Induction Ruction What’s Your Function: Part I
By: The Mediocre Mama
Tags: Moms, Delivery, Induction, Labor, Baby

I did not want to be induced. I DID NOT WANT TO BE INDUCED. The week leading up to my due date, I did everything I could to make that baby come out on his own. All the old wives tales, all the rumors, ev-ery-thing. Spicy food, check. Pineapple, check. Dancing and endless walking, check. I even made labor inducing cookies containing Tabasco, which were not half bad. You name it, I tried to try to try it. I’d been reading for months about natural birth. Dreaming of, and nightmaring of, going it the way women for hundreds of thousands of years had. Squat down, no drugs, after my water broke all over whatever location I inhabited at that moment. I can be a competitive person. Who? Me? No. No one would say that. Everyone who knows me would say that, don’t let me talk you out of it. My biggest competitor my whole life has been me. If I deem it a challenge, I want in on that action at all costs. This was a challenge I’d been gearing up for my whole life, or so I thought.

My due date came and went. At this point, I even tried to throw my adrenaline in the ring to force labor by driving a few hours to a friends house for Friendsgiving three days past my labor date. Risky? Maybe. Worth it. Yes. I didn’t go into labor, but I got to spend some quality time with some people I love and eat really good food. Obviously no booze, but this is what my last ten months had looked like anyways, so I was used to it. P.S. no judgement, I had a couple of glasses of wine during my third trimester. Never more than one at a time, and never closer than a week apart. Ten months is a long time. Anywho, a few days prior to my due date, my doctor scheduled my induction.

To be induced, you must first have a non-stress test two days out from the induction. This is to make sure you and the baby are healthy enough for the enormous amount of shit they are about to put your body through, and since the baby shares your body, samesies. I was scheduled for the day after Thanksgiving. My sweet doc didn’t think I’d want to be in the hospital on such a wonderful day of gorging and family. Little did she know, I just wanted the baby out of my body. Out of my body. And I wanted to be mostly alone when it happened. I mean I wanted my husband to be close, just not too close. I like to handle pain solo, it’s much easier to focus that way. I feel much stronger when I’m not on display, taking on the emotions of the people around me and wishing they’d stop asking so many questions.

Since my induction was scheduled, and so close to Thanksgiving, my parents and my husbands’ parents planned their trip so we could spend it together and so they could meet the baby as soon as he took his first breath. I couldn’t blame them for wanting this, it was his parents and my mothers first grandchild. My test was early Wednesday morning, so we planned for everyone to get into town late that afternoon. The day before my non-stress test was rough. At four thirty A.M. I startled awake to the sound of my fur-st baby whimpering. To me, this is the worst sound in the world. Any animal in pain, but specifically one who I consider to be my soulmate. My 7 year old puppy boy limped around the bed periodically crying and my heart fluttered in my chest, nearly climbing into my lungs and escaping out my mouth. Panic shivered through my whole body. I was so pregnant. He’d had ACL surgery a few years back and he was favoring that leg. Shit. “Did he do it again?” I asked my husband. “I don’t know,” he said. When it comes to the pup, neither one of us is very rational. “Okay, I guess I’m taking him the Vet,” I said. I proceeded to give him some puppy Aspirin to make him more comfortable, and my husband carried him down the stairs form our second floor apartment and put him in my back seat. He had to go to work, I was luckily off, as I was already past my due date. Previously stated. From where we were in Philly, and during rush hour, it was going to take me an hour and a half to get to the Vet. Since they opened at 8 A.M. I would be an hour into my drive by the time they opened.

I called at 8 on the dot. “Oh, there’s actually no Vet on site today until 11 A.M., can you come then?” the receptionist asked. Fuck. “Of course,” I said, nearly in tears. I headed home, arriving just in time to carry my 50 pound pup up the two flights of stairs, make some coffee, grab a quick bite, and then back to the car we waddled. I wish someone would have been filming. Watching my huge pregnant ass trying to maneuver down steep steps with my wiggly pup resting on my belly must have been a real scene. But we made it, back in the car. Even without rush hour, it was going to take me an hour to get to the Vet. I drove fast. I drove angry. I drove scared and immensely tired.

My husband met me there, but not before my pup tried to take out another dog in the waiting room. He didn’t get close enough to do squat, but dammit he tried. Into a room we went, sloppily and unsteadily, but luckily with my husband in toe. He arrived just in time. Just in time for me to almost lose it because I was at my emotional peak. If we as humans are 80% water, at this point all of it had risen to the top of my head and was at a rolling boil. All his vitals checked out, and he was walking better now. The Vet decided an X-ray was the only way to know what was really going on. When I am at an emotional level, I should not make financial decisions. I will always spend whatever it takes to relieve some of the pressure in my body. To lower the boil to a simmer. “Do it,” I told her, and I knew my husband would agree. He did. “It appears your pup has some mild arthritis beginning in the area where his ACL tore. You’re going to need to start him on a supplement, and I’m going to give you something for the pain. He’ll take it for the next few days, and he should start feeling better right away,” she told us. Relief. Sweet relief flooded through me and suddenly the exhaustion of lack of sleep and all my adrenaline spikes hit me. Hard. We paid the bill, my husband carried the pup to my car, we kissed, and both left.

On my drive home I called my parents. I grew up as the only child in my home, though I have half siblings, so I call my parents a lot. “Hey,” answered my dad. “Hey, I just wanted to call and say we had a scary morning with the dog, but he’s okay and I’m headed home to rest,” I told him. “Okay cool, I’m just at the grocery store picking a few things up.” He was? My dad doesn’t venture out much. He’d much rather be elbows deep in a book than out and about, but I was too tired to explore this. “Alright, I won’t keep you, just wanted to let you know. Love you,” I said. “Alrighty, love you too.” And we hung up.

By the time I got home it was almost 2 P.M. Since I knew family would be in my home soon, I began to frantically clean as I do whenever I know guests will be coming. About an hour later, I was sore and sweating, but my home was sparkly. More relief. Sometimes cleaning can feel like a drug to me. When I’m scrubbing countertops and dusting surfaces, it’s as if I’m deep cleaning the dirtiest edges of my brain. And when I’m done, I can think clearer. Time to shower and nap. I. Was. EXHAUSTED. Then I saw my phone. My dad was calling. Weird again, since I usually have to trick him into staying on the phone until I’m satisfied we’ve carried on a proper conversation. “Hey Cheif, what’s up?” I asked. “Make a reservation somewhere nice in Philly,” he said. “What?” I questioned. “I lied on the phone earlier. We’re about an hour out from you, so make a reservation for dinner for tonight for the three of us,” he told me. He knew my husband would be working until late, so three it would be. “You guys aren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” I said. Thank the sweet baby j my house was clean. “Yeah, I know. We decided to come today, 6 P.M. should be good for a res. We’ll see you soon, love ya.” And with that he hung up and I began scouring Open Table.

Booked. Booked. Booked. It seemed like everything was booked, and I needed to get in the shower. Finally, I found a spot with a tasting menu and a 6 P.M. reservation available. Done deal. I ran through the shower, obsessively lotioned my whole body, as I do, blow dried my hair, threw on the tiniest amount of makeup and got dressed. “I am not fucking driving tonight and I will have a glass of wine,” I thought to myself. I ordered the Uber. Here. We. Go.