Life Serial

(warning: long post) (but hopefully entertaining)

Ever have a bad day that just would not end? It just keeps going and going and going?

That was yesterday.

Yesterday started on Thursday.

I've been feeling really tired and rundown recently, partly because Juliet is still a pretty bad sleeper. Anyway Thursday it was exacerbated by the fact that I had a cold. And Jamie had a cold. And Lydia and Juliet had colds. And Juliet had pink eye. So Thursday morning I wake up super tired and feeling sick. Can't go anywhere. Just having an all-over bad day with cranky kids and cranky mommy. I was REALLY looking forward to my nap. When it didn't happen I called Jamie in my despair and he decided to come home (he wasn't feeling well either). I sigh in relief when he gets home until it becomes clear that he is sicker than I am and needs to go to bed. Great. (I know its not your fault Jamie--I don't hold it against you). And then it becomes clear that he is VERY sick and about to present physical evidence of it. So I pack up my kids and rush them out the door to go stay with my parents. Sorry Jamie, you can take care of yourself right? I get to my parent's house and have a fairly quiet evening, although worried about Jamie since hearing he's puked twice and feels vile. I decide to spend the night at my parents. For the kids, you know--don't want to pass daddy's germs around... Ahem. Anyway I go to bed hoping for a fresh start in the morning, only to discover that the day has decided to keep going--I barely slept. Juliet didn't feel like sleeping, and when she did and I crawled into the bed I was sharing with Lydia, I quickly found out that 2-year-olds make very fidgety bed mates.

I woke up at 5 for the day. Jamie still felt horrible and was going to a minute clinic for a strep test, which they didn't do because they didn't think his throat looked streppy enough. I decided to stay at my parents all day and then go home after dinner. Made it through the day tolerably, although still feeling a little coldy and discovering that Lydia had caught Juliet's pink eye. Halfway through the day my client calls to tell me she's been having contractions all day and thinks its early labor. Uh oh. Not tonight, please not tonight. Can you cross your legs? (Of course I didn't really say any of that). I get home that evening feeling dead tired and depressed, and send out a cry for prayer and sympathy to my mom's group. As I'm writing that email about feeling so tired, I get another call from my client. Contractions 5 minutes apart. Will try to go to bed. I decide I'd better try to go to bed (or couch since Jamie had the bed) too and get as much sleep as I can before I get the call. Juliet has other ideas and decides to start crying literally the MINUTE I turn out my light at 10pm. I spend the next hour feeding, pleading, ignoring, crying, and raging. Finally she goes down sometime after 11 and I fall asleep, only to be woken up at 12:45 with The Call.

I get to my client's house at around 1:30. Contractions 3-4 minutes apart. She can't talk through them but she's handling them well. We keep the lights low, use the birth ball. She takes a shower and I watch real-life animal attacks (ick) with her husband. She gets out of the shower and we work some more. Talk about the plan. What to expect. She says she can't imagine the pain getting worse than this. Oh, sweetie. You have no idea. I try to prepare her without scaring her. You will measure it on a different scale at the end. But you are strong and capable.

The contractions get closer together. She loses a big fat bloody mucous plug (sorry to any men reading this). We decide to go to the hospital. She decides to ride with me. I embarrassingly realize my gas light is on and have to stop for gas on the way to the hospital. We get there at 5am and she's 5cm. Good job! You'll be out of here in no time with the frequency of these contractions...

Three hours later she is 6cm. Four hours later she is 6-7cm. Somewhere in between these checks I hit my wall. I am SO exhausted. I take a pumping break and cry and call friends for moral support.

When they check her at 12:30 and she hasn't changed, the doc breaks her water. Ok. NOW things will move quickly!! My client discovers that new scale of pain I told her about. She discovers it for three hours straight. The doctor checks her again. She is 7. Are you kidding me??? We talk about it and decide to go for the epidural. She is too exhausted and in pain to keep going and expect progress. She is too tense, her body needs to relax. With an epi. And pit to speed things up. Not the birth plan, but the best option at this point. Its now 4pm. I escape again for more pumping and crying. I go get food for the first time all day. My cold feels worse and worse. My voice is shot. I am so tired I actually think I might pass out. And did I mention that it turns out Jamie DOES have strep throat. Great. There is a pity-party in town and I'm hosting!!! I call a wise friend. She tells me that God often stretches us a thin as we can be (much like a cervix) so that a new, stronger us can emerge from the cosmic vagina. Ok, I added that last part. She said I will find energy and strength beyond what I know I have. I am being prayed for.

She must have been right because somehow I managed to stay alive and conscious. The details get a little hazy though as I'm quite certain my mind was working on some back-up generator that only allowed me to perform functions essential to the moment. Lets just say progress continued at a snails pace (much like this blog post, you might say).

At about 9pm my client and her husband must've noticed the significant deterioration of my mental and physical state, because they told me I should go home. She didn't really need me so much now that she had her epi. She was at 9cm and the doctor was gonna check her soon, so we decided I'd wait and see what he said. If she was complete I'd stay for the pushing, if she wasn't I'd leave. Doc comes in. She is about complete, but with a lip. Just a little more time on your side to stretch out that lip. I'll check you again at 10:15. So I think about staying, but decide not to even though I'll be missing the magical finale. First time mom--pushing usually takes an hour, sometimes more. I wouldn't be leaving until after 11, and that's IF she's complete next time she is checked. I leave. I call people the whole way home to keep myself from falling asleep. I go to my mom's house, since she has the kids. I get there and just sob. Tears of relief and release. I made it. I am alive. I can go to sleep now. This day might finally end. What day is it anyhow?

So here I am now. After a pretty good nights sleep, a VERY helpful mother, and a shower, I am feeling almost human again. Jamie isn't contagious anymore and is feeling a little better. And that van with the Death Star painted on its side isn't following me anymore. It is over.

Oh yes, the clincher. I talked to my client's husband the next day, and it turns out she was complete when the doc checked her, and pushed the baby out in 5 minutes. She was probably giving birth as I pulled into my mother's driveway. Sigh.