Mayu's Birth: Heading to the Hospital

I gave birth on May 10 of this year to Marisa. I honestly wasn't scared of giving birth because I already had it in my mind that it was going to be a severely painful experience. Starting off, I knew three things for sure: 1. Labor was going to be excruciatingly painful and long, 2. Recovery would take at least six weeks. 3. I was not going to be given a c-section without fighting down all the surgeons if it ever came to that point.

Honestly, I expected contractions to hit me in my eighth month, like other women have. I didn't feel anything at all until two days before giving birth. I didn't even know I was having contractions. It felt like a very sliiiight cramp trying to come on but it went away after five seconds but came back every 20-30 minutes. I thought to myself "This can't be a contraction. Contractions have to be more painful."

Nonetheless, I was worried about it and it was just annoying enough to keep me up the entire night. The next night was the same and I eventually walked into the living room to bother my aunt and grandma about it. At this point, I hadn't slept in two days but I wasn't cranky. For some reason, not getting tons of sleep doesn't make me a cranky beast (which works great for me now that I have a baby).

I explained my annoying but not-really-painful feelings and even looked it up online. From what I read, it could't be Braxton Hicks or "fake" contractions. We started timing how far apart they were and by 6:00ish, they were less than ten minutes apart. Typically, you don't start heading to the hospital until they're 5-6 minutes apart so we waited. They called Ron and told him and he practically yelled for us to go to the hospital. I wasn't worried though. I knew she wasn't ready to come out yet. He ended up calling my mom and she called me a little worried and nervous telling me to go to the hospital just in case (since sometimes, labor goes pretty fast). I told her I would after showering.

After all, I wanted to be clean~

My aunt drove to the ER, my hospital bag in the backseat and my phone held in my hands as I texted Zane letting him know I was going to the hospital. We walked in and made our way to the counter where this white woman sat and glanced nonchalantly at my calm and almost cheerful face.

When she asked me what was wrong and I told her that I thought I might be going into labor, she didn't seem to believe me. She had me sit down and sign papers for (what felt like) the whole morning. I almost wanted to hit her. I just wanted to know whether I was going into labor or not.

Eventually, she called my doctor and my doctor was like "Yeah, send her to the room". She was pretty much expecting me to go into labor. I was still skeptical about the whole thing though. I certainly didn't feel like I was going into labor and I wasn't having harsh pains. And at that point, my contractions grew further apart. I just knew they'd check me, tell me I'm not dilated enough, and send my big waddling self home.

First, they'd have to check me though.

A nurse came with a wheelchair and told me to sit down on it while she wheeled me upstairs to the room. I almost scoffed as I glanced down at it. After all, I'm a prideful beast and I wasn't about to sit on a wheelchair unless I was physically incapable of walking. Still, she wasn't letting me go anywhere without being in the chair. After a few seconds of hesitation, I waddled over and sat down (probably because no one was in the waiting room and no one saw me).

She wheeled me into the elevator, rode to the second floor with me and my aunt, and then pushed me into a room where I was told to put on a hospital gown. No prob~

The contractions were a tiny bit stronger at this point but it wasn't that bad compared to what I thought it'd feel like and they were still far apart. I was getting worried that I was making this visit for nothing.

I laid on the bed waiting for the nurse.

The Absence

I've wanted to write for a couple of weeks now but was unable to for a few reasons. Some days I just didn't feel very well and others, I just didn't seem to find the time. I love writing, especially when there's a need to emotionally pour myself out. With all the hormones and situations popping up, there have been countless times when I thought "Man, I really just want to scream about it". Of course, at this point, I can't remember all the things I wanted to talk about or all the things that were severely bothering me. Instead, I'll just talk about what's been on my mind presently.

Sometimes, I feel like there's so much that I can't even write about it all or I'd be here all day. Other times, I wonder why I write about it at all. I wonder why I feel so much better afterward. I wonder if it even makes a difference in the end. Then again, doesn't every little thing always make some kind of difference in this world?