I was 38 weeks 4 days. Had a Dr's appointment bright and early, and I was very much hoping it would be my last one. The Dr asked me if I wanted to be checked to see if early induction was an option. I hadn't been checked yet, and honestly didn't much care. Dialation isn't a good indication of labor, and the daily contractions were depressing enough. I had had a good day and a half of contractions late the week before, but they were all over the place. Actually, I had had contractions every afternoon/evening for a good couple of weeks. The night before I had stabbing pain in what I now believe was my cervix. Anyway....

I said, sure, check me. Couldn't hurt to find out either way. She did, and the next thing I know she tells me I'm a 5. Woah. Because I had strep b and labor, when it did come, would be fast, she decided to send me upstairs to L&D. I was surprised and suddenly scared. I wasn't sure if I wanted this baby after all. You know, pre baby jitters. I went home and got my stuff together, and my husband installed the car seat. I gave Clint a million last minute instructions for looking after our daughter, and he drove me back to the hospital.

I checked in at about 1030, was told to put on a gown, the usual stuff. Maj. Schumacher checked me, said my Dr downstairs was right about how dialated I was, and went out. She came back and told me they weren't sure if they would keep me because I wasn't actually having contractions at the time and therefore wasn't in labor. I was crushed. I had already told the family that it was baby day, and I was so tired of being pregnant. I was ready to trade the aches and pains for the sleepless nights and spit up. I called my husband and updated him, though I couldn't tell him anything for sure. Then the major came back. She told me that because everyone was on the fence about it, I could decide. My options were to stay and have the baby, to come back friday (when I would be 39 weeks) and be induced, or to go home and come back whenever I was in labor.

The thing was, obviously I had been having real contractions mixed in with all those braxton hicks. And this time, I couldn't tell the difference. I wanted to have the full 2 doses of antibiotics before he popped out, because otherwise he would have to stay in the hospital for 48 hours, and I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Because of the high RSV rate in Nevada, the hospital didn't allow kids under 12 on the L&D floor between November and April. My daughter is almost 2. Up till that point, we hadn't been apart for more than a couple of hours at a time. Hence the wanting to get home. Plus, I've never found hospitals very restful. I'd rather recover on my couch with my Netflix than a hospital bed. Maybe that's just me.

So I decided that it was in my and the baby's best interests to get on with it. I actually started having contractions pretty soon after I made that decision, which made me feel a lot better. I went for a walk for an hour at around 2, and the contractions got quite a bit stronger and more regular, but still not painful. I was checked again, and I was at a 6. They decided to strip my membranes to hopefully speed things up since I had had one dose of antibiotics. Everyone at the hospital was amazing. They were trying really hard to help my labor along without pitocin or anything, which I loved. Dr. McCoy (who was super sweet and quiet. I'm normally not a huge fan of guys poking around down there for some reason, but I didn't mind with him. Somehow he set his patients at ease.) tried to strip them, but apparently he wasn't rough enough lol. So Maj. Schumacher did it, which freaking hurt. No one warned me about that, so I ended up kneeing her in the chest. Pure reflexes, of course, and I was so embarrassed. I apologized about a zillion times, and she laughed and said not to worry about it. After that the contractions started to really hurt. I mean really. I went on for about half an hour and then asked for an epidural. I figured it would take whoever from anaesthesia awhile to get up to my room anyway. Another 20 minutes or so went by and the anasthesiologist wheeled his cart of wonderful pain killing stuff in.

At that point I could joke around again because I knew soon I wouldn't be hurting anymore. I think it was around 4 at this point. He did his thing, I called him my hero, and off he went. The contractions were mercifully painless for a while, but then the pain started back up. I thought this was strange, because with my daughter everything worked perfectly. By now everyone was telling me it would be a good idea to get Clint up there. The problem was the woman who was going to watch her had class and I didn't trust anyone else. Then I remembered a lady I met at the lab who was due a week after me. She was awesome, had a 2 year old, and I knew I'd trust her with Jordin. So I called her, and she said no problem, she'd meet Clint at the hospital to pick Jordin up. I almost cried I was so relieved. Not so much for me. I wouldn't have minded having Asher by myself, but for Clint. Obviously, he really, really wanted to be there.

He got there at 5. About 20 minutes later, the dr and maj. schumacher came in. They had refrained from checking me, although they really wanted to, because they felt that any push from them would speed things up and he might've missed the birth. Now that he was there, though, they could satisfy their curiosity. Turned out I was still a 6. I was actually pretty bummed about it. So they broke my water. Nothing came out. His head had been on my pubic bone for a few weeks, so I wasn't very surprised. I figured he was blocking everything. Everyone left for a bit, and the contractions started to get really bad. Especially on my right side, but frankly, I hurt everywhere. I honestly don't believe that the anaesthesiologist messed up, I think my body was going crazy. The nurse told me I could press the little button thingy to get more meds, so I did. She left, and a few minutes later I started feeling really dizzy. I honestly couldn't decide if I wanted to pass out or throw up. I've fainted before, and I knew it was a matter of a couple of minutes before I did again. So I sent Clint out to let them know, and the nurse rushed back. Turns out the baby wasn't happy, either. She told me to roll over on my side, and once I had done that I felt slightly better, though not much. Suddenly my room was full of people. I was checked again, and I was a 9 and a half. Only 20 minutes had passed. Lol, no wonder I almost passed out. Everyone was talking, but I was still so dizzy I couldn't really follow what was going on. The blood pressure band on my arm kept getting tighter and tighter because I kept moving it and it couldn't get a reading. My hand was going into claw mode, which happens when it's not getting enough blood. They told me his head was "right there" and that I should push. But I couldn't get past my poor hand, and I held it up to Dr McCoy and asked if they could take the band off. He told the nurse to do so, and I immediately was back in my surroundings. I asked if they meant push with a contraction, they said yes. I still didn't feel the urge to push, which was weird because I distinctly remember that with Jordin. Either way. I pushed during one contraction, and with the second I felt the head. They told me to stop while they rotated him around, then I gave a light push and Asher was born. It was 5:57 on Nov 9th, one of the two greatest days of my life.

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