I was due on September 1st with Casey. That date came and went. After being three weeks past due, my doctor decided to induce labor, so on September 21st I was scheduled. The nurses did their thing hooking me up to whatever it was that induces labor (hey, it’s been 30 years, I can’t remember what it was) and I was happy and on my way. The machine had a needle that indicated how strong the contraction was and when it was all they way at 10 (1 through 10 – and 10 being the strongest), I flapped my jaws wondering what all the fuss was about being in labor. This is a piece of cake. After an entire day, it became clear that inducing wasn’t working, so they took me off the machine. I guess that stuff jacked me up as they had to give me morphine to make me sleep as the baby was stressed or something. They assured me the drug would not harm the baby at all. I had serious doubts. I wanted to go el-naturale. It’s a bit of a blur, but at some point the real contractions took place. When the “one” felt like the previous “ten," I knew I was in trouble. I don’t know how many hours went by before I begged for any kind of drug. I’m pretty sure I told Casey’s dad to get a gun and put me out of my misery if the doctor didn’t give me something!
42 ½ hours later, out came Casey… on his dad’s birthday no less. That’s what I get when I joked to Casey’s dad, “Oh maybe I’ll have the baby on your birthday.”
When I saw that beautiful baby with a full head of hair and my heart felt love like no other, I knew I’d do it all again, regardless of the pain.
Happy Birthday Casey!