365 days ago...

On the eve of Noah's first birthday I can't help but reflect on where I was and what I was doing at this time, one year ago.

I was at the West Parry Sound Health Centre, it was a Friday and I was being induced.

Probably around now, Tony and I were walking the halls. From my labour room, past the permanent "residents", past the little coffee shop, to the front doors and back. I would stop every now and again - contractions - I'd rub my belly, lean on Tony and groan.

I sent my Mom home at around 12:30 a.m.

Tony and I settled into the tiny, single bed ready to "rest".

I remembered I hadn't taken out my contacts. I got out of bed, stood up and my water broke all over the floor.

"Call the nurse," I said and bolted to the toilet.

Tony called the nurse, then called my Mom.

That's when things got rocking and rolling.

All through the long (and lonely) night, I was in hard labour.

A wet face cloth on my forehead, in my mouth between my teeth, on my face, on my arms, was my friend. I remember gripping and pulling on the plastic handles of the bed, sure with the next one I'd rip the sucker right off.

I moaned and breathed - I remember the nurse coming in at one point saying: "I'm going to have to get to you slow your breathing down." Fuck you, I wanted to say.

It wasn't until about 3 a.m. that I asked for something. When they offered me an epidural or morphine, I was surprised.

I opted for morphine, something to take the "top" off the contractions. It seemed to take FOREVER for my doctor to get his ass into my room and okay the drugs and by the time they gave it to me, it took doubly forever for it to kick in.

I don't remember much else of that night or day, just sleeping - dozing actually - through each contraction, some that came back to back to back to back.

By 10 a.m. the next morning - Saturday, September 13 - my doctor checked me and said I was okay to start pushing.

And fucking...push...I...did...for FIVE hours.

That's right. Five. Hours.

I pushed on my back, on my hands and knees. I pushed squatting on the floor...with my feet nearly behind my ears...I was a pushing machine!

But alas, it was all in vain. Something was wrong. Noah was in the wrong placement at the right time.

Facing sideways, facing up - I don't remember - but whatever way he was facing, it was wrong for exiting my vagina.

And when the doctor could do no more - after trying to vacuum him out and accidentally breaking a blood vessel (that required a stitch and me screaming at him "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!) and giving me horrifyingly strong petocin - he told me I would have to have a c-section.

A. C-section.

And then I cried.

I cried and my Mom left the room.

I cried into to Tony's arms - sobbing, choking...wracking sobs of defeat, exhaustion and disappointment.

But by the time they wheeled me into the operating room - some 30 minutes to an hour later - my tears had dried and I was EXCITED...but scared.

There I lay on my back, being rolled into a cold, bright, white room with huge lights - I thought I was dying.

My doctor numbed me from the waist down and I was hooked up to a dozen machines.

I asked for good music, made jokes about the junky classical they had playing and told my doctor that I forgot I was getting a baby out of this...

And a baby I did.

As soon as I heard the wee boy's cry, I looked at Tony and we both began to cry.

Noah was taken to a table just beyond my view and I could barely choke out the words, telling Tony to leave me and go to him.

He cried and cried my little boy, but as soon as they brought him to me, and he heard my voice say, "you're so BIG!" he stopped.

Happy first birthday my special, wonderful, captivating one.

It's been one heck of a year.