Thursday, July 12, 2012

Well Scripted

ridiculous adjective
so foolish or pointless as to be worthy of scornful laughter
{a movie with such a ridiculous plot that it gets only guffaws from the audience}

I'll admit it, we were guffawing.

It was late into my forth pregnancy on a hot summer night.

Our home had sat at full nesting status for almost a month, and I was now big enough around to make the general public nervous, so my husband and I had but one option- to pass our time tucked away within our own four walls, lazing.

The phone rang.

It was my husband's brother.

He had called to talk cars, and music, and movies, and compare notes on their soon-to-deliver wives.

I flipped through a magazine and eavesdropped.

Eventually, two of the subjects merged and we all interjected.

Pregnant ladies on movieswhy was it that they were always portrayed as going from no signs of labor to full mad-dash rush to the delivery room in minutes? Their poor bumbling husbands left in a panic to simply catch up?

Asinine…unrealistic…laughable…just plain silly.

On this we all agreed.

As the conversation wrapped up, I readied myself for bed.

Opening the windows wide, Steve was enjoying the fact that the house was finally cooling down.

I lumbered to our bedroom and it quickly occurred to me that maybe the scenario that we had just been making fun of, was so not so far-fetched after all.

Quietly, I phoned my nurse and was in shock when she agreed that I should at least come in.

Back down the hall, my husband was just sitting down with a book. I tapped him on the shoulder as he prepared to put his headphones in.

Honey, you need to hear this.

Clearly, so little time had passed that he did not believe me.

Every once in a while there arrises a time in a quipsters life that they want to be taken seriously. For a brief moment I regretted always poking fun.

No, seriously, go get my mom! I called her already and she is waiting for you.

She lived only a couple of blocks down but even that felt like too far. My poor husband returned and I could tell that he was wondering where his relaxed wife had gone. The paradigm had shifted and it was hard on him, I could tell. Even so, as he rushed about looking for his tooth brush, all that I could do was  bark that we NEEDED TO GET IN THE CAR!

The hospital was also right down the road.

As we rolled into our parking spot, I apologized to my husband and informed him that I would not be waiting for him. It was nothing personal, just the facts.

I waddle-ran to the buzzer, huffing and puffing, hoping that they would hurry and let me in.

Once I had breached their first defense, I met their guard.

She spoke with a German accent and was not taking me seriously. Luckily there was another nurse on duty with better bedside manner. I tried to focus my attention on her.

They ushered me to a side room to put on a gown and then took FOREVER to return. Sometime between the car and the check-in counter, my husband had snapped out of shock and re-appeared as my advocate. I was glad to have him.

He took me seriously when I informed him that they needed to hurry and get into the room.

Nurse Condescending decided to hook me up to test my contractions and announced that she could see that I was not tolerating them well, but that the machine was not registering them as significant.

It was a good thing that I was strapped down.

With all the politeness that I could muster, I asked her to readjust the belt.

The other nurse had come in to ask me about pain management options and could see where things were headed. Very sweetly, she asked me if I wanted her to check my dilation and then began laughing when she had her answer.

'Oh! The other nurses are going to love it when I write that you are 8cm dilated on the board!'

I shot an I-told-you-so glance at the other nurse who had oddly become pre-occupied with something on the floor.

Vindicated! Now get me to my room...please.

From that statement on, I had their full attention. There was no more talk of pain medication because there would be no time. Nice-Nurse was concerned about my ability make it to my room, and so was I. She followed me with a wheel chair, just in case, and I thought, this is just like in the movies.

I pulled myself into bed and then announced that I needed to push.

Nice-Nurse told me to go ahead and try but asked me to stop when she realized that the doctor was taking too long.

A heavenly chorus of the old hymn 'No turning back, no turning back' rang through the room and she changed her mind.

(Steve tells me that I actually just yelled at her that I couldn't NOT push, but I like my version better. After all, wasn't HE the disoriented guy that had been running to catch up?)

Under ethereal influence, she did the right thing and told the other nurse to put her gloves on.

And then, in a manner perfectly scripted: Cue Doctor, Stage Right!

One more push and Myles Porter Denfeld was in the proper hands.

I was so happy to be holding our baby boy.

I promised to love him forever and to guard him from paparazzi.

His dad and I also pinky-swore that next time a movie damsel went in to labor, we were not about to laugh.

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