So, it's not a very exciting story, nor is it very original I fear, but here goes.

Thursday morning

I go to work. I'm teaching Macbeth which is my favorite thing to teach. I'm one day overdue but I'm feeling ok with it. I'm tired and I would love to give birth but hey, whatever, this child was clearly being ornery. Throughout the day I think it might be possible that my water is leaking OR I'm peeing myself (just a little). I keep on teaching and consult friends with my findings. They agree with me, I might have a leaking water! YAY!

I go home and I call my doctor's office and fill them in on my "symptoms" (damp undies). They tell me they'll check me but they believe it's just because I'm overdue that I'm anxious for something to get started. Lo and behold after my feet were up in the snowmen ovenmits/stirrups, it was proven that I was indeed leaking amniotic fluid...I was told to go to the hospital and expect labor to start.

I call John on my way home and I get his brother instead, he doesn't believe me but I tell him to let John know because he needs to get stuff ready. Clearly, we weren't in a rush here because nothing was actually happening. Well, let me rephrase that...It was clear to me. When I got home, John was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. We packed up and after I calmed John down, we stopped at Wendy's so that I could chow down as much as possible since they don't let you eat once they admit you into the hospital. I ate for about three people that evening, stuffing my face with enough nuggets to feed a small army.

After getting my fast food fix we checked into the hospital, our mothers arrived right on our heels. And we sat there. Me in the hospital bed, ass hanging out and John, his sister and our mothers all staring at me, waiting for labor to start. It didn't. To get the ball rolling, they broke my water, which was a creepy experience in itself...luckily, only John and I got to witness it. However, my water just kept on gushing for the next few hours while everyone continued to stare at me. Finally, contractions started (with some help from Pitocin). And boy did they. I did a pretty good job from 9-1am, but at 1 they were coming pretty fast and they hurt like hell. I couldn't take it any longer and I asked for an epidural. My mom and John watched the epidural insertion and while John was quiet and helpful, my mom kept saying things like, "Wow! That's a huge contraction!" and "I bet that one is hurting you!" while I was supposed to be remaining absolutely still and hunched over my knees and not reacting to the contractions. Gotta love her.

Anyways, that's where things took a turn for the worse. The epidural made my contractions slow down and decrease in intensity. I was only four centimeters dilated but I had been progressing up until this point, so they made the decision to up my Pitocin levels in the hopes of increasing the intensity of the contractions. This was fine with me because the epidural was pure heaven. Previously, I had been silently cursing everyone in the room because they were making chit chat while I was in pure pain...now, I was numb to the world and didn't care what innane conversations were taking place around me.

I had sent everyone out of the room (except for John) so that I could get some sleep and hopefully dilate fully. John ran out to smoke a cigarette and he was going to lay down with me. The Pitocin, however, was a bad choice. As the levels of Pitocin increased, my blood pressure dropped. John walked back into the room with me flipped over, legs above my head, oxygen mask on my face, ephedrine being injected into my IV and my blood pressure at a "lovely" 55/38. They stabilized me and stopped the Pitocin, but my body wouldn't progress on its own. They tried to slowly up my Pitocin levels, but each time my blood pressure fell. Finally, at 6 am the doctor told me that it was time for a c-section. My blood pressure, the baby's heartbeat, my lack of further dilation, and the fact that my water had been broken for almost 12 hours and had been leaking for much longer were all factors in the decision. I cried when the doctor told me but John consoled me...there really weren't many other options at this point.

The doctors scrubbed up and I was wheeled into the operating room at 6 am. It was the weirdest experience of my life, being awake but numb for such an operation. As it turned out, the baby had never really neared the birth canal and had my water not leaked, he probably wouldn't have come for a week or so on his own. At 6:20 am, my little man was born. John was able to watch and to cut the cord and assist in cleaning little Tommy up. John brought him over for me to see, but I couldn't hold him yet because my arms were still numb from the operation/drugs. I was wheeled back to my room and in 10 minutes time, I had my son in my still numb arms as I nursed him for the first time. I made our mothers wait for a full hour before they were allowed in the room so that I could spend some time alone with my son, nursing and inspecting my child--mostly, I cried because I was in complete awe of him. He was/is perfect.

And that's Tommy's birth story.