An Open Letter to My L&D Nurse

Dear Labor & Delivery Nurse:

First of all this letter is way overdue, but in my defense I have a baby.  So forgive me, mmkay? 

Nearly seven months ago, I checked into the hospital with a nervous grin and an anxious husband.  A week past my due date with no signs of entering labor on my own, it was officially time to prod this child out.  I still remember you asking me if was ready because, “once we start this, you’re not leaving without a baby.”  I looked at Craig and answered quickly because if he had a chance, he would have opted to wait a little longer. 

If he was a little anxious, I was scared shitless. Beyond the typical, Oh.My.God, I have to push out a HUMAN scared.  The idea of induction had terrified me for weeks.  Being hooked up to an IV, contractions that I was sure would last for days and pushing for hours were just some of the very bad pictures in my head.  But you, L&D Nurse, you made it so much better.  You calmly explained what was about to happen.  I’m sure someone somewhere had told me before, but you explained it again.  You made sure I was comfortable, got me set up with blankets and the remote control and let me keep my bra on.  (God only knows why that was important to me, but it was.) 

You didn’t scoff when I said at 8:30 that I wanted to try to make it through labor without an epidural.  You talked to my husband and kept him distracted while I tried to breath through the cramping.  You helped me to breathe and encouraged me when the cramping became intense contractions.  A few hours later when I changed my mind about the epidural, you didn’t say, “I told you so,” you simply found the man with the giant needle and held my shoulders as he stuck it into my back. 

When it was time to push, you coached both Craig and me.  And maybe his face didn’t show it but having to hold a leg was really a fun surprise for him.  Then, dear nurse, when the pushing wasn’t working because of that glorious epidural, you suggested I take a nap.  I think it was then that I decided you were my favorite person on the planet.  However, what you didn’t tell me is that it would be the last nap I would take without a baby on my chest of a baby monitor within reach. 

Then, when it was time to bring this kid into the world and at that exact moment someone in the parking lot backed into my car, you called security and told them that no, in fact, the owner of a black Mazda could not be bothered at the moment. 

When it was officially time to deliver, you gathered a few other nurses and a couple of doctors so that Craig could give up holding my leg and instead make the phone calls and take the photos. You were all calm, easy going and sort of funny as the room filled with excitement.  You talked me through the pushing and the contractions, telling me exactly what to do and when to do it.  You cleaned up the mess around me and let me keep a little bit of dignity. 

After C was born, declared healthy and cleaned up, you respected our privacy and  helped to keep our room clear of visitors and medical personnel.  With two sets of parents in the waiting room, I’m sure that was not an easy task.  And, finally, after our hour was up you carefully took my daughter from my arms and helped me move out of the delivery room.  As you wheeled me down the hall, I thought, I need to send this woman a thank you note and a box of chocolate. 

So, while it’s a little late, this is your thank you note.  And, about that box of chocolate?  Um… sorry, but it’s gone.  I have a baby.  I think I need it more. 

(don’t forget about clicking that ‘lil link)