It was winter. The cold March winds blew across the flaky snow in the weary hours of morning. Swirls of white dust danced across our back yard, and of all the days one could pick, the coldest, my waterbroke.
5:30am I awoke with the small tickle of water down my legs and eventually soaking beneath me. I knew, because this was not my first time, but the second, that I had not wet myself of a different sort. My husband laying beside me awoke easily at the sound of his name. Towels were gathered the doctor called, and amongst it all - my two year old daughter came creeping into our room and laid beside me. She said, "It's okay mommy. I'm here."
We didn't rush, I was three days late already, and labor took time, or at least it had the first time. The doctor informed me the birthing center was full, I had time to waste laboring at home for me to wait. I couldn't.
6:05am the first of the contractions came on painfully. I informed my husband it was time to go no matter what the doctor said. We still needed to take my daughter to the sitter's house. He didn't rush, no not my husband, who asked my two year old what shirt he should wear and had her pick out his jeans all the while I stood there panting hard and counting through the discomfort. He took our little girl to her room and got her dressed, and then anounced he was ready to go. Only I wasn't. I was still standing there without any pants on.
6:15am Inside the car we headed to the sitters. Normally a ten minute drive, but everyone was heading to work so it took us much longer. With every minute I rubbed my bulged stomach and breathed deeply knowing I was on my way to the hospital. I would make it, only if I kept telling myself. By the time we reached the sitters I was sweating, I was hot, and I was using my feet to brace against the pain of each contraction. I told my little girl I loved her, and not to seem rude, but told my husband to be quick.
6:39am Leaving the sitter's house I felt deep down inside me we wouldn't make it to the hospital. I was in transition, at least that is what they call it. I closed my eyes I didn't want to see how far we were yet from the hospital or near until we actually got there. My husband held my hand. Talked softly to me. I didn't feel nice. I felt hot, sweating, and in the most terrible pain of my life. I informed him if he never sped in his life now was the time to do it. So he went 75 in a 70 mph zone.
The trip to the hospital was the longest most fearful ride I have ever went on in my entire life. I say this because normally it would take a half hour to drive it, but this particular morning there had been an accident on the highway, traffic had to be detoured, and our route became twice as long.
Then the pressure came. Anyone who has ever been in labor can relate to the pressure a woman feels when they are about to give birth. The undeniable urge to push that can not be ignored, and there is no trying to stop it because it is your ultimate goal to expell your unborn child into the world. The hot streaks of pain vibrated through my hips bones. Inside the car sitting straight up and having a baby push down is extremely uncomfortable to say the least. I leaned back my seat to ease the pressure.
It was the best and worst idea one could have. It eased the pain and allowed the baby to drop further, but at the same time the baby's head crowned. There are no words to discribe the burst of a baby's head crowning and recrowning against the barrior of sitting in the front seat of a car.
Shocked, gritting teeth, and in incrediable wonder I said to my husband the baby's head crowned. He replied, "Are you sure? Reach down and touch it." I'm not a violent person, but I could have been at that moment. I could have shouted, no doubt I did the simple fact to him - I didn't need to reach down and "feel" the baby's head. I KNEW the head was there and each time it retracted and pushed out again only to hit the seat caused me even more distress.
I finally reached the point I couldn't do it anymore. I told him he had one minute to get me to the hospital or he needed to pull over and deliver the baby. He said we were on ten mile and he'd have me there soon.
Now if you've ever been to Detroit, Michigan you would probably know that the roads count upwards from one mile way past twelve mile. The important factor here, is the hospital was located on nine mile. My husband had past the exit for the hospital!
Gripping his hand, eyes open and searching, teeth gritting, legs braced we made it in front of the emergency room entrance of the hospital. Parked the car, ran inside, and my husband came out with a wheelchair and a security gaurd behind him. There was no way I could get out of the position I was in let alone to sit down in a wheel chair. The security gaurd went for help.
A team of nurses came out to our four door sedan opening all doors and evaluating the situation. They were going to delivery me in the car! No way, no how, I didn't go through all the trouble of getting there to have my child come into the world outside in the cold. The poor baby would have been a popsicle before a moment's time it felt that cold against my hot clammy skin.
Out came a gurny, hands from everywhere lifted and placed me backwards on the bed and rushed me inside. I had no choice, I was laying flat on my back now with my knees bent up. I had to push, it wasn't a choice. I was told not to push, but try not pushing when your body and your baby is against you. Shoes flew from my feet. My pants were shed as I was pushed down the hall. I heard the flap of the emergency room doors. Then there he was, just thirty seconds after the gurny stopped. The doctor literly walked up and held him up for me to see -my son.
There came on so much activity, and yet I hadn't realize until that moment my husband was no where about. Where was he? The nurses put IV's in my arm. My baby was whisked away a few feet away from me to be cleaned and cared for while they tended to me. I kept asking, I don't rightly know if they truelly had an answer.
When he finally showed up from behind me, he stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, and told me what a wonderful job I was doing. The nurse who stood nearest to me looked at him, my husband, pointed to our infant son and said, "Your son is over there."
My husband quite literally did what one would call a "double take" he looked at me, looked over at our son, and me again. I'd find out later the security guard had made him park the car and he had carried our bags in and was sent to the labor and delivery unit on the fourth floor. Upon reaching the floor he was informed I wasn't there, but someone was delivering in the Emergency Room and so he followed a nurse back down in the elevator, who lead him to me, and had he even skipped going to the fourth floor, would have still missed the birth of our son.
Nine pounds one ounce, the nurses told me I didn't have a baby, I'd had a toddler, but I didn't care I just wanted to hold him. He was born at 7:30am. They took me up and put me in a private room as they do for new mothers. My husband and I waited. They brought me breakfast, I wasn't hungry. We waited. We asked. We wanted our baby. We threated. I informed the nurse if I had to I would walk right down to the nursery and get him myself just so I could hold him, for I'd only been given the pleasure of seeing him for a moment.
At 11am I held my son. Ten perfect toes, ten precious fingers, a chubby little nose, and he was ours. Between us we held him all day long in amazement. Our little girl had a baby brother. Our baby boy had a big sister.
I made it to the hospital.