Pop! What was that?

I was lying in bed. It was dark outside. I had just woken up to pee (again) and I was slowly drifting back to sleep.

...

...

POP!

My eyes slam open, and I shoot out of bed. "LEO WAKE UP! My water broke!"

Leo groggily looks at me and mumbles weakly "Huh?" (pause) "Oh shit, OMG!" Leo stands up quickly in bed, and steps right down into my puddle of water. -Slip!- Leo falls to the floor, slipping in the puddle. He rushes to the bathroom to take a quick shower to wake himself up. I grab the phone, look at the time: 5:45 a.m.

My mom rushes to my room, "Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, my water broke."

"Oh my God! Are you hurting? Do you need help?"

"I'm fine Mom." -pause- I wince from the contraction. "Ugh, it hurts!"

Leo comes back into the room and says "Let's go!"

"Honey, we don't even have a hospital bag ready yet!"

We hurry to shove things into the bag as my contractions are coming fast and full force now. It's becoming unbearable, hard to breathe. We leave the house and hop in the car.

Leo says "Uh oh."

I cringe. 'Uh oh' is not exactly what I want to hear at this point in time. "What is it?"

"We're out of gas, we won't make it to the hospital."

We pull into Chevron and Leo rushes inside to pay. He pumps the gas and hops back in the car, turns the key and... nothing. Why isn't the car starting? What the HELL!?
"The battery died."

"What do you MEAN the battery DIED? I'm in labor and the BATTERY DIED!!!?"

Leo apologizes and gives me a hug. He calls his grandma, who lives right down the street, to give us a jump. It was 6 a.m. and nobody at Chevron was there to jump us.

She arrives 10 minutes later and they jump the car. I'm crying from the pain of the contractions. It's unbearable, I can't take it anymore. I NEED THE EPIDURAL!

We hop on the freeway to the hospital. "GO FASTER!"

We arrive at the hospital at 7 a.m. I'm crying as we get into the elevator and a woman gives me a sympathetic smile. We sign in and wait for them to send us to triage.

10 minutes later, we're welcomed back. I am told to change into a hospital gown and they ask for my pad to test it for amniotic fluid. The nurse is extremely rude, and says "You're looking very mucousy. We don't think it was your water, the baby probably just kicked your bladder."

I was furious. I was contracting like mad, and was dying for pain meds. Forty-five, yes, forty-five Hellish minutes later, the nurse returns.
"Well, I guess it was your water. We can admit you to L&D now."

We begin to walk to the other side of the Maternity floor. Contractions coming faster, harder now, I pause while walking, waiting for them to pass. We arrive to the room, and I'm told I must have a bag and a half of IV fluids before I can have the epidural. I was crushed. The pain was engulfing me, I could not take this any longer. It was an hour and a half before the anestesiologist comes in, it was the woman in the elevator who smiled at me. Thankful is an understatement at this point. My fear of needles flew out the window. It felt as if time stopped dead in it's tracks while the needle was shoved into my spine. Relief was coming, this was sure. 10 minutes passed and my lower body was numb.

I glance at the clock again: 9:30. Leo goes to the cafeteria to get some food, and my nurse cath's me, warning me it could be a long, long time before the baby is born. After all, most first time moms have long labors right?

...

Wrong.

At 10:00 I'm feeling pressure. Oh my, what is this? This is very uncomfortable! My nurse comes in and checks me for dilation. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"You're 10 cm! Time to start pushin'!"

It's so hard to push, I can't feel anything. The epidural was just administered half an hour before, and the effects are still in full-force. Three hours it takes me, to learn the true art of pushing. In a last, exhausted effort, I push with all my might. Her head crowns, and the nurse is shocked at how much came out. She calls the doctor and says "DONT PUSH, the baby will come out now if you do."

The doctor arrives, and I begin pushing again. After 3 pushes, he gives me an episiotomy and instructs a nurse to bring over the vacuum extractor. After one more push, her head is out. 1:08 p.m.: I stare, watching the birth, I'm in utter shock. That's my baby, my daughter. My purple, blue, and bloody daughter. She's beautiful, weighing in at 7 pounds, 14 ounces and 21 inches long. She looks so healthy, but her breathing isn't right, she hasn't cried yet.

"Is my baby okay?" I yell, terrified.

The doctor stares blankly at me, "Yes, she's fine. Just having trouble breathing"

My daughter is handed to me, and I hold her for 10 seconds. She is then wisked from my arms and taken to the nursery. What's wrong with my baby? Is she okay? Terror shakes through me, as I wait for some news. It's hours before I know what's going on...