The final journey to meeting Benjamin really felt like it started two days before he was actually born, when he was 13 days overdue and I was certain I would never go into labour on my own. Joey and I left for the city around 1:30 PM, fully expecting to either a) go into labour that night, or b) be induced the next day. Given these expectations, we opted to spend the night in a hotel room instead of making two extra trips just to sleep in our bed another night. One of the midwives checked me at the clinic, only to find (yet again) that my cervix was stubbornly pointed to my back, and there was little to no progress from the previous check. I was terribly discouraged, and while listening to Ben’s heartbeat on the monitor and watching the little graph recording every fluctuation, Joey and I agreed that being induced the next day was the best thing to do.
The hospital we were planning on birthing in evaluates which induction requests are the most pressing on a day-by-day basis, so there was no guarantee that Joey and I would make it in. But, considering our baby would be 14 days overdue, the midwife felt sure that we would be at the top of the list. Joey and I set off thinking that this was the last possible night for me to go into labour, and our last night alone for quite some time. The hotel stay was, therefore, quite the mini-vacation.
We woke up the next morning having slept rather fitfully, but still excited by the thought that we might be seeing our Little that day – excited and perhaps a smidgen afraid (at least I was). I proudly posted on Facebook “It’s baby day!”, and we waited for a call from a midwife saying “get thee to a nunnery the hospital” while enjoying nutrition-less waffles from the hotel’s free continental breakfast.
The call didn’t come until 9:30. And it didn’t inform us of what we wanted to hear. Kari (she was the midwife who delivered Judah) had consulted with that day’s OB, and they both agreed that with the external fetal monitoring showing what it did, I would be fine to wait one more day for my induction. Two more women were in a greater need of induction that day – really, who was I to deny them that medical intervention? Even so, the disappointment was fierce. I felt like we had wasted the money on the hotel room. I felt stupid for updating Facebook so optimistically. I felt like this pregnancy would not end well.
Kari wanted to see us at the clinic to give me one more good stretch and sweep. Yes, it’s as delightful as it sounds. She was encouraged to find that I had progressed (albeit very little) from the day before. On that positive note, she counseled me to take a castor oil induction mixture. Now, before you keel over in disbelief and dread for where this story is going, let me inform you that I was very aware of the possible outcomes of such a drastic measure. I’ve heard some women say it was worse than hospital induction, and I’ve heard others absolutely swear by it. Because I was 14 days overdue and absolutely terrified of being induced, I decided to go for it.
Please note: what follows is how it turned out for me, not how it will work for everyone (or even anyone) else. Everybody’s different, and the only thing I can swear by is listening to your midwife’s/OB’s advice!
Castor oil was a complete fail for me. I think it caused only one good contraction amidst endless Braxton Hicks contractions. It wasn’t that miserable of an experience for me, but it did NOT put me into labour. Not even a little bit. As primed as I was for to have a baby, it was not the “get out of hospital induction free!” card that I’ve heard it proclaimed to be – for me. It accomplished two things: my system felt good and, ahem, empty, and it assured me that hospital induction was the way I had to go.
The next morning, instead of waiting around for our call to come to the hospital, Joey and I decided to get on the road to the city as early as possible because we would be induced that day. We’d (almost) been promised that. Sure enough, halfway to the hospital, we got our invitation and were able to surprise the receptionist by saying “we’re almost there!”
Oh yes, we were ready and excited. After all, we were going to the hospital to meet our baby!
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to be continued…
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