I’m just kidding. I can’t tell you when you are in labor, but I will tell you about one time when I was in labor.
When I went into labor with Little Boo, I had a few things that I needed to get done before heading out to the hospital. I needed to finish watching the season finale of American Horror story, I needed to pack my hospital bag because she was only 3 days past her due date, so I clearly had not had time to do that, and I needed to empty the dishwasher, but Adam stopped me claiming that “it could wait”. Really? Oh yeah, I also had to alert my mom and sister who had to then drive an hour so that they could stay home with Princess Rapunzel while we were away at the hospital.
Once I checked all those pesky little chores off the list, we were on our way. When we got there, I was admitted to triage so that they could asses my situation and determine if I was, in fact, in labor. Ummmmmmm…… well, I’m no expert and don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but I was here not even 17 months ago with these same, we’ll call them “symptoms”. And guess what? It turns out that I had a baby inside me that I had to push out. Wanna check my chart to see if any of that looks familiar? Apparently the evidence was inconclusive.
So there we were in triage, which would be totally fine if you were the only one in there, but when you are only separated from the screaming/puking/crying woman in the next bed by a curtain, I would classify it as no bargain at all. Thankfully, I spent most of the time doing laps around the hallway determined that, labor or not, I was going to stomp this baby out. After four hours of the nurses and doctors being unclear as to whether or not there was a baby that was about to come out of me, I decided to call their bluff. When the nurse came in, I told her (between contractions, mind you) that since I wasn’t actually in labor, I was going to head home. This suggestion seemed to blow her mind and she said that she would have to ask the doctor if I could be discharged. While she went off to find the doctor (which always manages to take at least an hour – the doctors must have the best hiding spots), I decided to take one more stomp around the hallway. I’m not kidding about the stomping. I mean, people were staring at me and it wasn’t because I looked hot in the double-hospital-gown-one-on-the-front-one-on-the-back look.
Now I wasn’t there. Obviously. But here is how I imagine the conversation went between the nurse and the doctor:
Nurse: “There you are, Doctor! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Doctor: “You found me! What can I help you with?”
Nurse: “Well, the girl with the abnormally swollen abdomen who keeps complaining about the contracting pains wants to go home.”
Doctor: “What??? You mean the one who keeps claiming that the…. what is the word she keeps saying?”
Doctor: “Yes, baby. The one who keeps claiming that she thinks that she is having one of these babies?”
Nurse: “Yes, that’s the one!”
Doctor: “That is preposterous. We still do not know what is wrong with her and I took an oath to save all the patients. She cannot leave until we find a cure.”
Nurse: “Ok, I will tell her.”
Well, it was good news for all because right as the nurse came in to tell me that the doctor just didn’t think that it was a great idea for me to leave quite yet, my water broke. Evidently that was enough of a sign of labor to get me moved into a labor and delivery room where I could be the one to scream/puke/cry in peace with no one on the other side of a curtain. And believe it or not, I pushed a baby out about five hours later. I guess I was the only one who saw that coming.