The End of the Middle-? of the End in Pregnancy Journal

I wish I knew what caused the Poly. I’m convinced that is why my water broke. We weren’t ready; him or I.
it was just the sheer pressure that popped my membranes. I feel like everything that happened after that, I gave it my best. I did everything in my power, and I remained in resolute control and informed of my choices.
The first, of course, was to transfer to best hospital in the State when labor stalled yet again. We had gotten contractions to 5 minutes apart 3 times; and each time they backed off. It had already been 72 hours since membrane rupture. Basically nonstop nipple stim from DH for 12-24 hours (I don’t remember) resulted in us both being incredibly fatigued. He finally said he needed to sleep around 3pm, and I informed my midwife that my contractions were spacing out again.
She slowly, gently, patiently, broke it to me that she believed I should transfer. She said she’d like to send her senior student with us to be my doula.
I agreed with a sinking feeling and a new fear; I couldn’t do it on my own. I got out of the birth tub where I’d been soaking, and everyone started moving. They deflated the pool, drained it, cleared all the birth supplies. I didn’t really participate. I felt grief over seeing it all disappear before anything had even happened.

I changed and informed DH that we’d need to transfer. I let him sleep as long as possible. I packed more clothes and last minute things. I even sat down for a moment and ate some eggs. After packing everything in the car, we were off.
I thought about sleeping on the ride, but I was too nervous. DH and I chatted most of the way. Even more, my heart swelled with love for him. I thought; I need to make this happen if only for him- he’s done so much for me already.
The drive was fine until the city where the roads were bumpier than shit. Every bump and jar caused contractions, which I breathed through but were painful.
It’s funny how difficult it is to remember the exact sensation of the contractions. I remember feeling baby kick just before or after like a warning or goodbye wave, and felt relieved that it meant little Squid was still just fine.
DH chatted at me about an amazing restaurant, which we actually passed on a bumpy ass cobblestone street on the way there. We arrived when it was already dark; parked in the garage and took some things in. Reception was odd. We were given stickers and taken to triage. Nurses wanted to listen to baby which I was averse to, but seemed required. While that went on for 20 minutes, we waited.
A midwife eventually showed up. She had my info, basically verified why we were there and left. After another 20 minutes we were finally taken to the labor and delivery ward.

I was actually shocked at how nice it was. I was very surprised. The room was large, had a futon couch, a recliner, an enormous tv, and space. A personal bathroom with a shower promised long term comfort, along with a fridge.
They didn’t give me any prophylactic antibiotics, or tell me I couldn’t eat. But they did want constant monitoring with the pitocin. It took them a long while to set it up. It was well after 9pm before I had an IV and the pitocin was going. We had arrived before 6.30pm.
Then, nothing at all happened. DH and my doula- after snacking and getting me some water and juice- went to sleep.
I gotta say. Laboring in a dark room, alone, while so incredibly tired was a new kind of emotional hell. I was so jealous of their painless sleep. Even though the contractions were pretty far apart, they were very painful unless I started breathing through very early.
I’m pretty sure I cried a few times. When the nurse came in, I asked about pain relief. I was close to tears, haggard, exhausted.
After she gave me all the dets about opiods and NO, I chose the NO. The only other option was an epidural. I knew I didn’t want it if I could avoid it.
The NO did seem to work, at first. Then she turned up the pitocin, and for the next hour or 2 I really tried to make the NO work.
It was a facemask that you have to bring to your face before the contractions start, or it really didn’t do much. The thing was, I was so incredibly tired, I’d experience some relief from the pain and immediately fall asleep, then wake up in hellish pain, that I couldn’t breathe through or use the NO for.
I don’t know what time it was when I completely broke.
“I can’t do this anymore.” I admitted to the nurse. I was sobbing at that point. I asked for the epidural.
There was a deep sense of failure. I wasn’t strong enough to do it. I was giving up the last vestiges of my dream to give birth on my own. I was devastated, embarrassed, and ashamed. I couldn’t handle the pain and the exhaustion. Maybe one or the other. But not both.
At the same time I felt such a relief to just admit it, and immediate guilt for feeling relieved. I was breaking. I was broken. Everything fell away in my need for sleep, or pain relief, or both.
I could see there was no other way.
The epidural went in very quickly. Once I said something, people flew in the door, and it all was very efficiently done in about 5 minutes. Like they’re just waiting for you to crack, lol. I didn’t care. I was glad it was so quick. While it was going in- they put a needle in your spine!- I was shaking uncontrollably. I was so mad at myself for shaking. Like, if the needle goes in wrong I’ll be paralyzed, I kept thinking. DH was there, holding my hands while it went in.
It was instantaneous. There was coldness, then nothing. Everything went numb. I felt no pain, just pressure and I could tell when the contractions were; they were just like a tightening feeling. There was still pain in my left hip, but they were able to fix it pretty quickly.
Then I slept. Only for about 20 minutes, but it was so welcome.