Over the past week, I had been thinking and praying about asking my doctor to get labor started sooner than later. It was something I kept going back and forth on because I was in my 39th week of pregnancy, but my brain kept telling me that I was overdue. I really wanted to stick to my plan of letting everything happen naturally, but my body was getting tired. Ollie's movements actually hurt at this point because he's running out of room, I've been feeling a lot more pressure in my pelvis which makes moving around difficult, and sleep was a joke because of the anticipation of everything.
The night before my appointment, I prayed nearly all night asking God what He wanted me to do . . . to just remain silent about intervening towards labor, or to ask my doctor for help. I didn't want to go against God's will on this, and spent so much time thinking about that- when in all reality, whether I open my mouth or not, His will prevails. I should have known better and gotten good sleep! The next morning, after maybe an hour or so of intermittent rest, I got up to eat breakfast and wait for my mom to come over. Once she got to the house, we loaded the car, as we do each time for the past month, with all the hospital bags just in case I would be sent over to the hospital after my appointment. I had made up my mind that I would ask my doctor to do a membrane sweep- which is basically where the doctor stretches or thins the cervix to jump start labor. He would only be able to do this if I was already dilated, so my prayers were then changing to ask God to prepare my body.
I had been craving crab for a week or so, and my mom was sweet to take me to Red Lobster before my appointment. I think my nerves were getting the best of me though, as I ate quickly and quietly, focusing on the weird crampy feelings in my belly. Turns out my stomach was just nervous, and in little time we found ourselves waiting at the doctor's office. I never wait long- and I love my nurse, who joked with me as I walked back saying, "what are you still doing here pregnant?!?" I did the routine weight and urine sample, and then was lead straight back to a room. The nurse and I chatted a bit about how I've been feeling lately- lots of Braxton Hicks, pressure, and just feeling different. I asked her if she thought my doctor would do a sweep, and she said maybe since I'm not 40 weeks yet.
Well . . . my doctor came in, and my nerves went up. We have a pretty good relationship- I'm pretty laid bad, and I know he appreciates that especially since I'm a first time mom, and we usually spend the first 5 minutes or so joking around. The joking was quite short this time, though. I expressed to him that I was ready to have this baby, and awkwardly asked him if he could help me out, stumbling over my words, explaining that I had done research, I trusted him, and hoped he could do something. He smirked and said, "We'll see what's going on." He checked Ollie's heart beat- strong as usual- and then moved on to check my cervix. I felt a lot more pressure than normal, so I thought he was able to do the sweep, however, once he was done, he ended that happy thought, "You aren't ready to have this baby!" My face and spirits dropped. I wasn't dilated at all. I was really disappointed, but then thought, well . . . that just means I need to be patient- there's still nearly two weeks left before we need to talk about getting things moving!
Then the floor really dropped out.
My doctor looked at me, looked at my chart, and then asked, "So how far along do you think you are?" I was confused, since we talk about this every week, and every week when I tell him, he never corrects me or says anything different. I told him, "Uh, I should be 39 weeks . . . and 3 days . . . " He smirked again- so annoying- looked down at his chart, and then looked back at me in silence. "Well . . . what does your chart say?" He kinda smiled and said quietly, "40 weeks." I didn't understand- today was February 25th, and the ultrasound technician told us at my first appointment that my due date would be March 1st- which was this Friday. We talked about that a little bit, and apparently, if the first day of your last period is less than two weeks from the date the ultrasound technician quotes, they go with the first day of your last period. So now, instead of having nearly two weeks to wait and see if my baby comes on his own, we now had one week.
The "I" word was then discussed- induction. I immediately blurted out that I was scared of pitocin and absolutely did not want to have that drug in my system. My doctor asked why, and I shared my research on the drug as well as the experiences shared by friends and strangers. He said all of it was correct, but that's how labor is induced, so I didn't have a choice. I was in shock . . . I wanted to trust him, but felt like my wishes of having a natural birth were completely thrown out the window. I think my doctor was thrown off a bit by my reaction, as he said, "listen, you've always been really laid back and listened to me . . . do you trust me?" I said yes slowly, but was still trying to digest the fact that if Oliver didn't come on his own before next Monday, I would be getting this scary drug and the thoughts of what would follow just kept getting more and more scary. I resigned to tell him that I would do what he thinks is best, and he told me to come out after I was dressed to speak to the scheduling nurse.
A medical induction was set for 6am Monday morning- bright and early. My doctor popped out of his office asking when it would be happening and then tried to be funny and make a song about happy medicine early in the morning or something. I wasn't in a joking mood anymore and snapped back with, "whatever, you'll just show up to catch my baby."
I left with my mom in a mix of emotions- wondering if I should just resolve to be okay with this, pissed about my birth plan being crushed and still in shock that TODAY is my due date, not Friday. I called Doug and filled him in- he was just as shocked and upset as I was. A few more phone calls and texts later to friends and family, my mood was getting more and more sour. My mom was trying her best to comfort me, but I was in a fog, so she decided to treat me to a pedicure. It helped, but I was still upset. An hour or so after my pampering, my mom headed home and Doug pulled into the garage. As soon as I saw him, the tears just came. I love my husband- he just held me and talked me through everything, comforting me and trying to calm my fears. By the end of the night, we both resolved that Oliver DOES still have time to come on his own, and if he doesn't, we now know FOR SURE that he will be in our arms by Monday evening most likely.
This is when my faith gets stronger, when I lean on Christ more, when I depend on Him to lift me up and take over. He is always faithful and blessed me with a well rested night and a peace, knowing that His plan is better than any plan I could ever come up with or any doctor could. So instead of stressing over drugs, a botched birth plan, and irritation towards my doctor, my focus is now to enjoy the time I have with my husband before our family of two becomes a family of three.
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