[Deb]

After the birth of my first daughter, Sasha, my stepmother-in-law told me I was a breeder. As I tried to figure out whether or not it was a compliment, I already knew what she meant. I had just given birth in record time.

Just two days shy of 36 weeks, I had felt my first “real’ contraction around 7pm. Sasha arrived at 10:55pm. No time for an epidural. No time for a birth plan. Even my doctor missed the whole thing. Needless to say, the nurses were astonished that it was my first delivery. “Pay closer attention next time,” they said, “It usually happens much faster.”

So when my husband, Mike, and I found out that we were expecting again, the feeling of utter surprise was quickly eclipsed by the strangest sense of fear and a million questions. Just how quickly would I give birth this time around? Mike now worked in New Jersey. Would he make it back to the City in time? Where would I be? Would Sasha be with me? The last thing I wanted was to end up on the evening news for giving birth on the West Side Highway.

As the day drew closer, my anxiety worsened. My doctors had already warned me that my second birth would most likely be like the first. I was supposed to call at the sign of pain. Forget contractions 5-10 minutes apart. If I had one, I was to call.

In my mind, any time after 36 weeks was fair game. So one Saturday afternoon, I dusted off my copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting and started reading about pre-labor. Much to my surprise, I fit one of the criteria. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions – more than 5 an hour. So I started timing them at 2pm.

After 3 hours they were anywhere from 5-15 minutes apart. I called the doctor on-call. She told me drink some water and lie down. If they didn’t stop, I should go to the hospital to be assessed. An hour and a half later, we were at Roosevelt.

They were definitely contractions – at least according to the monitor. But they weren’t painful. Annoying, yes. Painful, no. They were like a tight bear hug around my belly. But no pain in my pelvis. I knew it wasn’t the real deal. Plus, I wasn’t any further dilated than I was 5 days earlier. So they sent us home.

But the contractions didn’t stop. In fact, they continued throughout the night. Around 9:00am the next morning, they suddenly changed. They started off the same, but they ended low. By 10:00am, the bear hugs had stopped and the “real” contractions had finally begun. I caught myself breathing through a few. I sent Mike to McDonald’s for breakfast, I took a shower and called the doctor. My contractions? Now 7 minutes apart.

The doctor on-call was in the office, so we went there first. It was 10:30am. She saw me right away. I was 3-4 centimeters. Just one hitch – I had tested positive for Group B Strep. I needed two rounds of antibiotics before the baby arrived. So she didn’t want to deliver the baby until after 4:00pm. Yeah right.

We arrived at the hospital at 11:00am. The doctor had called ahead, so they decided to put me directly into a birthing room, rather than triage. But first, they had to clean a room. Despite our best efforts to move them along, it took us 45 minutes to be assigned one. My contractions? Now 4 minutes apart.

By 12:15pm the attending doctor came in to see me. The pain had intensified and with good reason. I was 5-6 centimeters. I turned down the offer for pain medication. It really wasn’t that bad.

Fifteen minutes later, it was that bad. I wanted the epidural. I asked for it. My nurse said she’d make the call for it. But she didn’t. Another 15 minutes passed. I asked her again. But both Mike and I knew it was too late. I had missed the window and now she was just going to ignore my request. But she did offer me some great advice: Unclench my butt cheeks and let the baby descend. My contractions? Now 3 minutes apart.

But the pain had become way too much. I was trembling with each contraction. I wanted someone to check me. I had to find out if I was making any progress, because if I was just 7 centimeters, I was going to jump out the window. They told me my doctor was on her way to the hospital.

A little after 1pm, she arrived. I was so relieved to see her. She asked me how I was doing. I couldn’t lie. “It hurts a lot,” I whimpered. She asked me if I felt the need to push. I said, “No.” Then she watched go through the next contraction. She asked me again as it was peaking. This time I whimpered, “Well…maybe.”

I asked her to check me. She did. She said that I’d be having my baby in the next 5 minutes. Then as she withdrew her hand, my water broke. Hallelujah! I knew I had to be at the end. I just couldn’t imagine the pain getting any worse. The time? Around 1:30pm.

After a quick refresher on how to push, it was show time. After a few pushes, I could see the crown of her head. The doctor massaged my perineum with each push, which really helped me out. Fortunately, after ten or so more pushes, Simone Monique was here: 6 pounds, 12 ounces; 19 5/8 inches at 2:00pm. And one dose of the antibiotic seemed to do the trick. Even her blood work came out just fine.

So what happened to all of my worries and concerns? As it turned out, January 21, 2008 was Martin Luther King Day. So Mike was off from work and with me the entire time. The night before, my Mom had come by to drop off some shower gifts, so we had sent Sasha home with her. Plus, I had made it to the hospital long before giving birth on the highway ever entered into the equation. I couldn’t have planned it any better myself.

So am I a breeder? Yes. My name is Shameka and I am breeder. And in the middle of childbirth, I wouldn’t have it any other way.