It was almost comical.
"Gimme the goddamn nitrous machine!!" I shrieked at two nurses who couldn't figure out what to do with me as I cried, screamed, threatened legal action and bit my Husband in the arm (he still has marks) while I was having my zillionth pain-killer-free contraction.
"Just effing give it to me."
The nurses - probably new interns forced to work the last long weekend of the summer - shoved a mask in my face and a cord in my hand.
It was Labour Day (not a joke) around 2:30 in the morning. We'd been at the hospital for almost three hours of my four-hour labour. I was nine centimetres dilated and completely drug free, which was NOT my intention or desire.
My husband Ted and I left the house (after disregarding the advice of a sleepy nurse in triage who told me to stay home) my contractions were four minutes apart. Twenty minutes later as we burst through the doors of Mount Sinai Hospital's birthing unit, they were two minutes apart and felt like some bird with a giant, pointy beak was pecking out my liver.
Four nurses tried seven, unsuccessful times to get an IV in my hand, turning my arms into pin cushions and making me look like a heroin addict for weeks to come.
When I begged for nitrous, which no one offered me, it was as a crestfallen preggo who had just been told: the "anesthetist is on his way" to my birthing suite "but has a lot to do before he gets here."
I figured that was code for: he's not coming.
The nitrous machine blasted a semi-euphoric puff into my orifices, but suddenly it stopped. I sucked in frantically. "It's not helping!! It's not helping!!" I screamed and noticed the cord, which had been plugged in, was detached.
One nurse gave me the look of death. "Get it together lady," she said.
For a brief second time stood still. If another contraction hadn't occupied all my senses I would have kick-boxed her in the mouth. Obviously, she's never pushed a watermelon through her nostril.
Labour is painful. I wanted the drugs. Lots of them. And I wanted them immediately.
Finally, right before I started pushing, I got them. Phew! I should have known my labour would turn out crappy - about 12 hours before Scarlett Winnie decided to enter the world I was on my hands and knees scrubbing a large brown potty training accident out of our new carpet. Figures!
That was six weeks ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. Much respect to all the women who decide to forgo drugs. Me, I'm a wimp!
And now I'm back to blogging. Follow my adventures on mat leave as I figure it out all over again (and undoubtedly complain about everything!)!
Here, me trying to grin and bear it just minutes after arriving at the hospital. My husband figured I'd appreciate these pictures one day... I'll get him back for this!