64 hours

At this moment, two years ago, I had been in active labor for 64 hours. I had done the castor oil thing. I had done more position changes than I can recall or recount. I had spent something like 11 hours total in the bathtub. I had taken homeopathics. I hadn't slept more than 10-20 minutes at a stretch in three nights. A. had only slept a little more. My mom had slept the first night and the third but not the second. My doula and her back-up had become a tag team: I had exhausted each of them at least once. My midwife had wisely protected her sleep as long as possible, but had been stopping by for a few hours at a time and taking phone calls at odd hours for three days. She had arrived early on the third morning and wouldn't leave until the baby was born.

I was beginning to think the baby wasn't going to come out, ever, and I knew the baby wasn't going to come out without me getting some serious, serious sleep. I made the call to transfer to the hospital. It was my decision, but it was also the only one possible. I was so relieved at the time to be heading towards sleep.