The Scary Induction
So when you get pregnant and have the Internet or access to books, there’s an immediate and humongous influx of information about all the ways you and your baby could DIE, plus all the ways you could be doing a better job of being a human, now that you are growing said baby. Giving birth is no exception, and since medical intervention is obviously the devil, you should not, under any circumstances, have any sort of pain relieving drugs – because of nature – and everything is supposed to happen at its own pace. Our bodies were made for this and medicine is poison. Obvs.
If you’re anything like first-time-mom-to-be me, you pick a chill-ass OBGYN because his is the first office you visited and you dug his vibe, which was super laid back. You then get to your 37th week of pregnancy and that chill doctor suggests scheduling an induction because your baby is measuring big. You say you’re not sure and you’ll have to think about it, and then you go home to Google and eat ice cream and CRY because the internet says your big baby will probably kill you and then die during childbirth. Also according to the internet, inductions are horrible and definitely more painful and always result in epidurals and c-sections, which doctors like because they obvi hate nature and women. On the other hand, the internet warns that if you don’t induce and you go past 40 weeks, your amniotic fluid levels will dip too low and the baby will poop inside you and inhale it and everyone will go to intensive care and/or die. So you cry cry cry.
But crying gets you nowhere closer to a decision, and you don’t want to be judged for even considering an induction so you ask zero mama friends for their experiences or opinions, and you go to your 38 week appointment and schedule an induction for your due date because doctors know more than laypeople like you. Then you spend the next two weeks bouncing on your birthing ball, eating chips and salsa, and having copious romps in the sack (you’re welcome, husband) trying to entice the huge little guy to come out into the world on his own – because the Internet says it would be better. You get to your 40 week appointment, your chill doc tells you the baby isn’t measuring big anymore but you can still induce because going much further than 40 weeks can be dangerous. You go home and agonize over cancelling your induction because the Internet and its scare tactics say it’s doomsville either way. You go on long walks with your hubs and cry about the pros and cons and ask him to get you nachos. You eat some bomb-ass nachos and meditate. You steel yourself, and you go to the hospital at 9pm.
At the hospital you try to ignore the intake nurse’s badly concealed concern over your clearly-been-crying puffy eyes, you ask the labor nurse if the induction process can be stopped once it has begun, and you laugh nervously and nod when she looks at you poignantly and confirms that, “you would like to be induced tonight, correct?”
K, friends, maybe I had a killer labor team, but my induction was RAD AS EFF. Twice, the labor nurse placed a pill next to my cervix that softened it and allowed for dilation; I began having my-stomach-is-clenching-itself contractions shortly after the first pill was introduced and oh-my-gawd-this-is-stupid contractions after the second. I asked for the IV pain relief medication on offer to be administered with the third and final cervix pill to be placed. Instead, Chill Doc came in and checked my ish and said whoa, no 3rd cervix pill or IV meds needed, get this first-time-mom-to-be an epidural if she’d like, because it’s about to be go time. I said thankyouverymuchsir, I will take that epidural, and I tried not to scream at the epidural paperwork dude who was legally required to tell me about the risks and stuff before administering that sweet sweet relief.
Shift change happened and the kindest, most beautiful nurse angel came to help me labor. Looking at her was calming because she was so pretty, and she was young and not yet jaded, and her words were gentle and her voice was soft. She was my 5th favorite part of labor behind (1) my baby, (2) my epidural, (3) my husband, and (4) my cervix pill, in that order. When it came time, Nurse Angel braced my right leg and instructed Husband to brace my left, and she counted as I contracted and pushed baby into position. Took like 5 pushes, folks. Then she brought Dr. Askari and the rest of the catching team into the room, and in 3 more pushes and zero pain, my squishy little boy was handed to me, and I was in love.
And you know what? My scary induction was only scary because of the stupid Internet. Screw you, Internet!