So let’s talk childbirth and all the things nobody cares to share with you. You know the less glamorous stuff that gets shunned off to the side like yesterday’s rubbish.
First a bit of biology.
Babies can be born by two means;
Either they pop out of your vagina like a cork from a bottle of Veuve Clicquot-okay I must admit it’s definitely not that glamorous or quick.
Or babies can be born via Caesarean section. Where the baby is taken out from an incision in the abdomen, think of it as a baby emerging from a sunroof.
(If you are aware of other ways of getting a baby out please apprise me)
This article will enlighten you on the latter-sunroof birth.
With a time slot scheduled and booked into hospital, time to dress up (or rather down) in a less than alluring theatre gown. Remember when undressing to remove ALL underwear or you will promptly be exposed to the wrath of hospital staff who will immediately send you waddling back to bathroom, to remove those suckers.
Prepping for a C-section involves removing hair from your delicates, legs outstretched they will gather at your nether regions armed with electrical razors to get the job done, and if you are really lucky they will throw a catheter into the mix as well. If hospital beds could swallow people, now would be a brilliant time, or downing a bottle of wine, because utter humiliation has never been this obvious.
The porter arrives to take you to your impending doom, I mean theatre. The optimism is superficial and vague and all you can thing about is your burning urethra.
The operating theatre is cold, blue and noisy, not saving lives noisy, chatty noisy.
Not exactly the serene environment you would invision bringing life into.
Spinal block is administered and is pretty much as dreadful and scary as it sounds, at least you don’t have to worry about pissing yourself.
The birthing “party” gets started (wine would be welcomed) You are surrounded by a million people that seems to talk all at once and incredibly fast. In the whirlwind flurry you are on your back and just as you start to get the hang of how this is going down a blue screen goes up separating you from the fun.
Ceiling staring is a lost art, they have amazing patterns, almost like clouds.
Things that would probably put a damper on your already groggy thoughts is when your obstetrician says the following;
“Oh shit, she’s stuck”
“I can’t seem to get her out”
Like a perfectly choreographed routine Assistant Nurse will pull out a maneuver that will make WWF fighters weep, you feel like the air is punched out your lungs and along with more tugging and pulling a cry should break the silence. (You will also want to cry right about now because what the hell just happened, keep it in until you hear a baby-at least you can proclaim tears of joy?)
Recovery is cold and quiet. Nausea from the drugs might start acting up.
DON’T BE BRAVE
Take ALL the drugs.
Breastfeeding sucks and is sore.
Ask for drugs before life returns.
DONT BE BRAVE
Take ALL the drugs.
The pee tube will be attached for a few hours after surgery, having it pulled out hurts.
There will be blood, blood that will make your worst period look like a pinprick. Pad up. Double pad.
Sitting to pee for the first time after surgery might very nearly kill you, it might not feel like it but getting up is easier than going down.
DON’T BE BRAVE.
Take all the drugs.
Now that you are done, just remember this was the easy part.