We left the Clemons’ house at 9:47 (I was somewhat timing contractions but not really because well I’m the only sober adult remember?) and by the time I got Amelia’s bag packed and Heather picked her up, and got some of my own things placed, it was ohhhh 10:30 when we were ready to leave. Oh, and Ryan had showered. I already instructed him on the way home to shower because alcohol. At this point I was afraid my contractions were too uncomfortable for me to drive so holy mother of Mary, Ryan drove us to the hospital. I was a little worried that this was going to progress fast. With Hudson and Amelia, the doctor broke my water a few hours into labor and they were born within 2 or 3 hours. Gah!
We got to the hospital and Ryan is all wanting to drop me off. No. Just park. I can walk. He finds a spot and decides he should BACK THE YUKON IN. Oh my word. He made it, luckily, but way to irritate me. We go in the ER entrance bc they lock up the front entrance to the hospital. I was instructed by the l&d nurse to just head up to the 4th floor. Ryan, however, is insistent I need a wheelchair even though I’m about to waddle my ass away from him and leave him there talking to an ER nurse with a wheel chair. The nurse comes at me with the wheel chair and I’m all “I AM JUST FINE I DONT NEED A WHEELCHAIR!” (Seriously I am fine…. I can walk and breathe through my contractions. I am, however, highly irritated that my husband is making a big deal of this.).
We get to the 4th floor and I tell him just to shut his mouth and not talk… I’ve got this under control and I don’t need to be any more irritated by his half drunken stupor. A sweet nurse, Libby, takes me into a room to make sure it’s amniotic fluid (hello. Contractions are 3min apart and I’m like don’t talk to me during them so I can breathe. This is labor if this isn’t my 4th kid…)
Some foreign doctor comes in, Dr. Rashandwa!?, and starts asking really dumb questions like “what brings you in here tonight? So, you think you’re in labor, correct?” And is asking me questions during my contractions. I’m staring at the ceiling thinking…. This can’t be happening. I have a drunk husband, this is my LAST BABY. My LAST DELIVERY. And thus doctor is also incompetent and I’m highly irritated with everyone in this room except sweet Libby. Can Libby and I have a baby together?!?
Luckily, he is not the delivery doctor. By this time it is 11:30pm. He checks me and I’m 4cm and 80% effaced. I can’t remember what this is supposed to mean but I know that I’m in more and more pain by each contraction and I’m paranoid I am not going to have time to get an epidural. I text Paige back to give her an update as I last left her hanging with a phone call about leaky water. My husband has been on am his phone typing quite a bit so I’m sure he’s half drunk facebooking and half updating everyone in the world with our riot of a birth story progress.
I get into a delivery room and the next hour is kind of a blur. I remember being pretty calm and collected during contractions, and then suddenly realizing that it usually takes what seems like forever for the anesthesiologist to come in and starting to panic that I’m not going to get an epidural and I will have to deliver in horrific pain. I start to cry instead of breathing during contractions and beg my nurses to just get the epidural here. The anesthesiologist comes in and I’m watching every move he makes, wishing he would hurry the hell up.