ouch, my foof hurts (Birth Story 2/3)

So, I ran in to the hospital, throwing up for all to see, a few of the orderlies started arguing with caretaker about who should take me down to the ward while an ED doctor kindly wheeled around a wheelchair for me. Upon arrival at the maternity suite (where, I must add I had planned a pool birth with a playlist) I begged the nearest midwife for an epidural – “we’ll check you over first” and off I went to be muppeted and was told I was 9cm (omfg) and it was too late for pool or any pain relief. It’s hard to re-live the pain now, but I know how much pain it caused me, does that make sense? I wanted to know everything that could go wrong so I could prevent it but I had not thought about this. I was almost fully dialated, does this mean he’ll be here very soon? ahahahaha – no. I swear the midwives were bored of me and my labor. I was pushing and pushing in silence for 15 hours before they decided we just weren’t getting any where. No pain relief and no baby. I remember saying I wanted to go home and try again tomorrow. I shouted at the midwife because it was nothing like One Born. I was trying I really was. I had a few trainees in the room too and was being pointed out by lead midwife using my foof like an OHP (OVERHEAD PROJECTOR) ‘she’s got a lovely purple line’ I still don’t know what purple line they mean.

Off I went again to another room where there were at least 10 staff all crowding round me or off in corner of a room pointing at me. I was checked once more and Quinn was stuck, I had to go off for assisted delivery. I remember crying (in between squealing like a pig while I was manhandled) and had one surgeon asking me to sign a waiver, three others dressing me and my boyfriend and Mum holding a hand each. This was last thing I wanted but the promise of seeing my boy in the next hour was worth it…


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