Monday, 10:35 PM
I'm officially writhing. There is actual writhing going on. Unabashed writhing.
Monday, 10:40 PM
Jon is forcing me to look into his eyes and breathe:
Hew, hew, hew, hew heeeeeeeee.
Hew, hew, hew, hew heeeeeeeee.
Hew, hew, hew, hew GET ME THE EPIDURAL!
Monday, 10:45 PM
The anesthesiologist shows up. Now that's service!
Somehow in my awful, writhing state I notice that he is wall-eyed. His left eye is looking at Jon, his right eye is looking at me. It only confuses me more. I have to tell him that I understand what he is going to do and all I can think about is how brutal his childhood must have been, having those wall eyes and all. Children can be so cruel. I know, I'm about to have one.
Monday, 10:50 PM
I sign the epidural release form. He turns me on my side so that he can stick the needle in my back. I realize that one of his eyes his looking at my back, the other one is probably looking at the ceiling.
I'm in the middle of a contraction that is about to crush my body. Jon is holding both my hands and looking me straight in the eyes. You can get through this, he assures me. I have to hold still so that the anesthesiologist can stick the needle in the right place. Holding still is the hardest thing I have ever done.
Monday, 10:52 PM
I feel a small prick in my back and my leg flexes involuntarily. The anesthesiologist says that he's done. I don't believe him. He can't possibly be done. It's supposed to hurt and I'm supposed to freak out about the needle! He's done?!
Why was I so scared?! WHY DID I WASTE WEEKS AND WEEKS OF MY LIFE WORRYING ABOUT THE EPIDURAL NEEDLE! GIVE ME THOSE WEEKS BACK!
Monday, 11:00 PM
The epidural has taken effect. It is the best feeling in the whole wide world. I want to smoke a joint. I start to sing. My mother and sister start laughing. I ask Jon if we can name the baby Epidural Armstrong.
I am so happy!
Monday, 11:30 PM
Did I mention how happy I am? They should sell epidurals on the street. I would buy a hundred of them and give them to my friends.
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