I want to punch her.
The doctor takes off the fetus monitor devices and checks my cervix. He goes, “She’s four centimeters dilated! Get her to the birthing suite now.” Then he vacates the room.
The nurse looks at me. “Okay, let’s go.”
A second nurse asks if she should grab the wheelchair, to which b**** nurse says we don’t need it and proceeds to have me walk out of the intake wing and into the labour side. That’s a distance of seven hospital beds and past three birthing rooms.
I’m leaning against the wall, trying to walk through crippling contractions, while she’s telling me I need to hurry up and I shouldn’t take so long. I hiss at my husband that if she doesn’t stop talking at me, once I get closer I’m going to rip her throat out. Unfortunately, she says nothing by the time I shuffle to the door and disappears.
No thanks to her, I can’t receive any pain medication because I am too far dilated by this point, and I deliver my healthy baby a few minutes after 10:00 am.
|