It was a dark and stormy night, about 5 months ago.... Definitely dark, anyway.... And maybe snowy, too. It was a Wednesday, 5 days before I was scheduled to be induced. I'd never been induced before, and I'd only had 1 baby be born before my due date (that was Kenneth, who came a week before he was due. The others were, in order: 3 days after, 1 week after, 2 weeks after, and 3 days after). Point is, I wasn't expecting this baby to make his entrance before my induction date (which was 3 weeks before my due date, technically. The perinatologist wasn't going to mess around with waiting for labor to start on its own, since she'd been made aware that I'd shown up to my local hospital--5 minutes away from home--fully dilated and ready to push with the last baby, and Colin was to be delivered at the University of Utah hospital, an hour away from home, because a cardiologist had given us a 95% chance that he had a coarctation of the aorta, which would need repair within days of his birth at Primary Children's hospital, right next door. Also, she was mindful of the increased likelihood of the placenta breaking down prematurely, which is something that tends to happen in a good percentage of Down syndrome pregnancies, and results in increased chances for stillbirth. Remember all that?).
So, anyway, I was planning on buying his dresser and his car seat that weekend, and packing my hospital bag, so I'd be ready for the induction on Monday (procrastination usually never fails me). That day (the day of the night I'm telling you about, so Wednesday, day. Pay attention), some friends had brought me to lunch to celebrate my birthday, and I'd had a couple strong contractions while we ate--the kind that makes you stop what you're doing, close your eyes, and breathe slowly and deliberately. They got all wide-eyed and told me, "You're gonna have this baby today!" I laughed it off, since extended false labor is just part of my birthing experience. Walking around for a few weeks dilated to a 5 or 6 makes for a super-short labor, when the real thing eventually rolls around.... However, I'd been checked when I'd gone in for the version the week before, and I was only at a "big 1, small 2." That normally means nothing for me--BUT, I'm thinking that version may have had something to do with triggering real labor. Seriously, go read that blog post I linked to, if you haven't already. I'll wait right here while you do.... I don't often think of myself as being very awesome, but during that process, I was pretty amazing. Chances are pretty good that you'll come to the same conclusion.
OK, so, moving on.... I went about that day like I'd been doing every other day--basically just being big and pregnant and sore all over. And also, slightly grumpy, and definitely sloth-like in everything I did.
After we went to bed, I woke up a few times from strong contractions, but went right back to sleep afterwards, so that I almost didn't remember I'd had any. But THEN.... Oh, THEN, things completely changed. I woke up at 2:45 with the most intense contraction.... and it didn't ever seem to go away. It was big and powerful, and gave me the strongest urge to.... ahem.... go sit on the toilet. And this was a pumped-up contraction on steroids, and it never seemed to ease up, I'm telling you. But somehow, I made it from the bed to the toilet, and I sat there, waiting for this contraction to mellow the heck out so I could at least move, for the love of all that is good. I felt paralyzed on the toilet, and I started to feel very afraid that I'd get stuck there from the crippling pain, and that the baby would be born into the toilet, if this contraction wouldn't go the hell away (that's happened to people. Ever watch "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on TLC? Also, yes, at this point, I was swearing in my mind a little). I found this graph online, which has nothing to do with contractions, but which adequately demonstrates what I'm trying to convey here (ignore the numbers and the "10-year yield," even though it did feel like the yield from this contraction would last a full 10 years, at least):
See how it goes up, then pretends to go back down, but then sneakily goes right back up again? Even higher than it was before? That's what this contraction did. It was the craziest thing, and I actually spent some moments contemplating how very crazy it was. But mostly, I just waited for a downward dip that was long enough to get me from the toilet back to the bed so I could wake up Devin and tell him we needed to go to the hospital. (In retrospect, that was super considerate of me. I could've just hollered, "I'm in labor! Help me got off this *#%& toilet!" But people were sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb anyone.) I eventually made it there, and fell onto the bed next to him: "Devin, I'm not sure, but I think I'm probably in labor. Like, real labor. I'm having a horrible contraction that won't go away." Without moving--not even his lips, I think--he mumbled, "Take some deep breaths." So I humored him and took a few deep breaths. The contraction stayed. Really. I mean it when I say that this was all one big contraction that never really went away--it just hovered and dipped and shot back up again. So I whispered, "That's not really working. I'm still contracting." Devin, in his annoyed voice, said, "Are you breathing? ...Deep breath in.... And deep breath out..." And those ellipses in there? That's where he snored a little. (In his defense, he's been around for all of my false-labor experiences, and some of them lasted up to 12 hours, and none of them, besides Kenneth, our oldest--the one who came a little early, remember?--ended in us driving to the hospital....) "Devin...." I said, cautiously (cautiously, because Asleep Devin is much less easygoing than Awake Devin), "We need to go to the hospital. But I can't get up, so I'm gonna need you to get me some clothes from on top of the dryer [laundry was another of those things I was planning on doing over the weekend]...." Devin responded with a snore. "Babe! Did you hear me?" "Yeah, hang on," he mumbled, and rolled out of bed and shuffled out of our room. A couple minutes later, he shuffled back in, empty-handed. "Babe, you forgot my clothes" (imagine that as being all breathy and a little panicky and angry and really drawn out, because my uterus was still a tight ball of intense pain and fury, and my back had joined the pain party, too)." "Oh.... Well, are you sure we need to go, or should we wait and see if it calms down?" It's a good thing humans haven't evolved to shoot lasers out our eyes (but wouldn't that be so awesome?), because Devin would've been charred right there where he stood. "No... [the ellipses here stand for me panting or groaning] I think... this is for real. It's so... intense, and it's just... not... letting up. Go get me... my X t-shirt... and my Y sweats, and I'll... call the hospital... and tell them... we're coming in." So he left again, with slightly more purpose, and when he came back (with my clothes this time, bless him), I was doubled up on the floor with the phone to my ear, trying to tell the emergency OB nurse at the U of U that what I had going on, no human had ever before experienced in the history of childbirth. Not really, but I think it was pretty clear to her that I meant business. She said, "Well, honey, you need to get to A hospital, even if it's not down here. Now get going! GET!" (or something to that effect). Devin helped dress me, but even in labor, women are just better than guys are at hooking a bra (and, seriously, unhooking them too, most likely.) He asked if I wanted him to pack anything, like a toothbrush. "No time... just grab... the camera." He helped me out to the car, and off we went into the night (oh, and Devin's awesome cousin Nicole was living with us at the time, so we didn't even have to wake anyone up in the middle of the night to come stay with the kids. Bonus!).
The contraction(s? Not really--I still think it was the same bugger contraction I'd been dealing with the whole time) was/were so intense, we weren't sure we'd make it an hour to the hospital, without stopping on the way to birth the baby. So, when we got to the intersection at the bottom of our neighborhood--where turning left takes you to our little hospital, and turning right takes you down the canyon to the U of U hospital--Devin turned to me and said, "What do you think? Should we try to make it to Salt Lake?" I pictured having the baby in Heber, and having him loaded onto the Life Flight helicopter immediately afterward, while I was stuck in Heber without him. That option was immensely displeasing. "No, just go for it. We can make it." I closed my eyes, and started intensely praying that labor would slow down just long enough to make it to the hospital. And, I'm telling you now, a little miracle occurred, and that's exactly what happened. Devin timed them at 5-7 minutes apart, the whole way down the canyon. I even started to wonder if this was another false-labor episode, and felt stupid for freaking out so much, when we may just end up being sent right back home by condescending nurses....
Fortunately for my pride, the contractions picked right back up again pretty much the moment we were in sight of the hospital. I'm not making that part up. It was wild. Devin loaded me into a wheelchair, and raced me through the halls to the emergency OB department.
And, that's where I'll end this portion of my account, mostly because I'm sure you're tired of reading about it by this point, and maybe you have laundry to do or a meal to make or grout to scrub. So, you go do that stuff, and I'll work on writing the next part, and we can meet up again right here....
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