Mama Bear, Birth Story III

mount sinai beth israel hospital

new york, ny

This next phase is the worst chapter, and the only one that has the potential to rattle my resolve.

We'd been told to "preregister" at the hospital. And we been told that even if/when we did, upon our arrival, there'd still be confusion, and we'd been told to be prepared to answer all the pre-registration questions again.

So, more than a month prior, I mailed in my preregistration papers. Two weeks after that, (still more than a month before our due date) I called to confirm receipt of those documents. To my (sort of?) surprise, my documents were not on file, or at least, they couldn't be found. I am told that they'll look around and I'll receive a call back that day, a Friday. No one calls me back. On Monday I call again. Still no preregistration documents of mine on file.  ...But the woman on the phone said I could scan and email the preregistration forms. Which I did. And I asked for confirmation that day. I got an email response an hour later that my preregistration was received. Still, I kept hardcopies which we brought with us to the hospital on November 18. 

Naturally, they had no preregistration documents of mine on file when we arrived. 

Sheffield was asked to give THE EXACT SAME info again, despite the completed hardcopies we'd brought with us. I was vaguely aware of the clown show to which he had inadvertently bought a ticket, as I stood, bent over a chair, bracing myself against its wooden arms. 

And then the nastiest of clowns appeared...
We'll call her Nurse Georgina (partly because I think that might have been her name, but mostly because I think I remember seeing – through the thick haze of labor-waves, a "G" somewhere on her name tag. Georgina, it seemed, hated me. Hated us? Hated her job?

Our first interaction with her was the snide remark she made about the three bags we brought with us to the hospital. (Okay, I know three bags is a lot, but this is my first baby, I have no idea what I'm doing, and it's my last baby, and I'm gonna do it the way I want.) Incidentally (or ironically?) the third bag contained treats that we brought to offer our nurses. Georgina ordered my mom to a waiting room, but told her nothing of what was about to happen. Sheffield was left in the registration Clown Show, and Georgina was to bring me into triage for "tracing." 

Tracing is the part where a nurse checks my vitals, checks the baby's vitals, and then a doctor checks to see how far dilated I am. Our midwife, Joyce, had been notified of my labor, and was on her way. When I didn't release my hands from the wooden armchair fast enough, Georgina pursed her lips and said, "you better come now before the next contraction". Her utter lack of compassion cut through my "peace/calm" bubble and prodded the grizzly mama bear sleeping beneath "peace calm". 

I lunged at Georgina with a wild growl and clawed at her eyes and cheeks.

In my mind.

In reality, I opted to stare her in the face, and move ten times slower than I could have (I took A LOT of actor movement classes. And Viewpoints. And Suzuki. When I want to, I can creep.)  My pace did not further endear me to Georgina, who, once in the triage room, ordered me to disrobe and get on the hospital bed.

"But I'm supposed to be allowed to be in my own clothes."
"Not here," she said, "you can when you get to labor and delivery."
"Fine."  I put my stuff in one of two large clear plastic bags, don the hospital gown, and crawl up on the bed.

I did not want to be on that bed.

The comfortable positions available to me were waning, and on-a-bed was not one of them. Georgina was having none of it.  Sheffield joined us, at which point my recollection gets fuzzy. What I recall:

1.  Georgina The Head Clown, nor the other medical assistants could confirm my identity or hospital history because (welcome to Act Two of the Clown Show) they couldn't get the computer to work.

2.  I tell Georgina that I'm going to throw up, hoping for a little bedside receptacle thingy. You know what she says? She nods to the sink in the corner of the room, and says to a woman in the 10th hour of non-medicated labor, who CAN'T WALK, "There's the sink."

This time I don't bother to claw her face, I bite it right off.

Or I would have if Sheffield didn't do it first.  Actually, we were just stunned. He was anyway. I was too busy contending with the quickly rising contents of my stomach.

I ask Sheffield to grab me the spare plastic bag intended for my street clothes. --Okay, can I just point out how superbly MacGyver that was of me? I can hardly SEE through the waves of labor, and yet I'M the one in the room to find a puke-solution-- Sheffield swiftly hands me a bag, but it's too late, I vomit down the turquoise pant-leg of Clown Queen Georgina.

Just kidding.
I wish.

If I could change only one thing about that day, I would go back and throw up on Nurse Georgina.

Nah.  I wouldn't.  I would make my labor several hour shorter.

But, if I could change TWO things, I would make my labor several hour shorter, and then barf on Nurse Georgina.

3.  Next recollection involves someone clicking the computer "on" for the Clowns (so that's why they couldn't get it to work?), and a resident OB arriving. Dr. Noah Somebody significantly changed the vibe of the room for the better. I liked him right away. His inquiry about my plans to control medication was the first and last of its nature.
Sheffield answered, "we are trying to do it without any."
I chime in: "it's our plan to go without... But I'm reconsidering."
Georgina cracked a smile. (Was she warming up? Or just delighted to know I was in pain?) 

4.  Dr. Noah swiftly and expertly checked me for dilation. "Four or five centimeters," he says. I tell him, in absolute earnestness, "you did that way better than the OB who checked me last week."
Now Georgina chuckles.
Dr. Noah cocked his head, unsure how to respond, and says, "thank you."

5.  Before I know it, an Angel of Labor and Delivery Nurses opens the door, pausing in the doorway – – Nurse Juliet.

Sheffield gathers my things, and we follow New Nurse Juliet to my Labor and Delivery room a few doors down.  To Nurse Georgina?

Hasta la vista Bitch Face, I'm going to have a baby!

To be continued...

Door to our apartment.  Sign, curtesy of my cousin Courtney's daughter Carrie.

*A Note: It will become clear that my preference (for me) was a natural childbirth. I realize this is not everyone's cup of tea. But it is the cup of tea for me. This does not mean that I think it is right for everyone. You may have made other choices. Great! I love the birth you had and I love the child it produced or will produce. Let's agree that we both made our choices for very good reasons. Some of my reasons are based on research and some are based on my own personal quirks (neuroses?), and, above all, I fully believe that being "open" to any outcome in the delivery room is the best approach for expectant parents. This is our birth story.