Week 30 (Papa, this ain’t no post for you)
Posted on June 28, 2012
I have learned there is such a thing as too much honesty. If you decided to go to Lamaze classes, which is beaten into you as being paramount in importance, then you hear me all too well. If the goal of those classes is to calm and collect you, then I’m obviously the odd one out. I felt calm learning the breathing, I felt happy when Hubby learned about massage techniques and I was even peaceful during the video of the screaming, writhing birthing woman. Somehow, the idea of labour pain doesn’t unnerve me. My mother never coddled me if I fell or scratched a knee. She would say, “You’re OK chicky,” and I’d say “Yeah, I’m OK.” That kind of upbringing combined with her high threshold for pain, and therefore mine, I remain confident that labour will be difficult but definitely something I can do. This is the kind of mild positivity I went into this class with and was able to keep right up until the end of the “educational” video (TMI if you as ask me.) As you may have guessed, it certainly wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. My over-zealous and enthusiastic instructor was the kind of gal that wanted to leave no stone unturned. So, she stops the movie after the nameless mom has her kid and we got to see all the business about the placenta (thank you very much) and says “Now, let’s discuss the possibility of an episiotomy.”
Sure, let’s discuss that! What is that? A term for how great I’m going to feel throughout this process? Yes? Yes? NO. It turns out that our bodies ladies, the bodies that supposedly are “built to have babies” sometimes need a little help. Let me put this into terms you’ll understand. Are you planning on procreating? You are? Well that’s fantastic! But do me a favour, turn and look at the man sitting next to you. The one who’s excited about the upcoming coitus, you know the guy. Yeah, check out the circumference of his head. Got a big one does he? Just remember, if you get dealt the biological shitty hand and your future baby gets his big cranium, it’s you that has to push that thing out. Sound doable? Well what happens if you can’t hack it, huh? Do you have the slightest idea what they suggest you let the doctors do to you? Cutty-cut-cut, folks. Snippy-snip-snip your lady parts. Indeed. Then baby comes out and they stitch you back up like it’s no friggin’ big deal and they act like you weren’t just mutilated and hacked up by a Doctor suspiciously named Freddie Kreuger, which I’m sorry, but it seems you were. Why wasn’t this brought up to me as a possibility during labour way before now?! Do you know what would have cooled my jets in the boudoir the night mexi-bean was created? THESE FACTS, PEOPLE. What the hell are they teaching in schools again? Safe sex? Idiots! Tell those 12 years old girls about getting their whoohahs chopped open and I guarantee those kids will be abstaining till they are forty. Someone alert the bloody government!
At the time, I was beginning to sweat. Suddenly wracking my brain trying to think how I could get myself not only out of the room but out of this whole labour experience completely. I’ll just tell the baby to stay in me. No problem. We’ll be the first to do so and therefore change the world! I had an urgent need to pee, throw up and run away all at the same time. I looked over at hubby and he’s looking back at me with an expression saying, “Did I just hear that correctly? Poor you!” You’re damn right poor me. The bad news just keeps on coming. When they say crowning is the worst part, they meant it. And they had scissors in their hands.
I know there were other parts of the day when I almost fell out of my chair or off my birthing ball from other shocking admissions, but they all seem to pale in comparison to that one. This was the information I was hoping I would never find out until it was upon me and I had no choice but to say, “Sure Doc, freeze my cootch and snip away!” Some times it’s better going in blind in some situations. Now it’s all I can think about, and I’m pretty sure all the other information has gone right out of my head! So when they tell me to push, I’ll say “Huh?” and when they say “Time to deliver the placenta,” I’ll reply, “The what now?” and when they say here is your beautiful new baby, I’ll be crying “Come on, did you guys cut my cootch? Did you? Just lay it on me, I want the truth. J hold the baby, I got to take care of this. Tell it to me straight Doc, how is she?”