Push it. Push it Real Good!

After being couped up in a room the size of a shoe box, I was wheeled to a larger room that was labeled delivery. The drugs had silenced my pain, hence I could be sliced and minced with a ginsu knife and I would remain in bliss. I was ready to meet Kitchstar. It was time.

“How are you feeling?” My sister inquired meanwhile today was her birthday. I apologized for having to spend her 50th birthday potentially staring at me with my legs spread. It’s definitely not what I would wish anyone on their 50th anything. Shane sat at my side reading his novel. We were waiting for instruction from the midwife and doctor. There was a peaceful calm that stirred in the room. We were in the eye of the storm.

We were shooting to have Kitchstar before midnight as it was not only my sister’s birthday, but a few close friends including our Bichon Frise. Personally, I didn’t want the baby to share anyone else’s birthday, but that’s just me. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. The midwife prepared me to push by prefacing proper instructions like upon a contraction to breathe in through your nose, but hold your breath and push like your pooping. It sounded simple as Duncan Hines frosting. I was ready. I felt strong. The lights were dim and the room was quiet.

Pushing seemed simple alright, but I never realized that I was an uncoordinated ox. It was hard enough for me to keep my breathing in tact, I could breathe through my nose, but that’s as far as I got. I would have to start all over, because I was exhaling while pushing which in the pushing world is a no-no. On top of everything else, I was pushing with the wrong muscle. The midwife reminded me of my errors enough times that I could spit in her face. So much for my kegle exercises, it came in handy as group of midgets at a tea party. So much for my prenatal pilates, my prenatal yoga, and all the hours spent on the elliptical. I was doomed to hell!

My blood pressure, my blood sugar, my pitocin increase, my decrease of epiduro mingled in my veins like a block party. The lights were soft and dim, a damp towel cooled my forehead, an oxygen mask regulated my breathing. Subsequent to being told that my birthing was the most calm in world history, the spiritual experience was broken by the bright lights and the order of business. Pushing was the real business and my contractions became painfully apparent, I begged for more epiduro like a fiend. But I was denied. Instead, I was rewarded with a nice bag of cold ice to bring the swelling down. I didn’t feel any swelling, evidently I was swollen as a bloated pig down there. I was recommending to take a thirty minute break, but I couldn’t sit through another series of contractions without pushing. They were insane!

The pain was a pain unlike any other, tears and fear were one with contraction. I should be excited, but I couldn’t see past the moment. It came in waves and I was supposed to push with every incoming contraction. I could not see the light at the end of the tunnel, but my husband and siblings could see farther past I could feel. “Your almost there!” Everyone cheered from the sidelines, but I was exhausted. Tired. I felt failure. I felt myself failing. Falling. I can really see eye to eye with Sisyphus, because all this pushing was going no where. I was exasperated. I wanted out. As I pushed on the fourth hour my sister mentioned that the sun was rising. The mere mention that the sun was rising made me throw the oxygen mask off and forfeit this whole birth gig. It had been a grueling journey. I pushed hard, but not hard enough. Someone put the oxygen mask back on and slopped a wet towel on my forehead. Suddenly, the cheering got louder, “push, push, push!” The doctor grooved her hands somewhere down there making way for Kitchstar. Dr. Birmingham’s calm voice like she lured the newborn into the light. In the meantime, I screamed with all my might and propelled Kitchstar from me! I think I heard something about his shoulders coming through...ouch...with the instant pain of a rip, the baby was on my chest.

This is Shellie with a face streaming with tears and a newborn on my chest back to you Bob at the Studio.