6:30AM- the anesthesiologist shows up. In the meantime, I have been warding off contractions at a rate of 45 seconds apart. Some having multiple peaks. It was bad, and I wasn't even at transition yet. This was the right call. At the point he walked in, I was bent over my ball and I said, "Hi, I'm glad you're here, but I'm having a contraction."
It just so happened that he was amazingly handsome. Young, tall, pretty eyes, close cropped beard, brown sandy hair tucked up under that little doctor hat. He had me at 'hello I'm doctor...' Crap. I promised I wouldn't forget HIS name either. Since he saved my life with his precious needles of numbing agents.
So as my white rear and is hanging out of my gown and I'm swaying on my ball, Grey's Anatomy's next hot doctor walks in my room. Oh and he was TALL, did I mention he was tall?? Because they had to put the bed up the whole way so he didn't have to stoop. I sat on the bed and they handed Andy a mask to wear. He and I were prepared for this. He put his forehead on mine and I stared into his eyes, seeking more of that strength he was giving me in huge doses. He would whispering encouraging phrases- he told me I was doing great and he was so proud of me.
Doctor Zhivago back there was telling me exactly what he was doing at every moment. And it didn't hurt. There was pressure. There was tingling. There was cold. But there was no pain other than the contractions that didn't stop just because help was on the way. But that's often hard to differentiate those feelings from pain, but I did it. And it was fine.
He finished up and I thanked him. The L and D nurse said, "How'd that contraction feel?" To which I sleepily replied, "What contraction?" And everyone cheered.