Pregnancy Diaries 9: Finding out that I have a man's pelvis

Week 40. The finish line was near. Strangely enough I wasn’t feeling heavy and weighed down, something which most women complain of at this point in time. Maybe having been heavy and weighty throughout one's life, one didn’t feel any additional burden during pregnancy. So there! One of advantages, I thought to myself gleefully, of being on the larger side as I mentally threw a shoe at all the Super Slim I-am-still-Size-Zero-in-Week 40-and-please-look-at-my-designer-baby-bump Mothers.

I was happy and active at Week 40. I had been religiously doing yoga and sending out positive signals to the universe about having a "natural pain free delivery" (ha ha HA HA) and was feeling swimmingly well. I would later think to myself that obviously my positive signals  to the universe were blocked by the excessive pollution layers, BECAUSE IT DID NOT HELP AN EENSY WEENSY BIT!

In anticipation that post delivery I would be holed up at home, I scurried around visiting last minute exhibitions and buying a whole lot of completely unnecessary but feel good items - saris, bits and bobs of furniture - in addition to frequent visits to the masseuse for head massages and general pampering. In short, my delayed "going into labour" was proving to be rather expensive.

However, a visit to my lovely gynaecologist dampened the feel good a bit. The baby's head had not moved down an inch and he was thrown by why that should be since I was fit, active and doing well.

“An x-ray, he said, grimly. That's the only possible option now. That should give us the answer."

He, of course only trusted his "Sir" in Dadar to do a proper X ray and we headed there, anxious to know why Baby dearest hadn't moved down.

We went back with the reports and my gynaecologist studied them in great detail and sighed.

"It's as I thought, he said grimly. I am so sorry."

Worse Half  and I almost passed out in worry. Personally, I think my gynaecologist should write a suspense story!

 

"It's very unusual in someone your height and broad structure (here we go again, size-ist world!), but you have "fjfjfjfjffj" (some un pronounceable medical term). In lay man/woman’s terms, you have a man's pelvis,” he concluded sadly.

"A man's pelvis," I shrieked, wildly, completely thrown, "How is this possible?" (Is this what people meant when they said that they felt that there was a man trapped in a woman's body?)

Worse Half gave me the I-always-knew-there-was-something-wrong-with-you-look.

"It basically means THAT your pelvis is more slimly structured, like a man's. It's not broad and spread out. So your baby doesn't have the space to move down."

Oh great, I get to suffer being fat and be accused of not having them famous child bearing hips!

"In short, you have only a 50% chance of a natural delivery. So would you like to try or go in for an elective C-sec."

"Of course, I would like to try a natural delivery," said I, very brightly, with My Moral Conscience well in place.

Having read reams of literature around it being better for your body, that every woman can do it and it’s the Right Thing to do meant that I volunteered to put myself in extreme pain. I do accept that there are greater risks involved in a surgical process. However, I fail to see the correlation between experiencing labour pain and bonding with your off-spring.

If a man stabs you and leaves you to die, would you say that you had developed a special bond of love with your murderer?

I think not. Sorry for the tangential argument.

Back to my recent discovery of being a man-trapped-in-woman’s-body. Scarred with the knowledge that I had a man's pelvis in spite of being tall and wide, Worse Half and I proceeded to make arrangements to book into Candy One Hospital on Sunday, October 7, 2007.

Not before a quick dash to the Salon where I got my last massage in the reliable hands of Shallini, the wonder masseuse woman!

A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do...

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