I’m sorry if I’ve gone into radio silence for the past few days, but truth be told, I just haven’t felt very social. I have no new news, and all I can do is gripe.
Last night, we joined my parents at Carrabba’s for dinner, where Bryan convinced me to eat a piece of eggplant. He’d heard somewhere that eggplant would trigger labor. I think we need to be more specific: triggering contractions and triggering labor are two very different things. Castor oil? Triggers contractions. (Through explosive diarrhea.) But if your cervix is still not dilated, LIFE JUST SUCKS TO BE YOU. Eggplant is much the same.
We made it to the hospital around 10:00 p.m. and found our room. The nurse was VERY awesome and was optimistic that we could finagle our way into a bag of pitocin because Dr. Spunky was the on-call doc for the clinic. (Ra, this would be your doc.) I agreed; he was young, he was easy-going, and he would definitely let this ball get rolling. She checked my cervix and said, “Oh, honey, you’re only at 1 cm.”
Um.. huh? Her back was turned to us, so she didn’t see the full-on WHAT THE FUCKS? Bryan and I were giving eachother. Is my cervix actually closing up? How does that happen? (Bryan later said that there is a theory in quantum physics where all of the matter reaches the end of its road and begins to collapse back in. Apparently, this theory is beginning with my cervix.)
Anyway, so she disappeared to make the call to Dr. Spunky while we got giddy with the excitement of actually beginning this birth process. My cervix, although not dilated, was extremely thin; the baby was at a -1 station; and all engines were go.
And the contractions were KILLING me.
She came back in around an hour later, crestfallen. “Dr. Spunky’s not on call,” she said. “Dr. Old Cranky Bastard is.” Who told me to go home.
The doctor this morning finally set up our induction. We’re on tap for 5 a.m. Friday morning. Of course, this is “if he doesn’t come sooner”, which I’m now beginning to laugh at. He’s not coming sooner. He’s coming when he’s damn ready, regardless of spicy foods, eggplant, or the lunar cycle.
And assuming that my cervix has not completely turned inside out by then.
Poor Sarah, but that is the funniest thing I’ve read all week. Old cranky bastard…
I’m trying to decide if I think you made up the names Dr. Spunky and Dr. Old Cranky Bastard or if the nurses actually call them that. If the nurses don’t call them that, maybe you should convince them to do so. In the meantime, I’m so sorry for the painful contractions and the bullshit old wives tales.
g#d*mitto*allf#ckingh@llr@tb*st^rtm*th#erf%ckers!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
Ok, it gets worse. I was talking in Spanglish to another nanny at gymn tonight and she had 3 kids. The first had to be delivered by c section because the baby’s head was facing her head (he wasn’t effaced) and they tried to turn him round but he turned back.
She begged to have a c section for her second kid….and they said no.Her kid was 11 pounds 9 ounces and came out of her hooha. Holy shit. You have all that to look forward to!
I live in the burbs of Atlanta…over here all the preggo chicks go to Scalini’s for Eggplant Parmesean…its supposed to make you go into labor. Wanna come over for dinner??
Okay, so Penny said it isn’t eggplant, it’s pomegranite you want.