Welcome dear reader to the conclusion from last week’s post! Quick recap: I had a custom costume to help finish. After handing off the final steps to others, I headed to the hospital to have a baby.
My partner drives me to the hospital and of course we get stuck in a random mid-afternoon traffic jam. Which is when my body decides to ramp up the contractions in earnest. THANKS, BODY.
We eventually get to the hospital and I’m uncomfortable but not to the point of being irrationally angry. It takes a minute to find us a room (apparently most of the county has babies in September), but we get settled in eventually. I begin my labor breathing, aka my “monk droning,” as my uncle so nicely called them. Since my labor with my daughter was less than 12 hours, I am expecting this one to be even less. The first thing out of my mouth to the nurse was “EPIDURAL. Please.”
Shortly after she puts in the order for the epidural, another nurse comes in to say that there aren’t any anesthesiologists available to do the epidural – the primary and the backup are both in c-sections. They are going to the OR floor and conscript another. I tell myself that Everything Will Be Fine and go back to my droning.
Unsurprisingly, my labor continues to progress rapidly. The contractions are becoming rather unpleasant so my partner asks about the epidural. It’s still on its way, the nurses tell us. Forty-five very uncomfortable minutes later, two anesthesiologists saunter in. I’m bordering on pain-induced fury at this point. Their calm instructions to adjust my position to make their job more accurate push me to borderline homicidal.
I am finally in the correct position for the injection, and the nurse wraps me in a bear hug to keep me still. In that moment, a contraction hits hard and fast and I scream “I… I… have to POOP!”
Yeah. It wasn’t the most eloquent or dainty of exclamations.
The nurse tells the anesthesiologist, who was less than two inches from puncturing me, that the epidural is a no-go because I’m going to have a baby right NOW. The realization dawns on me through the fog of pain that there will be no epidural and that we are “doing it live,” as my partner likes to say. This thought was mainly expressed by my muttering “nononononoNOnonono” as the nurse laid me down and prepared the room for a newborn.
The rest is honestly a bit of a blur. I remember the midwife’s voice mostly, telling me that I can do it, because I think I was telling the room, the wall, the bed, anyone or anything, that I couldn’t do this. A few pushes later, my son arrived and screamed his greeting to his new world.
About two hours later, we are moved into the maternity ward and the boys take a well earned nap. Since no one is awake, I’m bored. So I decide to check in with my friend and his progress on the costume. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey, how’s it going?
Friend: Pretty well! Just finished attaching the sleeves to the cloak!
Me: That’s great!
Friend: How are you? Get your epidural?
Me: Oh! No, haha. But it was fine. The boys are sleeping now. *sends picture*
Friend: YOU ALREADY HAD THE BABY? Why are you texting me??
Me: Eh, I’m bored. Now, about the final details of the costume…
Fast forward to the next morning, and he sends me a picture of our hard work and I’m so so proud.
Several weeks later, while I’m feeding my son, I get a picture of the whole group in Salem. They all look great, and the detailing on the cloak looks gorgeous.
I reply with a picture back of my creation. Not as much gold paint, but I think he’s pretty gorgeous too. Also, no sleeves to worry about. *wink*
Next week, by popular demand, I will be explaining the customization and creation process for this costume! Tune in!
That Creative Place 
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