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Labor is No Laughing Matter

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I was finally admitted to triage so my labor could be monitored. The hospital was very busy that night. At midnight it would be July 4, the due date for my third son. In fact, I had been scheduled for induction the very night I found myself in triage. Unfortunately, the busy hospital had cancelled all scheduled inductions. I was relieved when labor began that night all on its own. I was having regular, painful contractions but my water didn’t break. This meant it was not certain that I would get a room and I prayed that I wouldn’t be sent home.

So my husband and I began the long labor waiting game. We starred up at the television in the corner searching for something decent to watch as I suffered through the contractions that were coming every eight minutes. When we flipped to TBS and found a “Sex In The City” rerun playing, I was happy. I was even able to laugh a little through the tears that streamed down my face as the contractions tightened and twisted my insides.

After a long time, a nurse came in to check on me. She was an older woman wearing glasses and had a conservative look about her. “How are we doing?” She asked in a rushed and tired voice. “OK,” I answered. “Wow, you guys are busy tonight, huh?” She barely looked my way as she began to explain how busy she was. I hoped to lighten her mood. I wanted to say something to make her laugh. She looked weary, frazzled and so serious. I don’t know why I said what I did. Despite my intentions, the idea backfired when I said, “So you are having a nice, relaxing night. Having dinner and chatting with your friends.” It was supposed to be sarcastic and bring a smile to her face. Of course, I knew that the nurses were so busy that night that it was doubtful that any of them even had dinner. I did not mean any disrespect. I quickly realized my tragic mistake.

Her neck snapped around as her face of stone glared directly at me. Her evil stare faded the smile from my face. What have I done? Undo it! Undo it! I wanted to turn back time about five minutes and keep my mouth shut.

I helplessly looked at my husband. There was nothing he could do either.

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We value and respect our HERWriters' experiences, but everyone is different. Many of our writers are speaking from personal experience, and what's worked for them may not work for you. Their articles are not a substitute for medical advice, although we hope you can gain knowledge from their insight.



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