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was to stick a pH paper into my nether regions, like some great big science project. In what looked like a tsunami of fluid, the nurse waved a small strip of purple paper in the air and proclaimed I was indeed leaking and not peeing and we were summarily admitted to the labor and delivery ward.

My poor husband, after no sleep for more than 36 hours, passed out on the chair in the delivery room while they hooked me up to my Siamese twin for the next day, an IV unit. I was ordered to pace the hallways to get my contractions going. At about 3:00 A.M., one of the floor nurses took one look at me and said, "If you think these are bad, just wait until your labor really starts." Not the words of encouragement I was looking for in the middle of night, with a husband passed out and my body trying to figure out how to dispel this baby.

By 6:00AM, the doctor decided nature needed some assistance and pumped me up with pitocin. By 7:00AM, I decided I'd had enough of that action and woke my husband out of his sound sleep. By 8:00AM he decided he'd had enough of me and consented to my whines for drugs and went in search of the anesthesiologist. After proclaiming what a cool needle the epidural was as he watched in fascination when they pierced my spine, we went back to hanging out, waiting for me to dilate enough to push. The anesthesiologist explained the most ridiculous concept, that by the time you are ready to push, the epidural will wear off so you can feel the contractions. That is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. By about 9 centimeters, I was ready to push and feeling every fiber in my body again. I sent my husband out three times into the hallway to find that damned anesthesiologist so I could have just one more fix. He tried to explain the anesthesiologist was busy. A nurse finally came in and tried to explain the anesthesiologist was with an unwed first time teenage mother, and couldn't I just be patient and breathe. I would have nothing of it. When the anesthesiologist finally entered the room I audibly sighed and exclaimed that he must be the most popular man on the floor. I think I would have married him at that point, would he have consented.

The unfortunate thing with more drugs is that you can't feel the contractions, except for a little tightening in your belly. This means the pushing goes a little more slowly than without. It took Jared about 2 hours, the doctor threatening me with a cesarean section after all this hard work, and a baby vacuum for me to finally expel him. 2 hours is a long time, and the doctor, along with the nurse and my husband each holding one of my legs, would pass the time between contractions discussing everything from movies to camping while I watched the monitor to see when to get everyone back in the ready position. After the birth, my husband happily followed nurse and baby out to have a first bath, while the doctor donned a headlamp like some cave dweller and proceeded to sew me up.

I think I've now proven that some sort of brain damage does occur during the delivery process. How else could I happily be on my fifth child?

Learn more about this author, Karen Richardson.
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