one girlfriend has trouble nursing.

        I had to hire lactation consultants to come to my house to coach me to do it properly. It’s extremely difficult in most cases. That’s why they had “wet nurses” in ye olden days.

        But I hung in there. My kid was like Cujo. I’m going to post about breastfeeding, some day. OUCH.

      • 

        Breastfeeding took all the fun out of it. You mean there’s food in there? They’re not my own, personal playthings? THAT was sobering.

      • 

        For one year, I wanted NOT to be touched there.

        What a drag.

  14. 

    Samara! You cease to amaze me, I read all your blogs and I don’t comment too much. I probably should however, I’m pretty hit and run with WP. I’m going to start blogging pretty soon, I have quite a few Ideas about what I will post but nothing as hilarious as your work, that’s for sure.
    You have developed an incredible following with your blog because you have so many good things to say.
    Poor prego mommy- 38 hrs to give birth, I think you may have broken the record for all the hospitals in a 50 mile radius not just the one you delivered in. I love that your husband was eating all the meals while waiting with you (the lady who wasn’t allowed to eat). Very thoughtful of him and then he was watching the Victorious Secrets lingerie show with your doctor. It sounds like you should be writting a movie about this experience and it could star sandra Bullock as the suffering gal in the maternity ward.
    You write some very funny but true stuff. I am a follower.
    Good thing about c sections it the kids have nice round heads. My first kid had a head shaped like an ice cream cone. Keep on writting.

    • 

      Thank you so much for reading, and for all your wonderful compliments!

      I especially like that you chose Sandra Bullock for the lead in the movie version!

  15. 

    All three of mine were born C-section and there wasn’t much drama involved at all.

  16. 

    I had a for real life laugh at the homeschooling comment too. Very funny there, my friend. Very funny. And yet, if I dared to even venture into the “I feel your pain” area of polite-ish conversation rules, I am sure to get slapped upside the head at some point. Karma kicks ass. That’s because I have NO idea what it’s like to give birth, and from witnessing what my wife had to go through, and this post in particular, I don’t want to. No thanks. I will just jump off my roof onto a board littered with random LEGO pieces. Those hurt like hell at the best of time when you step on them.

    We went all midwife all the way. Had everything planned. Emptied out a room in the house and blew up an indoor pool. Filled it with the filtered tears of 100 virgins, at unicorn blood temperature. Had a CD of the songs she wanted to hear while giving birth (“Come of feel the Noise” was not one of them, but should have been). At 3am, I called the midwife and there we were getting all ready. Time for baby plopping time. Three seconds into that water, wifey was tossing her biscuits and then off to the hospital we went. Drugs galore. Machines and every possible thing that could get stuck in her got stuck in her. I napped. 24 hours later, junior arrived. Two midwives did the dirty work.

    I didn’t get yelled at, thank goodness, but all I can say is that I have never lost the weight from that first one.

    • 

      Hahahahaha-

      I’m still am saving all your comment.

      Not losing the pregnancy weight is one of the best husband comments I’ve read yet. Along with the filtered tears of 100 virgins at unicorn blood temperature.

      I hope you don’t mind; I’m stealing that for my Valentine’s post. Ruthlessly, and without credit. Except here, buried in the comments section.

      Did you really start out all home-birthy and then end up with drugs at the hospital? I KNEW it. Although, there are women who do this homebirthing in a pool thing. I know some of them. They are fierce.

      Me, not so much. I scream when I bang my knee. OUCH!

      • 

        Steal away, young countess!

        And yes, we did start all home-birthy. Ready to have the swallows and robins dance about us and clothe her like they did on Cinderalla. Have some chimpmunks line the floor lest the mother and child touch cold tile. Maybe invite a rainbow over for organic vegan hors d’oeuvres after.

        But no…when the pain came. Yowzers…meds time. Stat. Tap into that spine, young nurse. Jet pack all that no pain juice as fast as possible. Let dad rest, please. Listening to the wife plead for that damned child to come out is tiring, you know? Doesn’t get your crossword puzzle done any sooner. How rude, really.

        I am like you – high drama, low pain threshold. I hear you on that. You and I would be the wrong people to send into the jungle on a mission. We’d break down and confess to the first native upon stubbing a toe. Wail for an air ambulance after dropping coconut grazes our shoulder.

        Great tale again…loved it. Hilarious – read it at his wedding.

      • 

        “Have some chipmunks line the floor lest the mother and child touch cold tile. Maybe invite a rainbow over for organic vegan hors d’oeuvres after”

        Seriously, you write this stuff straight?
        You’re a fucking genius.

  17. 

    At home… with a midwife, her assistant, and a doula (sans hairy armpits). In and out of a tub. In and out of the shower. On and off one of those giant exercise balls. Walking. Stretching. Massaging. And just shy of 24 hours later, out popped the Little Prince. Kumbaya wasn’t sung once. That I can remember. The whole day/night was a bit of a blur. Maybe they sung it while we were both zoned out.

    • 

      She. Did. Not.

      I don’t get it. I just don’t.

      How? I was DYING. Okay, granted I was on Liquid Hell.

      But still – during those contractions – if you’d try and massage me, you’d have drawn back a bloody stump. I’d have gnawed your hand off.

      Those giant exercise balls? Useless. I wanted to smother my husband’s face in one. That is all.

      • 

        She did. But it certainly wasn’t all gumdrops and rose petals. There were tense moments. There was lots of pain. There was talk of giving up. There was screaming. There was lots of questioning… where… why… when, when, WHEN, WHEN?!?!?!

      • 

        Why didn’t she just get drugs?

        I don’t understand this.

      • 

        Drugs require hospitals.
        And we don’t like hospitals. They are evil places. They hold magic that we don’t understand. They take away freedoms. They are the homes of the mysterious creatures known as doctors who, once in their thrall, can hold sway over your future.

        It’s an interesting argument. Better living through chemistry. Because we have the knowledge and technology to do something with less pain, why wouldn’t we? Or, just because we have that technology and knowledge, why wouldn’t continue to do things the way they have been done since the dawn of the world?

      • 

        Oh my God, you’re a Hippie.

        I believe in treating some things without drugs; I’m a holistic gal. That’s why Little Dude isn’t on ADHD meds. There are better (although more difficult ways) to address his needs.

        But childbirth? Nah. Bring on the drugs. Eff that. I’m not gonna squat and bear down just cause my great great great great grandmother did.

        However, I have infinite respect for those that can. The Queen is a mighty woman.

      • 

        I’m just me. Definitely not a hippie.

        There was a string on instances starting in high school and running through college that completely turned me off of hospitals and doctors. (Watching how hard med school students partied was only a small part of that.) In the end, it left me feeling like they are good things to have when there is absolutely nothing you can do on your own, but they don’t need to be the first place I run to.

        I’m not sure what all the Queen has against hospitals and doctors other than her thoughts line up pretty closely to mine. It seemed silly to go to one for the birth of our child. You got when you are sick. She wasn’t sick. It was kind of that simple.

    • 

      And I started to leave a comment on your blog while on my phone, and it died…

      But the scarf post was amazing. Wait, did I leave that comment? Now I can’t remember.

  18. 

    My wife’s sister had a boy that weighed more than ten pounds… she weighed about 90 ponds when she got pregnant… do the math… they tried to make her have it without a C-section… for like two days… before they gave up…

  19. 

    (Still chuckling)

    I was present at the birth of both my girls, so my comment will be from the fathers perspective…

    After 9.5 months of living with a grumpy burping weird food faddist vomiter I was treated to a sharp blow to the head (literal) & a soaking at 11.30pm (also a Wednesday) Driving like nutter along narrow icy country roads to the hospital I had my parentage questioned & notification of an imminent castration. At hospital Wife was greeted by happy faces & put to bed whilst I was sent home to deal with a destroyed bed.

    Next day I was called in sent home called in sent home called in until at 1.30am when D1 was born. Arrival was preceded by hours of screaming and hand crushing, whilst midwifes and paediatricians incanted softly & enestly of arrhythmias bradycardias tachycardias C sections anoxia vontuse delivery. I was a useless appendage, my biological function complete & spent.

    Whilst my memory of events 16 yrs on still causes emotional flash backs Wife was demanding a repeat 9 months after the arrival of D1… I rest my case 😉

    Brilliant blog Samara

    • 

      Okay. Officially confused.

      Did you have D2? It took me 2 years to consider going through the debacle of pregnancy again…and by then, my marriage was starting to unravel. Which is why I only have 1. Which is a pity. I would have loved more. I suppose I should be happy for one. Right?

      Thanks, as always, for your support.

      • 

        Hi sorry to confuse…Yes two daughters with almost a year between. Great having D1 & 2.

        Strange thing life, isn’t it…there are significant times in life where you either do one thing or another. Doing & experiencing seems not possible or desirable. Sometimes experiencing it appears to be by choice or predestined?… Milan Kundera wrote about it in his (brilliant) book ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’…working out which action would have been best is impossible as you only live one life once… The books also about sex & love, so many synchronous links?

      • 

        The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
        Yes.

  20. 

    That was AWESOME!!! I could tell you mine, but it would grey in comparison 🙂

  21. 

    Unfortunately I can’t really add anything of value here being single and childless. But I will say that the ‘team of midgets’ and ‘homeschooling’ lines will be remembered for a very long time… Another great post.

  22. 

    At home, but after 6 hours went into hospital since wife was 39 and it was the first.
    The birthing suite was homely – double bed, nice curtains & a bath. Also gas anaesthetic BUT it was tastefully hidden away so we didn’t find out about it until afterwards so she did the whole thing without anaesthetic. That had been the plan, but she definitely would have relented toward the end!

    After 2 weeks overdue and 40hrs labour she was ready. The vacuum extraction sucker popped off and the lad was getting stressed so they ended up doing a v quick episotomy (ouchy to watch) & salad tongs. Bub was wide-eyed and alert instantly.

    Feeding was very painful at times but both parties mostly loved it. Later we used expressed milk a bit but I took him in to mum at work for a feed once or twice a day too.

    Ladies, when you notice a man watching you breast feed we are not perving, it just makes us feel gooey. Perving is great too but feeding mums are exempt somehow.

  23. 

    Wifey complained bitterly several times during labour” “you did this to me!”

  24. 

    lol brilliant, brilliant blog! Had me in stitches! Only one who has had pitocin can empathise with “LIQUID HELL” you were spot on! Never again will I be induced….I’ll sit it out, all 43+ weeks of it! I’ve experienced nothing like that pain and remember it 10 years on!. (Both my kids were overdue and induced, but only had to have the drip with my second when nothing else worked, AND he was a good 9lb4oz!)
    And as a doula, I’ll take the scoffs apart from the hairy armpits!! A girl has to have some standards ya know! 😉

    • 

      Thank you so much for stopping by! Have some chai tea – or a glass or red wine. Unless you’re pregnant?

      9 lb 4oz? Oh, dear…

      So many people I know, and who commented on this post, used and adored doulas – so please excuse my irreverence. Thanks for being a good sport.
      Hope you stop by again!

  25. 

    This might be the best post ever…I’m still laughing tomorrow.

    • 

      Hi! Welcome to my blog, where laughing is appreciated, encouraged, and sometimes paid for! (Who do I make the check out to?)

      Best post EVER? Wow, that can’t be true! But that was so nice of you to say. Flattery will get you everywhere.

      I hope you stay and find other posts you enjoy. Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and comment!

      xo,
      S

  26. 

    I had a 30 hour labor. I felt like I had slipped into another dimension. This is the first time I have ever seen the level of frustration and anxiety I felt articulated accurately. Thank you.

    • 

      I had an 80-hour labour, but I did not beat the hospital record (4 days).

      It is the only time in my life I was expected run consecutive marathons on an empty stomach.

      I heard 8 babies being born.

      My baby was in Special Care. Every time she cried I was to be woken up and then off to the ward. That happened 8 times the next night.

      Sadists, all of them. After a 3 day, 3 AM delivery they put all the phone calls through to my room. The free but not free vendors showed up dropping off coupons and trinkets and pushing their wares. Welcome Wagon lady decided to rearrange her parcels for half an hour into my well deserved sleep. My secretary showed up with a 24-point agenda. My ex husband invited everyone he knew the next evening. To hell with watching us breast feed, just bring on the show. He hosted the family reunion for the next 3 weeks. Which is why I call him “ex”.

      This is a cult. I am no longer human, but a member of the mother-cult. Everything smells of dried milk and antiseptic. But don’t you dare breast feed in public!

      My baby was a week on the Special Care unit. One day a cluster of officious looking medical types confronted me and took me in a private room, staring at me earnestly. Then they said the most terrifying words you could tell a mother- “It’s about your baby.” I am having trouble breast feeding; I may have to supplement with formula. Fuck all of you, and the broomsticks you rode in on. I would learn soon enough that she consumed enough of anything to be fed with a shovel.

      There was one nurse I will never forget. She was Black and very large; from London England. Well; .I guess she was having none of it and she screamed at the other nurses to take care of me properly. I called her my Black Angel. I guess that’s not very PC but she was, and always will be, to me. She prevented me from having a burst bladder.

      Another act of compassion is when the Minister from my ex’s church showed up and left a frozen casserole. That’s it. They did not expect to park, see the baby, use the bathroom, or be fed. They were very nice.

      When it comes to labour, stay optimistic, but expect the worst and prepare for it. That’s a lot of Oprah to take in 😉

Trackbacks and Pingbacks:

  1. The Doctor Told me to Buy a DILDO?! « A Buick in the Land of Lexus - June 13, 2014

    […] I had an emergency C-section after breaking the hospital record for the longest labor ever. […]

When I see the orange light, I have a BLOGASM...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s