They say if you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans. Well, my birth plan must have had Him in stitches.

After nine months of cramming for the "final exam," I had developed a good picture of what I wanted my son's birth to be like, and drew up a birth plan as instructed in Lamaze class. I knew flexibility was key, but I didn't realize it was the only thing I could count on.

The plan was to try to go as naturally as possible, with the option of pain meds if needed. I wanted mobility, a birthing ball, comfort techniques and the labor positions we had practiced for weeks. I wanted to let gravity do its job. (READ MORE)

Part 2 of a 4 part series. See part 1.

On the way to the hospital, my husband commented that he didn't think this was really it. I wasn't curled up in a ball crying or cursing him out. Nothing like what he had seen on TV or heard about from his friends. It couldn't be the real deal. I wanted to choke him, but he was right.

As soon as we got to the hospital, the contractions stopped.

My blood pressure, however, was another story. It started climbing and continued to climb throughout the morning. Since women with diabetes are more likely to develop pre-eclampsia, the doctor ordered a 24-hour urine collection to check for protein. That meant spending the night in the hospital for observation. (READ MORE)

Part 3 of a 4 part series. See part 1 and part 2

As night turned into day, the nurse cranked up the pitocin little by little, but I didn't feel a thing. The monitor didn't register many contractions either. In fact, the contractions I had felt at home for two days were much stronger.

Around 11 a.m., yet another OB from the group practice came in to check me. I was 4 cm dilated. She used the hook to break my water. All hell broke lose. The room started to turn over backwards. I was screaming, crying, gasping. I thought I was going to die. My husband held my hand and told me to breathe. I told him where he could shove it. (READ MORE)

Part 4 of a 4 part series. See part 1, part 2 and part 3.

In the operating room, I was laid on my back and the world started to spin again. I didn't know what was wrong. I had a shooting pain in my shoulder blade and could barely breathe. I was dizzy and nauseous. I felt something was horribly wrong. Was my blood sugar low? No. Was my blood pressure low? No. I was flailing my arms and legs, I could not lay still. The doctors had to sedate me. (READ MORE)

Dec. 5, 2005, was a frigid day in Missouri. I wrote in my journal that day that it did not get out of the teens all day. It was one of those days where the snot inside your nose freezes the second you walk outside.

The Mr. and I were driving to the hospital at 5 a.m. that day. A 45-minute drive to the closest bigger city where my OB, perinatologist and certified diabetes educator were located. Three years ago today I was being induced with No. 3 at 39 weeks and 4 days pregnant.
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