THREE RIVERS AREA — Twenty years ago today was one of the happiest and most painful times of my life.

I had my firstborn son, John, at 10:43 p.m. in fewer than 3 1/2 hours of labor.

I’ve always been a Type-A, getthings-done-fast kind of woman.

But, if that sounds like a piece of cake to you labor warriors, let me tell you, there’s more to the story.

I went into early labor with him at seven months. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, and when I started hurting, I just referred to my wellworn pregnancy book for answers. After a day or so of sharp pains, I called the doctor.

He met me at the emergency room and told me I was in labor.

That started the whirlwind that I remember parts of like a bad dream, the rest my mother and husband fill in.

I was put on medicine that made my heart rate go sky high, then whisked by ambulance to Memphis to a hospital for high-risk pregnancy.

This was the best place to be, but it sure wasn’t the Hilton.

My mother, on cue, will tell you how bad it was for her in the waiting room. There were roaches and homeless people who wandered in off the street.

I remember the nurse snatching the Dr Pepper out of my hand when I arrived, and for five days, I could only have a few ice chips and yummy moistened Q-tips to help my dry mouth.

I remember the baby monitor was a wide piece of scratchy, plastic, lawn chair-like material wrapped around my belly.

Until last weekend, when we were retelling this story at my parents’ house while celebrating John’s birthday early, I had forgotten something.

A TV station shot video of my baby monitor - showing John’s heartbeat - for a segment on women in early labor or crack babies - my mother and husband disagree over this, and we don’t have the tape to prove it.

The door to my hospital room stayed ajar so nurses could see the monitor at a glance, so I got to hear every screaming woman in labor on the hall. There was an angel fromheaven in the form of a nurse who covered the little window in my door so the light would stay out of my eyes.

The doctor prescribed sleeping pills, which I didn’t want, but I was too tired to argue. Although I’ve never done recreational drugs, I can now relate to those LSD trips I’ve read about. I saw skulls floating in my hospital room.

I finally went from an IV to ashot every couple of hours, and then home with medicine and orders to lie around until the baby was born.

That’s not as relaxing as it sounds when you’re on medicine that makes you so jumpy you can’t read, and as much as I love Oprah, nothing but daytime TV will drive you batty.

On Halloween night, I was hurting again. My husband was painted up as a ghoul and volunteering in a haunted house.

Luckily, John held off being born for one more day.

We had just finished watching Unsolved Mysteries, and my water broke.

My parents, along with my brother, who was home from college, stood out in the hospital hallway and were there when I was wheeled out with the new addition to the family.

John’s been a wonderful son, and I’m so proud of him.

My mother says after all women go through, our children should buy US something on THEIR birthdays.

I think having to hear this story every year might be punishment enough.

Three Rivers, Pages 121 on 11/01/2009