I told everyone when I would be giving birth; not the exact day, but the week. I said I would deliver two and a half weeks before the doctor’s due date. No one believed me. No one ever does.
Living with my daughter’s father did not work out. Seven months pregnant, I packed my car and drove from Niagara Falls, Canadian side, back to New Jersey. I left him a note.
I moved in with my parents.
My mother threw her back out. She lay in her bed upstairs, receiving visitors several times a day for a couple of days. I carried coffee and desserts up to them, dirty dishes down to the kitchen. At one point, I thought I couldn’t control my bladder; I leak-peed myself more than once.
A week later, on Thursday night, I began having pains in my lower back. This went on for ten hours until finally at six in the morning on Friday, I woke my parents up. They said I was in labor. We called the doctor. He told us to get to the hospital.
I signed into maternity. The doctor didn’t arrive until nine. They couldn’t tell if I really was in labor. Around noon, they decided I wasn’t in labor but I was two and a half weeks away from my due date, so they were trying to decide if they should induce labor since I was already there.
In the mean time, my mother, two aunts (not really related but you know how that goes) and my sister-in-law were there to enjoy the show. I wanted an epidural, which I got after whining pathetically.
The doctor decided to induce, so along with the pain medication I got whatever you get to produce labor pangs. It was now four pm Friday September 12, 1986. The doctor left to go to his lounge because Dance Fever was on. Before the show was over, my daughter popped out practically flying across the room into my sister-in-law’s arms.
The doctor showed at five pm to make the official birth pronouncement, note that my daughter was jaundiced, tell me I had a bladder infection because my water had broken a week ago and he had my daughter whisked to incubation. He told the nurses to get me cleaned up, I’d be going home that night.
I piped right up to say I was not leaving the hospital without my daughter. They conferenced and agreed easily.
My visitors told me how much they hated me because I looked so good; I beamed.
On Sunday, while I slept in the hospital to lovely peace and quiet, my mother hosted my baby shower. She did not listen when I told her I’d be giving birth two and a half weeks early.
Just goes to show you what kinds of crazy things can happen on Sept. 12th.ReplyDelete
Hey Congrats Nessa!ReplyDelete
Yes, loved this story! Can I call you Nessa too, or do you still like me calling you Goldie?ReplyDelete
Awesome story. I told everyone there was no way I was having a boy--didn't pick a boy's name in spite of the ultrasound not showing conclusively what the baby's sex was.ReplyDelete
I had a girl, of course, and heard tons of bitching about people taking back little blue outfits.
Nobody listens, do they!? Enjoyed your story, and thanks for stopping by my new blog!ReplyDelete
I tell everyone I'll never have children.ReplyDelete
And I've not had any yet.
When you know... you know. With my 2nd daughter, I kept saying, "the baby is coming now, the baby is COMING NOW!" The doctor took his sweet time, and then almost didn't have enough time to 'bunny up.'ReplyDelete
This was a sweet birth story.
PTB: Yes, a day of miracles; DReplyDelete
Serra: Their own fault.
Jackie: Thanks and you're welcome.
Jay: You stick to your guns.
DCMM: Those doctors are overpaid.
Kids are nature's way of adding to the supply of adults; I've always been ready to do my part.ReplyDelete
Congratulations! This is wonderful news to share. We often need to listen to our instint and our body messages. Isn't it fun thought to say "I was right!"ReplyDelete
Happy this story had a wonderful ending.
P.S. My story Iced was an adventure we would not have benn sorry to miss. I tried to convey the unusual feel of the people and setting without offending with great detail.
Please read The Lavender Farm you will find it much more soothing.
Get plenty of rest and love that child. Time moves away from us sooo quickly!
Wow...i love stories like these. i hope your daughter knows it so it becomes part of your history.ReplyDelete
LOL at Dance Fever bit.
BB: Your self sacrifice is inspiring.ReplyDelete
Pauline: Thanks. And I read your Lavender poem. Beautiful.
Guggs: And I have pictures so I can embarrass her with her boyfriend. Ain't I a good Mom? Dance Fever was everybodies' dirty secret.
Oh man, Vanessa, what a ton of stuff packed into that terse little tale.ReplyDelete
You are amazing, have you been doubting your strength? Don't ever.
I am making a note here,
"Listen to Nessa"
Ok, got it.
Logo: Aw, shucks. Thanks.ReplyDelete
Sorry I didn't get here sooner. I have been sidetracked. I like this birth story. It is not standard fare. Did you pay the tardy Doc?ReplyDelete
And do you know why I have been locked out of PTB's site?
Quilly: Insurance paid the doc, I wouldn't have.ReplyDelete
Did you try again? Sometimes my computer acts wierd at diffeent sites. It looks normal to me. What's it doing or not doing?
Maybe PTB hit a wrong key. You know how things can go wrong when old age starts to creep in.
I have gone back many times -- on my comp at home and my comp at work. I am blocked. I don't know why.ReplyDelete