Ms.
I-will-try-for-a-natural-birth-because-I-have-a-high-threshold-for-pain-and-how-bad-can-labour-be
checked in to the hospital. Feeling particuarly cheerful after an afternoon with the masseuse.
I have to make a special mention of my dear cousin Roshni who while expecting her baby Minty started having contractions, but decided to go out for a Chinese meal in any case, since she hadn't been out in a while. Such misleading stories make one think that labour is but a breeze.
I have to make a special mention of my dear cousin Roshni who while expecting her baby Minty started having contractions, but decided to go out for a Chinese meal in any case, since she hadn't been out in a while. Such misleading stories make one think that labour is but a breeze.
I tucked into my
Goa Fish curry rice and waited for the "procedures" to induce labour. I was pleased to see fish - after all a symbol of both good luck and fertility for Bengalis...all seemed to be going well...
After some
general man-handling by an unsympathetic Resident doctor and a few blind jabs
from the nurse, that was that for the night. The nurses appear to have
perfected the art of "Let's just poke around and if the Good Lord above so wills, the vein shall be found." Next time, I am
going to PAY a doctor to find my vein. A little bit extra even, given that
apparently my fat makes it difficult to find the vein. (Please note: by next time, I mean the next time I am in hospital. Not the next time I am having a baby! That is ruled out...)
The morning
dawned and nothing much had happened. I am going to skip the squeamy bits now,
because they sure aren't much fun to read.
Cut to - I am
wheeled into the Labour Room. Let's just say that I was in a lot of pain and
mentally sending death threats to everyone that I knew who said natural childbirth was apparently
possible, in my head.
Worse Half trying to
be cheerful, and positive, pointed outside. "Look, you can see the sea from here.
Isn't that a lovely view?"
If I were a
donkey and Worse Half standing behind me, I would have lifted both my legs and
kicked. Very hard.
Given that I am
human, Quick
Gun Murugan's famous words "One tight slap!" definitely crossed my
mind.
Finally, I announced
that I couldn't do it. And after that, I went into a kind of trance, where my
favourite phrase every 5 minutes was, "Give my anaesthesia." I asked the doctors, nurses, Worse Half, my mother, the walls, even the dratted sea view, "GIVE ME ANASTHAESIA" I think I empathise with those in re-hab. This is how it must feel when you desperately crave the not-so-legal substance.
My gynaecologist
also realised that there wasn't much point in putting me through labour since
my "man's pelvis" was making the whole thing difficult.
So C-section it
was...
And there I was
in the Operating Theatre with the floodlights on my face. My gynaecologist,
ever the "patients must make informed decisions" individual that he
is was giving me a structured deep-dive analysis of the pros and cons of General
Anaesthesia vs. an Epidural.
“My ex-wife, for
example, suffered from continual backaches after taking an epidural.”
I was beyond
understanding and comprehension and kept chanting, "Give me anaesthesia.
GIVE ME ANAESTHESIA"
...which is what
I was mumbling even after I came to, 2 hours later. As I was being rolled out
of the Operation Theatre, I told the ward boys, "GIVE ME ANAESTHESIA"
Somehow, in the
chaos of child-birth, I had missed the part where Sprout Pradhan, chubby cheeks and
lustrous hair had arrived! On 8th October, 4:07 pm!
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