Pick a word you’re pretty sure you know what it means but you really don’t. That is, you don’t until you experience it. The word I’m talking about is ‘contraction‘. Yep, I finally was learning what that word REALLY meant.
The morning of March 9, 1987 I, a pregnant nineteen year old, woke up early a bit more uncomfortable than normal. Then, pondering if I should get up . . .
. . . my water broke.
– “EEK!” –
The saying ‘Scared silly’ fit’s perfectly right here, knowing my new life as a mother was about to begin.
As soon and my dad left for work, out popped “MOM! QUICK!” as my thoughts took over a mile a minute.
What’s all this going to be like? How long will this take? I can already tell this is not gonna be fun. NO! Not the next contraction already!
My mother, your typical 55 year old driver who normally took backroads to go anywhere, zoomed right along that freeway, by-passing all other cars.
I’m at the hospital now. It’s actually happening. I can’t believe it!
I don’t dare go into detail what took place. Having my older sister right by my side sure helped. I felt she was a ‘pro’ having had her youngest child just a few years before. Contraction after contraction went by. The increasing of the pain and frequency seemed to be far above what I expected.
Five hours felt like five years, but at the same time felt five minutes. I’ll never forget something I finally told my doctor. “I feel I need that epidural stuff now being I’m so young, and going to be a single mom. I don’t think I’m really mature enough to go through it all. If it’s this painful, and I most likely have hours still to go . . . ”
Please oh please oh please let that be a good enough excuse to TAKE THIS PAIN AWAY!
For the life of me, I’ll never forget her reply.
“Too late. Time to push.”
To be continued.