At the emergency room, I had more urine checks and I was monitored. My doctor showed up, examined me, and said we needed to induce. Off we were. I was given a suppository to help induce labor and sent to our labor and delivery room, where I was soon hooked up to pitosin (a drug that also helps get labor going).

The delivery room was dimly lit, quiet, large, and peaceful. It was late, so I tried to sleep. David crashed on the couch. We just had to wait now. Around midnight, I awoke to terrible cramps and had to go to the bathroom. When I stood up, my water blatantly broke. No trickle. I felt a warm gush down my legs and left a slug trail of fluid as I shuffled to the potty.

Once the water broke, the contractions started to come on fiercely. From 2 a.m. until about 10 a.m. the next day, I was able to handle them, but I developed this intense fear that if they got too bad for me to cope, I'd be too late with the epidural. So, I wussed out and asked for the epidural. Within minutes, the anesthesiologist was at my back, pumping me with sweet, sweet pain relief. With that, they began pumping me with fluid (magnesium to reduce swelling, one of the symptoms of preeclampsia). I also had a cathode inserted with a lovely pee bag. I was on the bed, suddenly groggy and had turned this "natural event" into a medical procedure. Just the thing they tell you not to do when you go to the childbirth classes. But, with no more contractions, I was able to drift in and out of sleep.

By mid-morning, I was contracting and beginning to dilate. My friend and gay doula (we dubbed him my goula), Kirk, showed up and for a few hours, we chatted and joked while the monitors showed my contractions getting fiercer. The trend now is for women to hire doulas to help them along with labor. A doula is usually a woman who has been through childbirth. She will help a laboring woman by giving comfort, massages, etc. She can also help assist nervous husbands through the process. I shopped around for a few doulas but, in the end, I decided that I trusted Kirk more than anyone else. Kirk is a nurse and had delivered or assisted in the birth of at least 16 babies. Some of my friends were a bit concerned that I was to have a roomful of men at my delivery and they told me I was missing the point of havng a doula. The theory is that having a woman in the room with you other than another health-care professional makes labor easier.

Whatever.

Kirk would prove his mettle as events progressed. While chatting, mid-sentence, Kirk would look up at the monitor and go, "whoo, that was a big one. You didn't feel that?" God bless science, cuz I couldn't feel a thing.

Around four pm we were ready to push, so off I went. Push push push while my husband, my goula ,and three nurses gathered around my, ahem, "feminine gate." I was pushing like all get-out. Because my water had broken more than 12 hours before, I started to run a fever. So, in went another IV with antibiotics.

Push push push some more. The nurse about to leave her shift declared I'd have the baby in the next 20 minutes. I was more motivated. Push push push.

The Blessed Event

But, something was wrong. The head was not budging. In went more needles... this time into the vagina to attach to my poor little baby's head so they could monitor him. Up up up went my fever. Push push push went I. They noticed the baby's heart rate going down to nil when I pushed. The doctor arrived. She said we should do a C-section. I was adamant and begged her to let me push. She said she'd let me push two more times and left. With the next push, she ran inside and said we had to do a C-section. The baby's heart rate deceleration was dangerous. I trusted her and that was that.

The next scene is a blur for me. I got more drugs from the anesthesiologist and I was whisked away to surgery. Kirk and his partner, Julian, had to go the waiting room. I believe it was around 5 p.m., maybe later. They wheeled me into surgery. David showed up at my side in a scrub suit. I was scared. The operating room was no better than my dad's auto repair shop. Well, maybe with less oil. Someone had Aretha Franklin cranked up very loud. There were stations all around. All empty. There was a screen blocking my view of the mutilation of my body. All I know is, within 20 minutes, they had sliced me open and out came our baby. I was crying because I couldn't hear him. I was convinced he was dead or severely defective. I kept saying to David, "Something is wrong and their not telling us."

But, all was well. Within a few minutes, David was able to cut what was left of the umbilical cord. Miles was cleaned off, swaddled and presented to Dad who in turn brought him over to me while they put my organs back in the cavity. I spoke and the baby turned his head to me right away. He was mine. It was amazing. Even though I was groggy and shaking uncontrollably from either it being so cold or from the drugs, I'm not sure, I won't ever forget that feeling of seeing that baby. From the beginning of humanity, this is what it feels like to see your child for the first time. So cliché, yet so unique. How could I ever think of denying myself this experience?

So Happy, Together

Miles Landry Grayson was born at 7:29 p.m., March 1, 2004. Mother and baby were both fine.