Really, Not That You Asked (1)

When Bug was born, I was at a birth center with a couple midwives and a tub and one (1) ibuprofen.  I don't know why I feel the need to share Baby Bug's birth with you, but I do.  So here we go:

Sunday, 1 AM: I am woken up by contractions every ten minutes.

Monday: Repeat above. Walking around makes it worse, which only makes me want to lay down.

Tuesday: More of same. 40 weeks.  The midwives do a stretch-and-sweep; I am 2 cm dilated, i.e. HA HA HA.

Wednesday: Nothing is changing. I am exhausted.

Thursday, 11 AM: My water breaks in an entirely undramatic, dribbly fashion.  I go for a sulky 90-minute walk.  Every five minutes.  

Thursday, 7 PM: Every five minutes, lasting almost a minute.  Still sulky.  If I lay on the couch, I can pretend this is happening to someone else.

Thursday, 1 AM: Every three minutes for a minute.  Instead of being afraid of giving birth in a hospital, I actually want to go.  I call the midwife again and decide to meet her at L&D triage.

1:45 AM: Every three minutes and I am doubled over with pain.  Back labor!  Again!  The midwife examines me, but thinks my water has not broken.  2 cm.  I am in intense pain and clearly, it is doing NOTHING.  What the hell? She suggests that I walk around for a while. 

We see a young`couple come in.  "I just don't like this leaking, it's so gross!" she says cheerfully.  A first child, I think: if you think a little clear fluid is gross, wait for childbirth!  And after!  Also, she is waaay too cheerful to be in labor enough to be admitted.

2:30 AM:  I hear them sending the cheerful lady home with polite instructions to come back when she is in real labor.

2:45 AM: I am walking up and down the corridor, doubled over and sobbing my eyes out every time I have a contraction (every three minutes).  "Should I call the midwife?" the nurse asks.  "No, [SOB SOB SOB], I'll just keep walking [SOB SOB SOB noisy nose-blowing]", I say.  "Er... I think I'll give her a call,"  the nurse says.

3:15 AM:  The midwife examines me again.  3 cm.  Again, what the hell?  She looks at me having a nervous breakdown and vanishes.  Five minutes later, she comes back and says, "Your water definitely broke!  Let's admit you." I wonder if she has written "Reason for admission: 3 cm, ROM, completely losing it."

(More to come.)