Yup, still no baby. We’re briefly home between rounds 1 and 2 of gel.
Round 1, as written from the hospital:
2:29pm: As Diet Coke pointed out at yesterday’s appointment, inductions are a lot of “hurry up and wait”. Though Sea and I were shuffled through the waiting room pretty quickly, past the crowd of bored looking pregnant women, I’ve been lying hooked up to fetal monitors for a pre-induction check for over an hour now. The paper tracking heart rate now stretches across the floor. I’m pretty sure the nurses have forgotten about us.
3:00pm: There’s no privacy here. We’ve been listening to a schizophrenic woman behind the next curtain explain how her baby has probably died and her uterus is filled with worms since we arrived. A medical resident has been left to convince her otherwise, but isn’t succeeding. The doctor finally appears. He’s friendly, but rushed in the way that medical professionals tend to be. He checks my cervix and mutters, “I think she’s going to need more than one dose”. He tells me to come back at 7:00am the next morning.
3:16pm: hooked up to the monitors again, this time for at least an hour. The gel burns and I’m feeling slightly crampy, but that might just be because four people have had their fingers in my cervix in the past week.
4:15pm: Sea and I are now the only people left in triage. A nurse, who has been asking every single person who comes in whether they’ve had lunch comes to release me from the monitors. She tells me to return at 8:00pm, which contradicts what the doctor had said earlier but confirms what Diet Coke had said yesterday. The next 15 minutes are spent with the nurse trying to track down the doctor to determine who said what. She finally reaches him, “The patient thinks she doesn’t have to come back.” He sticks his head into the room and laughs at me, telling me that my cervix is still closed and that I’m just trying to avoid him. 8:00pm for round 2 it is.
4:25pm: Sea and I walk back from the hospital. She asks how I’m feeling. “Fine.”, I reply. She presses for more details, so I explain that it feels like somebody just shoved a jalepeno pepper in my vagina. She doesn’t request more information.
It’s 2.5 hours later now, and I feel slightly crampy but fine. Sea is packing up our bag of distractions again, preparing for a romantic evening in triage. “Alright, let’s go have a baby.”, she says.