It's only 9 months... but it feels like Maternity...

Now Known As Postnatal Oppression

Monday, February 19, 2007

Sorry I haven't been keeping up to date with this blogging malarkey. But then, I know no-one's reading it, so I'm not really that sorry.

A couple of weeks ago I had yet another check-up with Dr. Onymous as the midwife was on holiday again. This time, I was the one who let us both down - I'd forgotten my notes and I hadn't wee'd in a pot. He didn't seem that bothered, in fact he seemed quite pleased that he didn't have to do anything as disgusting as look at my wee. We chatted a bit about my mum (who's managed to get shingles) and the weather, he wrote some stuff down on my medical notes that the surgery have, for the look of it really as he didn't want me to bring in the maternity ones later, and then I toddled off. I've said it before and I'll say it again, blind leading the blind...

Today I had my last scan, to determine whether or not my placenta's moved. It seems very weird to talk about 'my' placenta. This large lumpy organ, which I personally have grown, and which I'll get to meet later on - how weird is that? Don't get me wrong, I'm not keeping it or eating it or anything revolting like that. Anyway, the scan was over and done with in minutes - the sonographer was the same one from my very first scan, and she was pleasant enough, but I couldn't see the screen properly so every time she pointed something out I couldn't crane my neck quickly enough before she moved onto something else. All I could make out was that Spawn seemed to be quite squashed up in there, and was fast asleep. I did get told that he had a very full bladder though, and that the placenta was alright now.

I felt mixed emotions about this - it means that at the moment, I'm good to go for a normal delivery, ie, they don't see any reason why I'd need a c-section unless things go to cock on the day. So I'm most likely going to experience 'proper' labour then. More on this in a bit...

When I came out of the hospital, I suddenly got very upset - the sonographer hadn't asked me if I wanted a picture, and I hadn't thought to ask for one at the beginning, so it was too late once she'd finished. I came out feeling sticky from the blue jelly, and very rushed and unloved, and with nothing to show the husband. I rang his mobile, and he did a good job of cheering me up, even though he was in the middle of Official Police Business. He said that he hadn't thought we were going to get a picture today, and that we probably couldn't see anything much anyway seeing as the spawn was so scrunched up.

So back to Labour then. I have a few points I want to raise on this subject:
  • Why will no-one tell me honestly what it feels like? I feel that, the one thing that binds all mothers together, is this common experience of childbirth. This silvery, intangible thread joining us all together, for thousands of years, uniting not just humans, but all females from the dawn of time itself. So how come not one of the bitches will tell me what happens? All I'm getting is the odd comment, dropped in the middle of random conversations. "I was only four hours with my first one," doesn't exactly make things any clearer.
  • There has been the odd suggestion that none of them can actually remember what it was like. I get the impression that Nature is either very cruel or very kind, and as soon as you've got this thing out of you, it gives you amnesia - otherwise I wonder how many women would go through it all again...? "You forget all about it as soon as you've got your baby," one friend told me. Hmmm. We'll see. I will be documenting everything on here for future reference. The women who come after me need me to do this.
  • In some ways, I am looking forward to it, so I can finally know what it's all about. It is like this big secret (that no-one talks about, because they can't remember) and you only get let in on it if you join their club. I wonder if soldiers who have fought in battles feel similar? A world you could never imagine if you have never experienced it for yourself, and you can't explain to someone who's never been through it. Am I going to have the mysteries of the universe revealed to me at last?
  • In other ways, I am TOTALLY cacking myself. How in the hell am I actually going to get this thing out of me? It's a really big lump now. I tried to ask the husband this. I pointed out to him the size of the intended exit relative to the size of the lump (I turned side-on at one point, for purposes of demonstration), and that the two were not even closely matched shape-wise, let alone anything else. He found the whole conversation stomach-clenchingly, tear-streamingly funny. Nobody seems to be overly concerned about this apart from me - I keep being told "Well, it's too late to worry about that now," or "Oh you'll be just fine!" I bloody won't. We're looking at serious amounts of pain here people... I can't bear to even think about it.


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