Originally Posted 12/30/14
My oldest son turned 10 years old today. A whole decade has passed since the December day when his fierce soul shot into my life to show me that there could, in fact, be someone more stubborn on the planet than myself. He wasn’t really stubborn to be born, but I rushed him out anyway… and I think I’ve been paying for my lack of patience ever since.
Colton was due on January 7th, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being pregnant all year and not getting to claim him on our taxes for the year. Heck no, I wanted him out and I wanted that tax deduction that came along with a December birth. Yes, I cringe at my former self. Especially this time of year when I remember his birth.
On December 27th, I was GOING to get him out. I consulted the internet – Google was this brand new phenomena that could be used to find any answer to any question out there! I remember looking up natural induction methods. When sex and nipple stimulation didn’t make me have any contractions, I started looking for things I could TAKE. Black and Blue Cohosh came up in the search with scary info and I didn’t know what the hell it was anyway, so I skipped that one. Next on the list was castor oil.
The site I looked at said to take 2-4oz every few hours until labor started. I obviously needed to take 4oz, right? “I’m pulling out the big guns!” At 7pm, I took 4oz mixed with orange juice. It was disgusting – the most foul thing to ever cross my lips in my entire life. But I downed it. Two hours later, I did it again, but threw it up. So I mixed a little more with some Dr. Pepper and downed it. I spent the following 4 hours alternating between hugging and sitting on the toilet. I never felt worse in my life. (Disclaimer: this is a RIDICULOUS amount of castor oil. DO NOT do what I did. My suggestion would be to ONLY use castor oil under the direction of your care provider. Also, do not try to induce yourself at NIGHT. It is STUPID STUPID STUPID)
Once my system was totally cleaned out, I started having regular contractions – painful ones. I drank a bunch of water, because I was sure I was dehydrated. It stayed down and the contractions kept coming. I wasn’t sure if I should go to the hospital or not. I wasn’t 100% sure if I was *really* contracting or if it was stomach cramps from the severe diarrhea I had experienced. So I waited a couple more hours.
Around 1am I headed for the hospital. I was only 2cm, but the machines said I was contracting every 5 minutes, so I got to stay. I was cool with this. My baby was coming, and that was the goal. But things took a turn. A turn that has always put a dark shadow on my son’s birth. I got the nurse from Hell. She was Satan in the flesh, or scrubs I guess. Womp Womp.
By the time I got to my actual L&D room, my contractions were really picking up with intensity. I remember thinking, "this is challenging, but I want to see how long I can do this." Those thoughts were obliterated by Nurse Satan. She demanded I allow her to do a vaginal exam. Her tone made me feel uneasy, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t know I could or should protest. I was 3cm. She told me she was calling the anesthesiologist. I told her I was managing and that I wanted to wait longer before I made a decision about an epidural.
This really pissed off Nurse Satan. She gave me a look that said, “You’re obviously an idiot, and I went to school for this shizz, so shut up and listen.”
My oldest son turned 10 years old today. A whole decade has passed since the December day when his fierce soul shot into my life to show me that there could, in fact, be someone more stubborn on the planet than myself. He wasn’t really stubborn to be born, but I rushed him out anyway… and I think I’ve been paying for my lack of patience ever since.
Colton was due on January 7th, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being pregnant all year and not getting to claim him on our taxes for the year. Heck no, I wanted him out and I wanted that tax deduction that came along with a December birth. Yes, I cringe at my former self. Especially this time of year when I remember his birth.
On December 27th, I was GOING to get him out. I consulted the internet – Google was this brand new phenomena that could be used to find any answer to any question out there! I remember looking up natural induction methods. When sex and nipple stimulation didn’t make me have any contractions, I started looking for things I could TAKE. Black and Blue Cohosh came up in the search with scary info and I didn’t know what the hell it was anyway, so I skipped that one. Next on the list was castor oil.
The site I looked at said to take 2-4oz every few hours until labor started. I obviously needed to take 4oz, right? “I’m pulling out the big guns!” At 7pm, I took 4oz mixed with orange juice. It was disgusting – the most foul thing to ever cross my lips in my entire life. But I downed it. Two hours later, I did it again, but threw it up. So I mixed a little more with some Dr. Pepper and downed it. I spent the following 4 hours alternating between hugging and sitting on the toilet. I never felt worse in my life. (Disclaimer: this is a RIDICULOUS amount of castor oil. DO NOT do what I did. My suggestion would be to ONLY use castor oil under the direction of your care provider. Also, do not try to induce yourself at NIGHT. It is STUPID STUPID STUPID)
Once my system was totally cleaned out, I started having regular contractions – painful ones. I drank a bunch of water, because I was sure I was dehydrated. It stayed down and the contractions kept coming. I wasn’t sure if I should go to the hospital or not. I wasn’t 100% sure if I was *really* contracting or if it was stomach cramps from the severe diarrhea I had experienced. So I waited a couple more hours.
Around 1am I headed for the hospital. I was only 2cm, but the machines said I was contracting every 5 minutes, so I got to stay. I was cool with this. My baby was coming, and that was the goal. But things took a turn. A turn that has always put a dark shadow on my son’s birth. I got the nurse from Hell. She was Satan in the flesh, or scrubs I guess. Womp Womp.
By the time I got to my actual L&D room, my contractions were really picking up with intensity. I remember thinking, "this is challenging, but I want to see how long I can do this." Those thoughts were obliterated by Nurse Satan. She demanded I allow her to do a vaginal exam. Her tone made me feel uneasy, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t know I could or should protest. I was 3cm. She told me she was calling the anesthesiologist. I told her I was managing and that I wanted to wait longer before I made a decision about an epidural.
This really pissed off Nurse Satan. She gave me a look that said, “You’re obviously an idiot, and I went to school for this shizz, so shut up and listen.”
How did she know I was an idiot?? I didn’t tell them about the castor oil!!
So… I felt like an idiot just by her look. Then she told me that if I didn’t get the epidural right now, I wasn’t going to get it later. This scared the crap out of me. I didn’t want to get to a state of vulnerability, and decide I wanted an epidural, and then have Nurse Satan judge me even more, or say “I told you so.” Tears rolled down my cheeks – a combination of my hurt feelings and the fact that labor was getting increasingly intense by the minute. I meekly told her, “okay” and off she went to fetch the anesthesiology dude.
I’m calling him an anesthesiology dude, because he wasn’t even an anesthesiologist. I didn’t know that. Not until this conversation happened…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
After the 4th pinch… well, jab, it was more like a jab…
Me: Mom, how do people even learn how to do this?
Mom: Well, he’s learning on you right now.
That’s right. He was a student. And that’s okay. These people gotta learn how somewhere. But he was an unsupervised student. And he was poking me over and over and over.
My contractions were about 4 minutes apart and getting stronger. I told Anesthesiology Dude to please wait to poke me again until I was done with the contraction. Nurse Satan QUICKLY reminded me that she was in charge by looking directly past me, as if I weren’t even a human being, and said to Anesthesiology Dude, “Keep doing it – she can deal with both at the same time so we can just get this over with.”
Not only did my jaw hit the floor, but as I sat hunched over on the side of the hospital bed, my tears started to hit my eye glasses. They filled them with giant tear puddles until I finally had my mom take them off my face and wipe them. Anesthesiology Dude was kind enough to wait until I regained my composure. And he only worked on me between contractions. He was a nice guy, just an inexperienced one.
When he and Nurse Satan finally left the room, I felt like every little piece of my dignity had been stripped away. I felt dumb and inadequate for birth, even though my post epidural vaginal exam said I was 5cm dilated. I had been progressing great! I had gone from a 2 to a 5 about an hour and a half! Then, after the epidural debacle, labor just shut down. I stopped contracting completely. For hours. For FOUR of them. Just before shift change Nurse Satan came to check on me and update my chart. She stuck her fingers inside me. When she pulled them out, annoyed, she said, “Nope, no change.” Then she rolled her eyes and said, “You weren't even really in labor.” She angrily threw down her gloves and stormed out.
She left and I cried some more. Maybe I wasn't *really* in labor. Dehydration can cause this sort of thing to happen. And it was a definite possibility considering what I had done the evening before. But everything I had felt was real. And I was steadily contracting. Right up until I was treated like garbage by Nurse Satan.
To this day, I firmly believe that my labor arrested because of the verbal abuse I endured from a nurse who was having a bad day. Or hated her job. Or hated me, I don’t know. But she is the dark shadow that I think about each December. She is the one who has made me have to constantly remind myself that all nurses AREN'T bad. In fact, MOST nurses are awesome.
After shift change, I got a great nurse. We’ll call her Nurse Angel. I feel bad that I don’t remember her real name, but she was lovely and warm and kind. And she made me feel like a person and not a burden on her schedule. With my doctor’s okay, Nurse Angel started me on the lowest dose of Pitocin and I had a baby 45 minutes later. That’s right - with a little Pitocin nudge, and a little kindness from Nurse Angel, I went from 5cm to 10cm and baby OUT in 45 minutes.
I wish I had known more about self-advocacy a decade ago. I wish I'd had a doula. I wish I had known more about birth in general. I teach birth classes now to help other women know more about birth. I think my memories of Colton’s birth would have been much happier ones if I'd been more educated. I am lucky that I had a healthy baby, obviously. But I’m angry that his labor story is one that makes me feel kind of sad when I think back on it. There was no reason it shouldn't have been a completely happy day. I should have been treated with more kindness by Nurse Satan.
It is not incredibly likely that a Nurse Satan will ever attend your birth. Most nurses are really nice. Especially when you smile at them a lot and call them by their name – Don’t worry, I didn’t call her Nurse Satan to her face. I came up with that name while writing this blog. But anyway, if by chance you ever do encounter a Nurse Satan, just have your partner politely say, “Thank you so much for your help, Nurse Satan (use her real name), but may we please have another nurse tend to us?” It may just make your baby's birth a happier one.
So… I felt like an idiot just by her look. Then she told me that if I didn’t get the epidural right now, I wasn’t going to get it later. This scared the crap out of me. I didn’t want to get to a state of vulnerability, and decide I wanted an epidural, and then have Nurse Satan judge me even more, or say “I told you so.” Tears rolled down my cheeks – a combination of my hurt feelings and the fact that labor was getting increasingly intense by the minute. I meekly told her, “okay” and off she went to fetch the anesthesiology dude.
I’m calling him an anesthesiology dude, because he wasn’t even an anesthesiologist. I didn’t know that. Not until this conversation happened…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
A minute later…
Anesthesiology Dude: Okay, you’re going to feel a pinch…
After the 4th pinch… well, jab, it was more like a jab…
Me: Mom, how do people even learn how to do this?
Mom: Well, he’s learning on you right now.
That’s right. He was a student. And that’s okay. These people gotta learn how somewhere. But he was an unsupervised student. And he was poking me over and over and over.
My contractions were about 4 minutes apart and getting stronger. I told Anesthesiology Dude to please wait to poke me again until I was done with the contraction. Nurse Satan QUICKLY reminded me that she was in charge by looking directly past me, as if I weren’t even a human being, and said to Anesthesiology Dude, “Keep doing it – she can deal with both at the same time so we can just get this over with.”
Not only did my jaw hit the floor, but as I sat hunched over on the side of the hospital bed, my tears started to hit my eye glasses. They filled them with giant tear puddles until I finally had my mom take them off my face and wipe them. Anesthesiology Dude was kind enough to wait until I regained my composure. And he only worked on me between contractions. He was a nice guy, just an inexperienced one.
When he and Nurse Satan finally left the room, I felt like every little piece of my dignity had been stripped away. I felt dumb and inadequate for birth, even though my post epidural vaginal exam said I was 5cm dilated. I had been progressing great! I had gone from a 2 to a 5 about an hour and a half! Then, after the epidural debacle, labor just shut down. I stopped contracting completely. For hours. For FOUR of them. Just before shift change Nurse Satan came to check on me and update my chart. She stuck her fingers inside me. When she pulled them out, annoyed, she said, “Nope, no change.” Then she rolled her eyes and said, “You weren't even really in labor.” She angrily threw down her gloves and stormed out.
She left and I cried some more. Maybe I wasn't *really* in labor. Dehydration can cause this sort of thing to happen. And it was a definite possibility considering what I had done the evening before. But everything I had felt was real. And I was steadily contracting. Right up until I was treated like garbage by Nurse Satan.
To this day, I firmly believe that my labor arrested because of the verbal abuse I endured from a nurse who was having a bad day. Or hated her job. Or hated me, I don’t know. But she is the dark shadow that I think about each December. She is the one who has made me have to constantly remind myself that all nurses AREN'T bad. In fact, MOST nurses are awesome.
After shift change, I got a great nurse. We’ll call her Nurse Angel. I feel bad that I don’t remember her real name, but she was lovely and warm and kind. And she made me feel like a person and not a burden on her schedule. With my doctor’s okay, Nurse Angel started me on the lowest dose of Pitocin and I had a baby 45 minutes later. That’s right - with a little Pitocin nudge, and a little kindness from Nurse Angel, I went from 5cm to 10cm and baby OUT in 45 minutes.
I wish I had known more about self-advocacy a decade ago. I wish I'd had a doula. I wish I had known more about birth in general. I teach birth classes now to help other women know more about birth. I think my memories of Colton’s birth would have been much happier ones if I'd been more educated. I am lucky that I had a healthy baby, obviously. But I’m angry that his labor story is one that makes me feel kind of sad when I think back on it. There was no reason it shouldn't have been a completely happy day. I should have been treated with more kindness by Nurse Satan.
It is not incredibly likely that a Nurse Satan will ever attend your birth. Most nurses are really nice. Especially when you smile at them a lot and call them by their name – Don’t worry, I didn’t call her Nurse Satan to her face. I came up with that name while writing this blog. But anyway, if by chance you ever do encounter a Nurse Satan, just have your partner politely say, “Thank you so much for your help, Nurse Satan (use her real name), but may we please have another nurse tend to us?” It may just make your baby's birth a happier one.
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