A story pt 2
Mary had been well trained for this moment. Although movies and television would have us believe that since her water broke she should have been in a car speeding toward the hospital huffing and puffing all the way, nothing could be further from reality.
Mary sat in the watery goo for a brief moment. Anyone passing by at that moment would have mistaken Mary's expression for someone who was listening for a distant noise. What she was really doing was waiting for a contraction. When none came, Mary carefully pulled herself up out of the chair with an unpleasant "sshhhhlop", calmly grabbed her gym bag and started to hobble toward the bathroom. Then she stopped.
As she reached the door to her office she felt an odd sensation of shame. She heard the regular bustle in the hallway of the office and worried about what her coworkers would think. She was positively certain the men would be disgusted that something wet had just spilled out of her body. The women would, indeed, be sympathetic and would race around in an excited baby frenzy offering her rolled up jackets for pillows and fetching tea. But what the hell was she thinking? This isn't like the day she got her period in algerbra and had to tie a sweater around her waist and go begging for tampons. Yet, it felt oddly similar. Like she should have known and she should have been able to hold it.
Quickly, Mary closed her door and rummaged through her gym bag, feeling sopping wet and very uncomfortable. In her gym bag she found a giant pair of sweatpants that smelled remotely like feet. She then pulled off her wet skirt and attempted to wipe herself off with it, feeling thankful for the first time in five years that her office had no windows. Instinctively she looked at the clock. 3:19. No contractions yet. The sheer volume of the stuff was staggering and it kept trickling out like a leaky faucet. Now that just wouldn't do. No one had ever mentioned THAT in any of her birthing classes.
She tugged on the sweatpants with the dreaded feeling that they would be wet in a matter of seconds. Her body did not disappoint. It was time to change tactics. It occurred to her that it might be nice to clean up the amniotic fluid before she left the office then decided against it. The way things were going it looked more like it would make a bigger mess if she stayed. Stuffing things in her bag and grabbing her cell phone, Mary headed out the door waving nonchalantly at Gina the receptionist.
"Going to go have a baby. I'll let you all know how it turns out." She sang as she headed for the elevator in her now wet, smelly sweatpants.
Gina yelled after her, "MARY! Let someone go with you!"
Oh, hell no! Mary thought as she jumped into the elevator pretending not to hear.
Down the elevator and into the street, Mary was acutely aware that she looked like a crazy fat woman who wet herself and wondered if any cab would stop for her. Luckily someone did. She calmly gave the driver her home address and he looked at her questioningly.
"Wouldn't you like me to take you to a hospital?"
"No, thank you." Without explanation Mary dialed Max and instructed him to meet her at home and to buy a box of Depends. He didn't even ask. Then Mary dialed her midwife and explained the situation.
"No contractions yet?" Diane's warm and clinical voice sounded through the earpiece.
"Not that I've noticed."
Diane chuckled, "Oh, I think you'd notice. Have Max bring you some castor oil. Take half of it and mix it in some frozen orange juice concentrate like a slushie. I won't lie to you, Mary. It tastes like shit, but it will bring those contractions on and get things moving. Call me in about four hours or so and we'll see if you need to take the rest of the bottle. Okay?"
"Oh, okay..." Mary's voice trailed off. What the hell was she going to do with herself over the next four hours?
Once she entered her apartment she was at a loss for what to do. What do you do while you are sopping wet and waiting for contractions? Changing seemed pointless if she was just going to keep leaking like this. Finally she decided to grab a towel and email some friends while she waited for Max. Everyone in her addressbook received this message.
Well, the day is finally here. My water broke at a little after 3:00 today and now I am home waiting for my contractions to start. I'm settling in for the long haul and not sure how long I'll be home. If you are near a phone and want to talk, give me a call. You'll understand if I don't answer, but right now I could use the company!
I'm very excited and Max and I will let you all know how this turns out!
XOXO
Mary
For the next couple of hours Mary fielded telephone calls from friends who repeatedly asked the same question.
"Shouldn't you be in the hospital by now?"
Mary simply laughed this off, enjoying her status as the "informed lady" telling them that it was perfectly safe for her to labor at home. She told funny stories that she had heard in her birthing class of women who went to the movies, finished some last minute baby shopping, and even had romantic dinners with their husbands during the early stages of labor. Inside, however, she was a little less certain.
Max had made the orange slushie concoction for Mary as soon as he had arrived home. Diane had not been lying. It did taste like shit. Mary sincerely hoped she would not have to take the rest of the bottle because it was beyond awful. The smell alone made her stomach (already forced up toward her heart by the little alien) jump toward her throat. After two hours, Mary was beginning to worry about ingesting more castor oil as the contractions had not yet started. Then, as she was wiping down the countertop in the kitchen, it hit her.
WHOMP.
It hit her fast and hard. So hard that it knocked her into the oven. The sensation was full torso. Mary could swear that she even felt her nipples cramp up, if that were possible. Max, who had been faithfully standing nearby, saw the look on Mary's face. Without a word he went to grab his stop watch which, sweetly, he had purchased for just this occasion and had hung by his car keys at the front door. For another hour they laughed, hoped and cracked jokes between contractions which Max timed on his new fatherly stop watch.
After an hour, Mary wanted to lay down but her body just wouldn't let her. Her body compelled her to walk. Move, move, move! Soon, Mary's light and excited mood had switched. She was focused and even though the contractions were excrutiating, she found herself enjoying the process. They came in predictable waves that washed through her and she found that if she did not deny the pain that it was less punishing. If she went inside the pain she could ride it out. Her brain kept telling her "You're tired, lay down and take a rest." But each time she tried to lie down her body protested with discomfort a hundred times worse than the contractions. Her body was in control, her brain was just along for the ride.
Max had called Diane during a lull to check in. After he described the length and frequency of the contractions, Mary could overhear Diane telling Max that there was still more time to be spent at home. Instinctively, Mary knew better.
"Give me the phone!"
In no uncertain terms, Mary made it clear that, at this point, they would be on their way to the hospital.
Mary sat in the watery goo for a brief moment. Anyone passing by at that moment would have mistaken Mary's expression for someone who was listening for a distant noise. What she was really doing was waiting for a contraction. When none came, Mary carefully pulled herself up out of the chair with an unpleasant "sshhhhlop", calmly grabbed her gym bag and started to hobble toward the bathroom. Then she stopped.
As she reached the door to her office she felt an odd sensation of shame. She heard the regular bustle in the hallway of the office and worried about what her coworkers would think. She was positively certain the men would be disgusted that something wet had just spilled out of her body. The women would, indeed, be sympathetic and would race around in an excited baby frenzy offering her rolled up jackets for pillows and fetching tea. But what the hell was she thinking? This isn't like the day she got her period in algerbra and had to tie a sweater around her waist and go begging for tampons. Yet, it felt oddly similar. Like she should have known and she should have been able to hold it.
Quickly, Mary closed her door and rummaged through her gym bag, feeling sopping wet and very uncomfortable. In her gym bag she found a giant pair of sweatpants that smelled remotely like feet. She then pulled off her wet skirt and attempted to wipe herself off with it, feeling thankful for the first time in five years that her office had no windows. Instinctively she looked at the clock. 3:19. No contractions yet. The sheer volume of the stuff was staggering and it kept trickling out like a leaky faucet. Now that just wouldn't do. No one had ever mentioned THAT in any of her birthing classes.
She tugged on the sweatpants with the dreaded feeling that they would be wet in a matter of seconds. Her body did not disappoint. It was time to change tactics. It occurred to her that it might be nice to clean up the amniotic fluid before she left the office then decided against it. The way things were going it looked more like it would make a bigger mess if she stayed. Stuffing things in her bag and grabbing her cell phone, Mary headed out the door waving nonchalantly at Gina the receptionist.
"Going to go have a baby. I'll let you all know how it turns out." She sang as she headed for the elevator in her now wet, smelly sweatpants.
Gina yelled after her, "MARY! Let someone go with you!"
Oh, hell no! Mary thought as she jumped into the elevator pretending not to hear.
Down the elevator and into the street, Mary was acutely aware that she looked like a crazy fat woman who wet herself and wondered if any cab would stop for her. Luckily someone did. She calmly gave the driver her home address and he looked at her questioningly.
"Wouldn't you like me to take you to a hospital?"
"No, thank you." Without explanation Mary dialed Max and instructed him to meet her at home and to buy a box of Depends. He didn't even ask. Then Mary dialed her midwife and explained the situation.
"No contractions yet?" Diane's warm and clinical voice sounded through the earpiece.
"Not that I've noticed."
Diane chuckled, "Oh, I think you'd notice. Have Max bring you some castor oil. Take half of it and mix it in some frozen orange juice concentrate like a slushie. I won't lie to you, Mary. It tastes like shit, but it will bring those contractions on and get things moving. Call me in about four hours or so and we'll see if you need to take the rest of the bottle. Okay?"
"Oh, okay..." Mary's voice trailed off. What the hell was she going to do with herself over the next four hours?
Once she entered her apartment she was at a loss for what to do. What do you do while you are sopping wet and waiting for contractions? Changing seemed pointless if she was just going to keep leaking like this. Finally she decided to grab a towel and email some friends while she waited for Max. Everyone in her addressbook received this message.
Well, the day is finally here. My water broke at a little after 3:00 today and now I am home waiting for my contractions to start. I'm settling in for the long haul and not sure how long I'll be home. If you are near a phone and want to talk, give me a call. You'll understand if I don't answer, but right now I could use the company!
I'm very excited and Max and I will let you all know how this turns out!
XOXO
Mary
For the next couple of hours Mary fielded telephone calls from friends who repeatedly asked the same question.
"Shouldn't you be in the hospital by now?"
Mary simply laughed this off, enjoying her status as the "informed lady" telling them that it was perfectly safe for her to labor at home. She told funny stories that she had heard in her birthing class of women who went to the movies, finished some last minute baby shopping, and even had romantic dinners with their husbands during the early stages of labor. Inside, however, she was a little less certain.
Max had made the orange slushie concoction for Mary as soon as he had arrived home. Diane had not been lying. It did taste like shit. Mary sincerely hoped she would not have to take the rest of the bottle because it was beyond awful. The smell alone made her stomach (already forced up toward her heart by the little alien) jump toward her throat. After two hours, Mary was beginning to worry about ingesting more castor oil as the contractions had not yet started. Then, as she was wiping down the countertop in the kitchen, it hit her.
WHOMP.
It hit her fast and hard. So hard that it knocked her into the oven. The sensation was full torso. Mary could swear that she even felt her nipples cramp up, if that were possible. Max, who had been faithfully standing nearby, saw the look on Mary's face. Without a word he went to grab his stop watch which, sweetly, he had purchased for just this occasion and had hung by his car keys at the front door. For another hour they laughed, hoped and cracked jokes between contractions which Max timed on his new fatherly stop watch.
After an hour, Mary wanted to lay down but her body just wouldn't let her. Her body compelled her to walk. Move, move, move! Soon, Mary's light and excited mood had switched. She was focused and even though the contractions were excrutiating, she found herself enjoying the process. They came in predictable waves that washed through her and she found that if she did not deny the pain that it was less punishing. If she went inside the pain she could ride it out. Her brain kept telling her "You're tired, lay down and take a rest." But each time she tried to lie down her body protested with discomfort a hundred times worse than the contractions. Her body was in control, her brain was just along for the ride.
Max had called Diane during a lull to check in. After he described the length and frequency of the contractions, Mary could overhear Diane telling Max that there was still more time to be spent at home. Instinctively, Mary knew better.
"Give me the phone!"
In no uncertain terms, Mary made it clear that, at this point, they would be on their way to the hospital.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:29 AM
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