the luckiests: birth story

Lena is going to be seven. SEVEN. SEVEN. I cannot say it louder than that or in more awe that my daughter has been on this earth for seven years, and that I am still incredibly insecure as a parent despite being one for SEVEN YEARS.

It occurred to me that I have never really shared the story of Lena’s birth. Or if I have I have forgotten and just want to relive it now, if you would indulge me.

Lena came two weeks early. I had signed up late for this birthing class at carrboro yoga company, because me, and being without a partner, my mom went to all the classes with me. They were ridiculous and I only remember them being as such. There was so much emphasis on communication and weird relationship stuff and sure we were all going to push babies out in the next month or so, but I had absolutely nothing in common with a 30-something married woman that does things like sign up for birthing classes at the carrboro yoga company. I mean in that venn diagram those circles are barely touching. The week that Lena was born, the class was going to be about massages, and we were told to bring in our favorite essential oil. I am 99% convinced that the anxiety leading up to this class is what prompted me to go into labor. For once my mind and body were totally in sync, in the sense that no. fucking. way. were we going to go to that class.

My stomach started feeling weird on the evening of January 17th. My mom and I had singaporean take out. The thing that’s funny is that the doctors say that labor feels like really bad menstrual cramps, but of course by virtue of being pregnant you haven’t felt menstrual cramps in ~9 months, you have no idea what that feels like. I got my mom to take a picture of me, and then I went home to my apartment.

I'm not even going to edit this picture. It just sums up so perfectly the non-glamorous pregnancy. I see all these pictures of people that do the cute and artful side-shots documenting the "journey", but this was just me. Also my mom has never been able to take a good picture to save her life.

Back to my apartment in carrboro, and I'm watching Gilmore Girls on DVD and making lunch plans for the next week with a friend, and these sharp pains are continuing. I finally call my parents at like midnight or so, saying that these pains aren't stopping and what should we do.

YOU GUYS, WHAT FOLLOWS IS SO RIDICULOUS:

My parents say, "Oh, you can't do anything now, because it is night time, so just come over, try to sleep, and we'll go to the hospital in the morning."

Why did I believe them? People do in fact go into labor in the middle of the night. My parents just didn't want to go into the hospital. So I went to my parent's house. As I was leaving my apartment Julian, my roommate was like, "Is everything ok?" and I was like, "YEP." (Ok so maybe that runs in the family.)

So I'm at my parents', LABORING. Until they get up, make coffee, eat breakfast, and finally at 8 my mom is like, "I guess the doctor's office is open now, so we can call them."

We go to my doctor's office, they see me immediately because I am very clearly IN LABOR, and this very nice nurse practitioner is all, "let's see how much you're dilated," looks, and after like two seconds is like, "oh you're totally ready to go, you should go to the hospital."

Now it's 8:30, ish, January 18th, 2008, and we are under strict instructions to go to the hospital. It's just me and my dad, because my mom has a meeting that morning. And my dad is like, "Paying for hospital parking sucks--let's park in our parking lot (because they work at the university)." So I'm like, whatever, these searing pains are apparently contractions, and they are coming every 10-15 minutes or so. So we drive to my parent's parking lot, which is in the back of the hospital.

I don't know if any of you have ever traversed a hospital, but I have never found one to be intuitively laid out, and easy to get through. This comic scene ensues:

*Me, hunched over at the bottom of some stairs, having a contraction. My dad 10 or so feet ahead.*

dad: Come on rachael, what are you doing?

me: I. AM. IN. PAIN.

repeat basically until we get into the hospital itself.

then,

dad: do you know where to go?

me: DO? I? KNOW? WHERE? TO? GO???

dad: ok.

at some point, I recognize where we are, and start powerwalking like I've never powerwalked before (or since) and now my dad is about 15 feet behind me.

dad: Do you know where you are going?

me: WOULD? I? BE? WALKING? THIS? WAY? IF? I? DIDN'T?????

you guys childbirth is a really magical experience.

So we finally get there, and the magic of the UNC system is that my doctor had already sent over all there stuff from when we were there this morning so I immediately had a room, and they knew I was coming. I think the birthing class that I took had instructed us to have a "birth plan" and mine consisted of, "the baby should ideally come out in some way." The contractions "weren't that bad" but now I'm wondering if I have a really off tolerance for pain. I'm getting kind of bored writing this part now so blahblahblah, at some point I ask for an epidural and they're like, "it's too late, hon" and then I start pushing and a baby comes out.

The delivery nurses are the unsung heroes of the world, because the most amazing woman stood right next to me and took control, and told me to relax between contractions, and told me to push when I needed to push, and I don't remember anything about her other than I would not have been able to do what I did if she wasn't there, and she was worth way more than those stupid birthing classes, and I don't even remember her name.

I remember the doctor that delivered Lena, because he had a weird name and also in the most wonderful swoop of irony had been the one to prescribe me birth control pills back in high school, and I made a joke about his weird name and also decided to tell him that. He was weirded out by me, but now I see him all the time because he's a runner so he's at all the races around town.

The other things that I want to remember, are the people that came to visit me.