Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part One
September 29th 2006 16:07
[Breathe, breathe, isn’t that what they’re always telling the laboring pregnant woman to do in the movies and on T.V.? Well except for the amount necessary to stay alive no one that came and went from that labor room, and there were plenty that did, mentioned one word about my breathing.
When the contractions got so strong that I screamed, one of the nurses stood over me but instead of reminding me to focus and breathe she told me to keep my voice down because I would scare the other women in labor. Scare the other women in labor? Then was it just me, I wondered? Was I the only one in such horrific and intense pain? And when another mind blowing pain seared through my lower half and I bit into my husband’s fist (bigger than a bullet but it would suffice) so I wouldn’t scream and scare the other laboring women another nurse stood over my pain-wracked body and instead of mentioning the Lamaze breathing that I had been led to believe was the most important tool a nurse employed to help a suffering pregnant woman find some relief, she loudly scolded me for hurting my husband (like he wasn’t the reason for my suffering now).
The pressure was too much. The pressure on my bladder that was. On the table, off the table. I walked the few steps to the bathroom, if you’d call it that. More like toilet sitting in the middle of the room. Designed by man to humiliate women? No doubt in my mind. Not that it mattered. For most of this experience I was hanging out buck naked from the waist down. And everyone who was anyone stopped by to take a peek. For all I know some of them could have been visitors there to see other patients but because they took a wrong turn down a wrong hall (common hospital faux pas) they got a whole other view. Who should you feel sorrier for? Pick them since I was in too much pain to care one way or another.
At one point I overheard the nurse ask the doctor about giving me an epidural. “Yes, an epidural,” I moaned, “give me an epidural.”
“It’s too late” he said motioning to the other staff members to move my bed into the delivery room, “you’re going to have a baby.”
“Don’t you think I know that (Einstein – I wanted to add but even in this state I was too afraid to offend HIM)?” I screamed back, “I want medicine!”
“Let me rephrase that,” he said smiling, “we’re going to have a baby…now. Now push.” And I did. I pushed and I pushed and I pushed and less than a half hour later, at 5 A.M. (3 hours before the doctor had told me to leave for the hospital) out slide my son. His name? Joshua, definitely a Joshua, I was sure.
You know the pregnancy may have felt like it lasted forever but the delivery was short and while it wasn’t sweet it certainly came to a point, or at least my son’s head did from the conical shaping of my cervix.
When the contractions got so strong that I screamed, one of the nurses stood over me but instead of reminding me to focus and breathe she told me to keep my voice down because I would scare the other women in labor. Scare the other women in labor? Then was it just me, I wondered? Was I the only one in such horrific and intense pain? And when another mind blowing pain seared through my lower half and I bit into my husband’s fist (bigger than a bullet but it would suffice) so I wouldn’t scream and scare the other laboring women another nurse stood over my pain-wracked body and instead of mentioning the Lamaze breathing that I had been led to believe was the most important tool a nurse employed to help a suffering pregnant woman find some relief, she loudly scolded me for hurting my husband (like he wasn’t the reason for my suffering now).
The pressure was too much. The pressure on my bladder that was. On the table, off the table. I walked the few steps to the bathroom, if you’d call it that. More like toilet sitting in the middle of the room. Designed by man to humiliate women? No doubt in my mind. Not that it mattered. For most of this experience I was hanging out buck naked from the waist down. And everyone who was anyone stopped by to take a peek. For all I know some of them could have been visitors there to see other patients but because they took a wrong turn down a wrong hall (common hospital faux pas) they got a whole other view. Who should you feel sorrier for? Pick them since I was in too much pain to care one way or another.
At one point I overheard the nurse ask the doctor about giving me an epidural. “Yes, an epidural,” I moaned, “give me an epidural.”
“It’s too late” he said motioning to the other staff members to move my bed into the delivery room, “you’re going to have a baby.”
“Don’t you think I know that (Einstein – I wanted to add but even in this state I was too afraid to offend HIM)?” I screamed back, “I want medicine!”
“Let me rephrase that,” he said smiling, “we’re going to have a baby…now. Now push.” And I did. I pushed and I pushed and I pushed and less than a half hour later, at 5 A.M. (3 hours before the doctor had told me to leave for the hospital) out slide my son. His name? Joshua, definitely a Joshua, I was sure.
You know the pregnancy may have felt like it lasted forever but the delivery was short and while it wasn’t sweet it certainly came to a point, or at least my son’s head did from the conical shaping of my cervix.
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