One year ago today

One year ago today I was puking my guts out on the "guest room" floor (sorry again, Gretchen, about that smell!) and cursing Mike for giving me his stomach bug. But let me start at the beginning ...

Friday prior: Mike barely makes it home from a trip, believing he somehow got food poisoning (for real, not the "I-drank-too-much-and-so-I'm-going-to-blame-it-on-the-pizza" kind of food poisoning. He finally gave that story up after our second year of marriage, when I had to clean puke off the back porch in Columbus so the dog wouldn't eat it. But I digress ..). He ends up feeling lousy all weekend (probably a little virus) so we just lounge around the house. No biggie, we move our plans to get the nursery set up, the car seat installed and catch up on all of the movies we want to see to the next weekend. Mike has a four-day weekend (Yes, Columbus Day is a very important holiday that we must celebrate. By not working. And having Friday off, too. Those are our are tax dollars at work! Or not at work, as it was). I wasn't scheduled at work. Still more than three weeks until the big day. Perfect.

Tuesday, early morning: Still in my p.j.'s. Not showered. Working on some inane paper for some inane on-line class to finish my BSN. Starting to feel like garbage. Starting to get mad at Mike for giving me his bug.

Tuesday, around noon: Feeling like actual garbage now. Gave up on paper. As I recall it wasn't actually due until Thursday (look at me! a self-starter! getting my homework done not one, but two days before it's due!) so no rush.

Tuesday, early afternoon: Laying on the couch with Bill, eating grapes and catching up on an entire season of Army Wives. That Roxy is such a kook!

Tuesday, 3pm,  ish: Call Mike. Ask, "Are you coming home soon?" Feeling like poop. Literally and figuratively. Enough said.

Tuesday, 7pm, ish: Suddenly overcome in the doorway of the "guest room." "Guest room" in quotes because at the time it was an empty room with a sad air mattress and some mis-matched bedding. Not much better now but we threw some toys in there and call it the "playroom." Nice. Projectile vomit. All over the floor. And the walls. And the uptake vent for the furnace. Reappearance of grapes, much to Mike's fascination. Suddenly feel great. Able to help in clean-up and carpet steaming. In retrospect, didn't do such a great job. Laughing about Mike's bug. Looking forward to upcoming weekend. Going to bed. Still have not showered all day. Thinking, "Whatever."

Tuesday, 10pm, ish: Not sleeping. Bug is back. Feeling contractions, but only in my lower abdomen, nothing that feels productive. Probably just dehydration. Call to midwife for advice. Not impressed. Thinking about going to Labor and Delivery on my own for IV rehydration.

Wednesday, very early morning, probably could still be described as night: Projectile vomiting is back. Made it to the toilet but force + tiny bowl = major splash. Mike has encouraging words, something like, "Can't you just put your head in the toilet like everyone else?" Okay, that's actually exactly what he said. Um, were you not there for the feeling-like-poop hours?  I'm not still bitter or anything. Or still pissed just thinking about it. Anyhoo ... Another call to the midwife. She says just do whatever I think I need to do, no need to call her again. What?!? Ya, she sucked. More and better sucking later.

Wednesday, still very early: Water breaks. Or am I just randomly wetting my pants while I sit on the side of the bed contemplating throwing up again? Anyone who knows me knows I HATE throwing up. Hate, hate, hate it. Can will myself not to throw up. For days if I have to. This is getting serious when vomiting is actually an option. No, it's definitely amniotic fluid. Oh, and say the words, "mucous plug" to Mike sometime. I dare you.

Wednesday, 3am, ish: Let's just go to the hospital. We haven't slept. I haven't showered. Maybe I brushed my teeth, I don't know. I'll get some fluids and feel a whole lot better. We dump the dogs in their kennels and go. All I brought was my purse. Mike has nothing.

Wednesday, 3:30am, ish: Okay, if we hear that Black Eyed Peas song one more time I might die. Mazel tov. These cramps are really starting to hurt. For real. I ask Mike to go slower around the corners because the seat belt is really hurting my stomach. I have to sit down while he's getting us checked in. I'm thankful that Labor and Delivery is slow. I can see the nurses' rolling their eyes. I'm only at 3 cm.

Wednesday, 4am - 6am: Painful attempts to get an IV started. Everyone keeps asking me when my labor started. Silly staff! I'm not in labor! I'm just here for some fluids! I'll be outta here by shift change! Ha! Labor! Ha! And I'm still only at 3 cm. Finally, Dr. Bradford Smith, anesthesiologist extraordinaire, comes in. Actually his IV start sucked too. During this time Mike helps me to the bathroom where, in the only private moment we have, I grab his shirt front and cry, "I can't do this! I can't do this! I can't do this! I'm not even in labor and I think I might be dying! Seriously, this really hurts. A lot!" I'm not sure what his exact response was, but he had stepped it up a little since the projectile-vomiting incident. Anyhoo ...

Wednesday, 6:30am, ish: Call from the midwife. My blood pressure is crap. We're almost at 37 weeks. Let's just have this baby. She actually encouraged me to get an epidural! So that I could sleep all day. Then she would start some Pitocin in the late afternoon and hopefully Eli would be born sometime on Thursday. She's going to go to the gym but will come by during her lunch break. Um, okay?!? I'm so seriously exhausted by now that this sounds totally reasonable. Besides, I'm dying and not even in labor so there's no way I can actually survive the tough stuff! Bring it on, Dr. Bradford Smith, my new BFF!

Wednesday, 7am: Shift change. We've been assigned to Margene. She got pulled from peds, hence her cartoon scrub top. Annoying. She is now charge on Labor and Delivery, and she has to have a patient. She's pissed. I'm still only at 3 cm. Sorry! Mike calls Gretchen, asking her to come today if she can. Fabu mother-in-law that she is, she walked right out of work, packed her suitcase and got on an airplane. Good, we thought, she'll be here in time to take care of Bill and Maggie tonight, and then can be there for Eli's big arrival on Thursday. I mean, not in the room or anything. But, you know, lurking right outside or something.

Wednesday, 9am: The glorious Dr. Bradford Smith flies into the room on gossamer wings and starts my epidural. Dreamy. I am in love. No PCA pump yet because he's just dropping by between sections but he'll be back. I assure him I'll be sleeping. After all, I'm not even in labor yet! He's laughing. I don't know why. Mike goes home to let the dogs out, eat and shower. Good. Because I'll be sleeping. Don't hurry back. By this time Margene is warming up to us. She can see that we're fun! We're no trouble! I won't even be in labor until shift change! I'm easy! She seems to be moving around really quickly. I'm thinking she's just really efficient. Probably a super nurse. No matter, I'm sleeping.

Wednesday, 10:30am: Seriously people, I'm sleeping! But it seems like this epidural is wearing off. Where is that jackass Dr. Bradford Smith? I think this baby might just come flying out of me. And I'm not even in labor. I need some pain management. Do your job, man! The midwife arrives. Who called her? I can't listen to her babble. Where is Dr. Smith? Or should I call him Dr. Mengele? Cruel! Cruel! Sniff! The midwife is still babbling. Wait, why is Margene running? I mean, she's actually running. Sure, I'll call Mike. I tell him to come back soon and hang up. Did someone say "complete?" Completely exhausted? Yes, that's me. Did you say try pushing? Pushing what? Um, Mike, you need to come back ... NOW!

Wednesday, 11:10am: Mike comes flying in (showered and not at all hungry looking, I might add). Margene tells him to hold my leg. He drops it. I think my hip popped out and back into it's socket. He says, "It's so heavy!" I hope he passes out and sustains a brain injury. Not really, Okay, really. But only a little one.

Wednesday, 11:30am: Three sets of pushes (and a bolus to my epidural from Dr. Smith, simply the best doctor in the whole, wide world!) later and we are announcing the arrival of this beautiful baby ...

Dude, I know EXACTLY how you feel. But please put that middle finger away. Mommy loves you. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELI!