Part 1: Right on time but… kinda moving at your own pace
My due date was Aug 2. I believed the conventional wisdom that said your first is always late, so even as July was coming to an end, I didn’t tapper any of my activities. I was feeling good. My energy was up despite the punishing heat of Israel’s summers. (I was raised outside of Philadelphia but moved to Israel after I graduated college.) I kept working out with my clients – I’m a personal fitness trainer. I kept working out myself for that matter. I got a kick out of people staring at me at the gym. They would either give me an enthusiastic thumbs up or look at me like I was insane.
On Monday, July 29th, I met with one of my clients – a mother of 5 herself. As I was leaving she remarked, Isn’t it crazy that at any moment your life will change forever. As I mulled over her comments, I made my way to the gym feeling slightly tired and slightly uncomfortable. I eased up on the intensity, but managed to get in a good workout – or as good as it can get when a giant basketball is protruding from your stomach. (I’ve seen some very talented and skilled athletes run at 9 months pregnant…my hat is off to them…at 5 months the running became way too awkward for me and I kept my cardio sessions to the bike or cross trainer.)
On Tuesday July 30th, waaaay early in the morning my water broke. Nothing like wetting the bed. I called my doula. She sounded surprised – Really? Yes really. That was the beginning of my marathon labor.
There were no complications. It was simply long. Really. Long. And I’ll be honest – contractions – I can think of better things to do. I was insistent though on not wanting an epidural. It wasn’t that I enjoy pain. I have endured a plethora of athletic injuries – broken bones, torn ligaments, torn muscles, sprained ankles, you name it …I didn’t enjoy any of those and I certainly wasn’t enjoying this pain; however, the idea of not being able to feel the lower half of my body scared me more than the pain itself – so I breathed, and I counted, and I carried on…until I couldn’t.
At around 16 hours of labor, with no end in sight, my doula turned to me and said – I’m going to be the big bad wolf. You need to take the epidural and conserve your energy. You won’t make it otherwise.
It probably took another hour before they put that needle into my back. Epidurals – wow. Got to admit, wasn’t my first choice and not sure I would opt for one again, but they most definitely do their job.
Still, the labor kept going and going with very little progress. At some point the doctor and the doula left the room to speak. I knew what they were talking about though. C-section. No way. Let’s just do this. Somehow – definitely with the grace of Gd – the labor started moving in the right direction. And finally, on the morning of Wednesday July 31st, 24 plus hours after my water broke, we crossed the finish line. There he was. And my life was suddenly changed forever.