A Parent's Worst Nightmare

It Is!

   The following Sunday, I laid in bed in excruciating pain. My fiancé did everything he could to comfort me, but nothing worked. My contractions were getting worse, and by the time they reached five minutes apart, I told him he would have to call work, to let them know he wouldn't be coming in for the night.
   I quickly dressed, which, for me already being in comfortable clothes, meant all I had to do, was throw my coat on and lace up my boots. I couldn't reach over to tie my boots, so my fiancé did that for me.
   The snow came down hard that night, it was the first heavy snowfall in Michigan of that season for that year. My fiancé rushed to get to his cousins house to meet up with his dad so we could pick up a car where the windshield wipers actually worked, because ours had stopped working very recently, and we had not had a chance to fix them.
   When we reached the hospital I felt like I had to pee so bad. Fast walking to the elevator of the parking structure to get to the hospital was like running a marathon. I could barely breathe. As soon as the elevator started running to take us up, a gush of liquid came out of me, running down my legs, but being soaked up by the leggings I wore.
   "I think I just peed myself" I said to my fiancé, internally embarrassed.
   Once we reached the floor for the ER, I was set on a very uncomfortable plastic, rolling chair type wheelchair, where I could feel more liquid pouring out of me. My fiancé looked like a Packmule, with three bags crisscrossed around his body, one for me, 
one for him, and one for our boy.
   I was triage into labor and delivery, as soon as I seen a bathroom in sight I got up as fast as I could, and started to jet towards that bathroom. A nurse tried to stop me for a urine sample and I snatched the container from her hands without stopping.
   Making it into the bathroom, I came to find an odd looking substance in my underwear: my mucous plug. I hurriedly wiped and rushed back to the wheelchair where my fiancé strolled me into the triage room designated to me.
   After changing out of my soiled clothing, I slipped into the hospital gown that had been laid out for me on the bed and slowly scooted myself onto my bed to lay. A nurse came in to check my vitals, set up monitors and ran a strip through the liquid that was still dripping from me: she confirmed it was amniotic fluid, and that I was indeed in labor.
   One of the times monitors were checked, shortly after the amniotic fluid test, there was an issue with my sons heart rate, the nurse brushed it off , saying that it was just a machine issue and that everything was fine.
   I waited hours, what was it? Three and a half? Maybe four? Until I was finally moved into a regular room.
There I continuously waited for my epidural, an epidural that never came.
  A short time after being moved to my own private room, leads were placed internally and attached to my sons head.
  After an on call doctor was alerted, I waited thirty minutes in agony for the doctor to arrive. As soon as he entered the room and we locked eyes: the only way I can describe it after was the sound of an angry Chewbacca exploded from my mouth, coming from deep down like a primal force to be reckoned with.
   The doctor tried to give me meds as an emergency C-section had to be preformed. I spit both pill and liquid out: I don't swallow pills and the liquid was absolutely atrocious.
   The doctor left the room, and his team readied me, getting me onto a gurney for transport. Along the way I spotted the doctor who would be performing my surgery, he was in another room, the door was propped open and he was complaining to a co worker about how he wasn't happy being called in that night: he sounded angry.
   Once in the O.R, I was strapped down, I was in full panic attack mode: hyperventilating, dizzy, and my vision was wonky. Once strapped, a nurse shoved a catheter in, just seconds before the mask pumping anesthesia was placed on me and everything faded to black.