We made our way through base housing, and after what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes and peeked at the spedometer. Twenty-five. We were going twenty-five miles an hour. "Please -- pass these people. We need to get there now." I groaned through another contraction. While we sped through the neighborhood, I tried to remember all of the things that were on my birth plan (the one I never got to give to the doctors to put in my file). "No clamping the cord until after it stops pulsating... No pulling on the placenta and no pitocin... Just let it come on its own..."
The contractions continued to get stronger and I could really feel the pressure as baby continued to descend. I was grunting and groaning through some of the contractions and was starting to feel the need to bear down... but Monica reminded me again (which annoyed me again LOL), "Blow -- blow! Like the candle, remember? Keep breathing!" I'm pretty sure she started speeding even more, which was probably a good thing, because otherwise I'm thinking we would have had the baby in the van!
We pulled up to the ER entrance, and Monica waited for me to breathe through the next contraction. "Okay?" "Yes... just go!" She ran inside. "We're having a baby here!" But no one behind the desk was helping her; they waved in the general direction of the wheelchairs. She grabbed one and ran outside to get me into it.
I was freezing, and that made the contraction even worse because of my body tensing up. "I can't do this anymore," I cried through chattering teeth. "You can. You can. You're strong, girl. Come on." I remember thinking how tired I was of hearing that I was strong. I'm not strong. I'm just a regular, everyday housewife. Without my husband, I feel incomplete, incapable of doing anything. Why does everyone think I'm so strong? I don't want to be strong. I just want my husband.
I know we must have looked a sight -- Monica pushing as fast as she could, hair flying behind her. Me with my ponytail askew, green flip flops in winter, feet flailing in the air... "My feet. I can't put my feet down!" It was getting too hard to hold up my legs anymore. Monica stopped and quickly pushed the foot rests into place so I could set my feet into them. We flew to the elevators and up to the Maternity Ward. "The last room on the left!" someone said. In we rushed.
|On the phone with My Airman|
A flurry of activity as I breathed through another contraction and groaned as my body was starting to push on its own. "Don't push! Don't push! The doctor isn't here yet!" "I caaaaaannnnnn'ttttt!" I moaned as the contraction finished. I tried to relax, but the contractions were so strong, and my body was ready to do what needed to be done.
|7 lbs. 13 oz. 21" long|
Dorothy looked at me and said, "Okay, just try to push a little. You really need to try." I remember being frustrated with her for saying that. She knew I didn't want to tear as I had last time, so why was she telling me to push? Little did I know, the doctor had been putting together the forceps. She had no time to explain. Better to push a little faster and tear that way than to have them use the forceps. If I had known, I would have agreed with her.
I pushed and I could feel the baby -- there was that ring of fire! I could feel the doctor trying to move things along and get the baby out. "Please don't tear me!" Another two pushes and it was over. Four and half hours of labor, and it was all over. It was 7:54 and my sweet baby boy was in my arms. Just ten minutes after arriving at the hospital.