On childbirth

Okay friends and neighbors, here comes a rant that a lot of people are going to be offended by.

This article http://thestir.cafemom.com/baby/112145/birth_rape_is_real kind of pisses me off. Having been through pregnancy FOUR times, I can attest to how difficult it can be to live with mood swings, cravings, morning sickness, iron deficiencies, constipation, acid reflux, cankles, sore and itchy breasts, everything being swollen out of all proportion, etc, etc; al, I know a thing or two about the process.

My first pregnancy was rather short and ended in miscarriage around 11 weeks.

My second pregnancy, I was so freaked out and worried that I would lose another baby, I went a little crazy. I read the books, the magazines, the articles about being pregnant and what it's like to be a new mom. I watched A Baby Story religiously and even made a point of looking up videos of women giving birth on the internet. I tracked the progress of a virtual baby week by week and was able to envision that this was going on inside me right now. For nearly a year, I waited and paced and waited and thought that I was making myself ready to give birth to this new person who would be so beautiful and wonderful and awesome. Those women on a baby story made it look like a breeze and those internet birthing videos didn't look too bad, maybe a little uncomfortable.

You know what I discovered when my water broke? The cake is a fucking lie. There are wires and hoses and monitors and belts and straps and - did I say hoses? Becuase there were hoses - little salad spoon looking things and little satellite dish looking things and things that go boop and things that go beep and needles - my GOD the needles - and bags and pans EVERY fucking where. And that's just the equipment they use during labor!

I went into the hospital through the ER, which is what my doctor had instructed me to do when I was in labor, only to be told that I needed to take a seat and wait my turn. Let me say that again - The triage nurse told me to WAIT MY TURN. So I flagged down another nurse who looked busy, but who actually looked at my face when I spoke to her, and explained how I was going to have a baby very very soon. She got me a wheelchair and took me over to someone who could wheel me to labor and delivery.

So, they took me to the little suite where they do the exams on us poor women who "think" we're in labor and a nice lady gave me a gown with instructions to completely disrobe and put it on. So now I'm pretty much naked in this little room by myself and my boyfriend is wandering around the hospital, like most men do when their significant other is in labor, looking lost and confused. Then the lady comes back with a little jar of litmus strip looking things in hand and I ask her, "What is that for?" So, she explains that this particular paper/gauze/stick thingy is to be inserted into my vagina to verify that my water has broken. Which I found very confusing because I already told them that my water had indeed broken. I mean, that's the whole reason I came to the hospital, lady. DUH! But she explains that LOTS of women just pee themselves and think its their water breaking, so it's time to lay back and spread 'em for verification. Oh how I resent being accused of lying or exaggeration. I am a big girl, I know when water is coming from my pee hole and when it is not.

Lo and behold, my water was ACTUALLY broken (!) and so, they moved me on over to the labor room but I wasn't allowed to walk any more because they were afraid of something called cord prolapse which no one had mentioned to me before this, ever. So, into the chair I go to be wheeled to a bed where I will be forced to lay until a person comes flying out of my hoohah. No problem, right? Riiiiight.

During my ten hours of labor - which, as I understand it, is a fairly quick labor - I am told that my contractions aren't strong enough and the baby has to come today or else I will get sepsis and maybe even die. That doesn't sound very jolly to me. However, they have this handy drug that will make things go much faster and probably stop me from dying - which they explained to me as they were hooking it up to an IV they'd already run. I wasn't really given a choice and really would have preferred NOT to take this drug but it was done and I had other things to worry about since one of the nurses examining me had no gloves on (ugh) while she was adjusting monitors between my legs. I was told that I NEEDED an epidural, not that one was strongly suggested but that I NEEDED it because my contractions were reaching a point where my eyes were watering excessively when they peaked. To be clear, I was not actually crying but tears were flowing freely and involuntarily, which was then interpreted as me being in lots of pain. It actually did not hurt that bad.

Pushing onward, I was forced to lay on my left side because the drugs I was given, coupled with the epidural (remember, I did not ask for either of them) were causing my blood pressure to fall. I protested LOUDLY that I really just needed to be out of that bed and walking, but I couldn't do that because my legs were stupid. I still felt pain in my abdomen and a burning sensation in my nethers, but the eye watering was stopped so the doctors were confident that their "pain relief" was successful. - Let me just interrupt myself to say this much. An epidural is painful, scary, and really does not make you completely numb the way it is made out to do by everyone who ever had one. - What do you suppose they did for me when my blood pressure was too low? Stop giving me the drugs that were causing it? No, that would make too much fucking sense! No, they gave me ANOTHER drug! Ephedrine, oh goodie. That stuff is not happy, I tell you. After three doses of that in as many hours, they told me I couldn't have any more because I was maxed out on it. As such, one of two things had to happen within 2 hours. My blood pressure had to stabilize or I had to deliver.

Now, mind you, during all of this my own doctor who had taken care of me throughout my pregnancy was NOT on call and some stranger was calling the shots. I vowed I would NOT be giving birth until my doctor - MY doctor, who I knew and trusted and felt safe with - came to the room. And I didn't. When the moment of truth arrived, my doctor came through the door as if he'd been there all along, scrubbed up while they were latching me into the stirrups, and then took a seat with his little catcher's mitt.

In the end of things, he had to get a suction cup to pull the babies head sideways because they'd left me on my left side so long she was trying to exit through my hip. All told 23 perfect strangers, 1 doctor who I never even laid eyes on, 1 doctor who I knew, 3 family members and the father of my baby saw my goodies on display and/or inserted something into them during the course of that day. LOTS of drugs that I did not want were given me, instruments that I could not name were used on in and around me and I was generally exhausted and starving by the time I finally could feel my toes again.

Giving birth is a TRAUMATIC experience all by itsself. Add 12-40 strangers coming and going and checking and adjusting while you are laboring and you will feel very much violated. Just like every other woman who came before you to have a fucking child did. Long and short - put on your goddamn big girl panties, understand that you are NOT GOING TO LIKE THIS, and stop being a whiny cuntbag. If you want to have a baby, you have to go through the probulatron just like the rest of us did, fucker.