At my October 30th appointment, it was determined that my body was doing absolutely nothing to get Fetusaurus out. At five days past due, my OB wanted to get a move on before the baby got any bigger. Husband and I checked into the hospital where they were going to do Cervadil overnight, and start Pitocin in the morning. We were physically ready, but mentally I feel like I had been in denial. I hadn’t had my normal freak-out that comes along with major life changes, and I was anticipating it at any minute. But this was the real thing, this was down to the wire, and I still didn’t feel any of the anxiety that I was expecting.
The nurse came into the hospital room to start my IV. I’m not shot-phobic by any means, but I have notoriously difficult veins, and I hated the idea of being tethered to a pole for the foreseeable future. I had visions of rolling over in my sleep and accidentally ripping out the IV needle. Ugh. I was actually freaking out more about the IV than about the actual birthing and human-raising process. Turns out I was right to worry. The nurse tried one arm. It worked. I heaved a sigh of relief. Then I heard, “Uh oh.”
“What?” I asked.
“Your vein exploded.”
Excuse me? My vein did what now? Outstanding. Not only did I have a body that refused to go into labor, but I have veins that spontaneously rupture. My whole body was one gigantic middle finger. Fantastic. She tried the other arm. “This one exploded, too. I have a two-stick rule. Hang on, let me go find someone.”
She brought in another nurse who searched in vain for a viable place to stick a needle. Finally, they had to use local anesthetic on my arm so they could dig deep enough (I am shuddering just typing this) to find a vein that wouldn’t blow up. I’m not sure where Husband, who actually is needle-phobic, was looking during this whole process, but I am 98% sure it wasn’t at me. Thankfully, the third time was the charm. If that one hadn’t worked, I may have just gone home and stayed pregnant forever.
Both mothers came in to help us decorate the room with Halloween decorations so I wouldn’t feel so depressed about the induction and about being in the hospital on Halloween, which is one of my absolute favorite days of the year. I had streamers, a witch hat, a Halloween bucket filled with candy (which I was not allowed to eat, but could use to make the nurses my friends so they wouldn’t hurt me anymore with their stabby, stabby needles), and an orange and black goblet for my ice chips.
Anyone who knows me knows that I need to be fed on a fairly regular basis, and that when I am deprived of food, I am pretty miserable and miserable to be around. I wish I could say that food was the last on my list of things in the labor process that I worried about, but I would be lying. I could not wrap my head around how people could be in labor for over 6 hours without eating anything. I literally could not figure it out. I was very concerned. However, I went to sleep on the night of the 30th and woke up on the 31st without any discernable hunger. It was magical. I don’t know if it’s nerves, or the saline that gets pumped through your body, or what, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that I did not hate life on Wednesday morning when I woke up.
Then they started the Pitocin.