You Can’t Call a Do-Over
by Cheryl, posted on July 8th, 2010 in Mama Kat's Writing Workshop
She yelled at me. She did. And I should’ve fired her on the spot, but I didn’t know I could.
She was my labor and delivery nurse. She was supposed to be my advocate, right? My guide, my helper, my friend.
She was none of those things. Instead, she contributed to making the birth of my first child such a traumatic experience I couldn’t talk about it for months afterward, and I didn’t even tell my OB/GYN what happened until my yearly (which ended up being my first prenatal visit for my second pregnancy).
The awfulness started right around 2 p.m. I’d been at the hospital for about 12 hours. I got an epidural after a trip through nubane (and when I say trip, I mean TRIP, that stuff was the worst high I’ve ever had). I was just hanging out, watching the monitor show the contractions I was having and wondering if I was missing out on part of the experience because I could feel nothing. And when I say I felt nothing, I mean they could’ve sawed off my legs below my waist and I would’ve just smiled and waved as the blood spattered the walls like a Jason Pollock painting.
Anyway, the nurse checked me and said I was ready to push.
I was all, okay, I’m ready, this is awesome, let’s go.
I’m pushing! Right?
Apparently not.
“Don’t you feel pressure?” she asked.
I didn’t. I felt nothing.
Obviously, I was not Doing It Right.
So she told me she’d be right back, and she returned with another nurse. It became clear that this was Bad Cop Cheerleader. Because she was all gung-ho, telling me to PUSH! PUSH!
And? Nothing. Because if you can’t feel anything, how do you know you’re pushing?
My nurse totally rolled her eyes at me. Her ploy didn’t work. She consulted with the OB (not my regular one, who was not on call that day) and they eventually decided to turn off the epidural.
Imagine. You are dead below the waist. Suddenly, you’re not. Not only that, but someone is sticking an electric prod somewhere in your pelvis. That’s what it felt like, anyway. Because your body? It will build endorphins to help deal with pain if it’s given a chance. When it’s not, it has no idea what the fuck is going on and it will be really pissed off and give you pain like you’ve never felt in your life.
So you will start yelling. You will cry and scream “Will somebody PLEASE HELP ME!!!” because you cannot get away from this savage, horrible ripping apart of your insides.
The nurse? She just wants you to shut up. She wants you to be quiet, because that’s how women give birth. They do some hee hee hees, ha ha has, some delightful purple pushing, and out pops the baby. She doesn’t have the first clue how to deal with pain. Not only that, she doesn’t WANT to.
Instead, she’ll lean in real close, right into your face, and will tell you to CALM DOWN. And you can tell by the sneer on her face that she wants to slap you.
She will lead you through the “Deep breath then push to the count of 10, don’t exhale.. I said DON’T EXHALE! You need to get to one! Try again. NO! NO!”
Because, again, I’m not Doing It Right. I’m not. If you don’t Do It Right, how can you expect a baby to come out? He’ll stay in until you Do It Right. He will!
Then your husband suddenly tella you he can see the head! He can see the top of our baby boy’s head! So you focus on the thrill in your husband’s voice and you push and push and you feel the baby moving out, but then he slides back in. Then the OB does something to you Down There and out comes the baby. Your beautiful, perfect son.
That is, you think he’s perfect. The OB saw some meconium in the amniotic fluid, so they whisk him across the room to suction and make sure he’s okay. You can’t see because your legs are still in the stirrups and your knee is blocking the view. You’d hoped that you could hold him immediately, you’d looked forward to counting fingers and toes and gazing at your miracle. But it didn’t happen
While they’re cleaning and swaddling him, you ask the nurse, “Did I tear or did I get an episiotomy?”
She looks you straight in the eye and says, nastily, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the doctor.”
That’s the last you see of her. She never bothers to order you any food – even though you haven’t eaten for 20 hours. She just leaves and that is that.
By the time I held my Sawyer, he was swaddled and wore a litte striped hat. I was still in shock from the entire experience. I just kind of looked at him. His swollen eyes. His squashed nose.
It took awhile to fall in love.
It took even longer to understand that the wrong person was in charge that day. The nurse doesn’t get to give birth. I do. I do, and I have never felt so powerless in my life.
I should’ve demanded a different nurse the moment she gave me attitude. It’s not like asking for a new waiter. I didn’t have to worry about her spitting in my water. I should have asked for them to move the warming table closer so I could see them weighing my son. I should have removed the swaddle and hat and just warmed him with my own skin, my own heat, and admired each tiny wrinkled finger and toe.
I let myself be bullied – something I normally wouldn’t tolerate – because I thought that’s just what happens when you have a baby.
But you know what? I vowed it would never happen again.
I couldn’t call a do-over. But when I became pregnant with Sage, I educated myself as much as I could about childbirth. I hired a doula and took the Hypnobabies class she taught. It changed everything. Everything.
And even though I never again had a hospital birth (Sage was a surprise home birth, X was a planned one), I learned an important lesson about silence: when you say nothing? That’s exactly what you’re going to get.
This prompt was inspired by the prompt “I wish I would have…describe a time when you didn’t take action, but later wished you would have” for Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop.
Kelli Says:
Cheryl Reply:
July 8th, 2010 at 3:57 pm
I couldn’t agree more. Every mom or mom-to-be should be armed with as much info as possible. The MOM is the customer and she needs to demand great service!
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