After my waters had broken about 2 weeks ago (without me realising), I went on and did my thing until Monday afternoon, when I felt pain in my lower back and the colour of the liquid I was leaking turned a shade of bright pink. So we called the midwife, who came to see us and sent us off to hospital.
Tuesday and Wednesday went on OK, still had that painful feeling of a strong menstruation, but only when I went to take a shower on Thursday morning around 10:15 which felt suspiciously good, I realised that I was losing way more water at a much stronger pace than before.
Back in my bed, I was put on a monitor and since it didn´t register any contractions, I took a phone call from a friend, which turned into a bizarre conversation about wine and stuff, with me starting to contract in between. They told me to hang up, so I called my bf to come over and see us.
All of a sudden 3 or 4 carers were grouping around the bed constantly, disagreeing on whether my bits should be covered or watched, depending on old school Ingrid or learner doctor what´s-her-name. God, there were so many!
I got moved into the maternity ward and all of a sudden, when I really started contracting and sounding my barbaric yawps, I was told that there were 3 other births going on around me. I said: “Don´t leave me alone”, but the midwife said she´d have me on the monitor in the next room “as well”, and left.
God, there was nobody with me for what felt like 20 minutes! I even yodeled “Where the fuck is everyone?!?” from the top of my voice, but when the midwife came back, (I was dilated 6.5 cm at that time) she just asked my if my man was on the way (“Give me my phone again!!”) I rang him in the middle of a contraction. He laughed and told me that he was cleaning the computer speakers to hook up my ipod (Thanks to Dead Can Dance!) when he´d get there and all I could do was yell down the line “Fuck! That! Get! Here! Now! Now! Now!” and hung up on him. 20 minutes later, he was there and just could not do anything right from my POV until it was all over. Poor man of mine! He either massaged my feet the wrong way, or dared to move my leg, or he laughed at my intensely loud “HAAAAAAAAA”´s I was sounding to get through the dilation contractions, the poor soul just wasn´t prepared for the intensity of it all. Neither was I, but choice does a girl have? When I felt the urge to push, I was told I was fully dilated and tried 5, 6, 7, 8 pressure contractions, but had a really hard time shutting up my voice and stopping my screams and turn them into pushing. It took the midwives to practically yell at me that I should do what they told me, the baby didn´t like being half-way out, and I should not make any goddamn sounds anymore. I yelled I was afraid and the woman was like “What are you afraid of?” And I was like “Do you want a profound psychological discussion with me right now?!?” (I think at that point, my voice changed into the deamonic tone like in “The Exorcist”, I was feeling so incredibly angry with the world) I just was afraid I could not do the job right then and there. Bf yelled at me to get a grip and be strong. So I pushed until I felt my eyes popping out and my face explode, but he still wouldn´t get over the threshold. So they decided to cut me (me: “NONO!”), I didn´t feel the cut at all and woooosh! He was out, he was out on my chest, warm, soft and wonderful, and as we know now, healthy and without infections.
He is TORIN, Irish-Gaelic for chieftain, and ARNE, Germanic for eagle, because he flew into my arms in under 4 hours.
I love him more than life itself and I´m off now to try and produce some milk.
Stay tuned for more details, photos and motherly love punched into the oldest pc in the universe.