Who Pulled the Plug on My Bathtub?!

I'm the first to admit that I have not enjoyed pregnancy all that much. I've been extremely excited for the arrival of Jiffy Pop - a thought that doesn't leave my mind for very long at any given time, but the overall pregnancy experience hasn't been the joy I was hoping for.

Still.

I didn't have any doubt that I was going to make it to that February 1st due date. Most of my focus has been on the labor and birth itself and how I'm going to get through that. I've already had a "birth plan" in my head and felt pretty comfortable with it. Still, one day I feel completely up for natural childbirth, no matter the pain, telling myself it'll be like getting one of my tattoos - pretty awful pain, but one that you know will have a reward and an ending, even if it seems far away while you're gritting your teeth and trying to be tough. The next day I'll feel as if, honestly, I'm just a big fucking baby and I am going to be begging for drugs. And then reminding myself that there's no shame since no one wins awards for natural childbirth anyway.

Oh well.

Two days ago, a little after 5am, I woke up to discover my water had broke. Uh oh. I was "officially" at 31 weeks, 4 days (my anal timetable had me at exactly 32 weeks, but it's not like I'm a midwife or obstetrician or anything, hrmph). Anyway, the point is, that's not good when the goal is 40 weeks. WIth a call to the midwife, Beau and I were frantically, and confusedly, packing a bag. "What do we pack? WIll this be long? Underwear...and...what? A toothbrush?" Then we were off to the nearest town where the midwife and the "hospital" (medical waystation) was. And just to add to the grossness, I thought when your water broke, it was one big splash and it was over. Nope. Despite the drama of its initial bursting, it's like suddenly being an incontinent senior citizen who just finished downing 6 cups of tea. And it doesn't. Stop.
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I like for each of my blogs to have a little grossness in it. There's probably more coming up... :)

We spent a short time at the waystation with the midwife where we basically waited for the ambulance to come and get me. Good thing I wasn't really in labor, cause I could have delivered before they showed up. Anyway, the midwife and I (with Beau following in the car) made the 30+ minute drive to the next town that actually had a hospital. We chatted about things, especially books, and (you'll like this, Jenn and Andrea), one of the first things she said to me was, "Have you ever read an author named Diana Gabaldon?"

Have I? Well, let me just tell you! This was the author that I had read passionately for a few years, then became one of the series that I would read aloud to Beau in the car during our long road trips. In fact, we are currently on the mammoth tome, The Fiery Cross, which was in the car at that very moment.

Anyway, we got to the hospital and I spent the next few hours being constantly stabbed, filled with medication, examined (painfully), and stabbed again. Blood was taken out, steroids were injected, and the labor pains were halted. Oh, and they stuck one of those awful permanent I.V. lines into my hand which I HATE because they just hurt all the time. It didn't help that the nurse poked a very sizeable (and bruise-inducing) hole in my hand before giving up and getting two more nurses to come in and help her do it again. And in a weird twist, I was DESPERATELY hungry, hungry like I had never remembered being hungry before. They said it was most likely due to the fact that since all the water had drained out of me from the amniotic sac, that now my stomach was sort of free and able to express its emptiness a bit better. I was ravenous, but wasn't allowed to eat.

Then came the next bit of news...