The Pregnancy Diaries - The Truth About Labour

I've been promising to write this post for a long time now. Just to clear any doubts, I am not pregnant again, I am still recovering from the first one.

Disclaimer: Extreme content, reading of which may cause shock, blackouts and a possible gut wrench.
Double Disclaimer for the Pregnant Girls: Don't read this. If you're still reading this, beware, content may induce labour; keep your emergency contact informed.

It's been about four years since I found out I was pregnant, was a hormonal bitch, ate anything and everything that came my way, grew from being a huge cow to an enormous whale and then finally popped. I wish the popping bit was just as easy but no, here come the gory details. Have I mentioned before that I remember everything about my delivery? And no amount of watching birthing videos and burying your head in 'what to expect' can prepare you for this. For one, 'what to expect' makes childbirth sound easy and never tells you about the bitching pain that is labour. You'd think popping the baby would be the most difficult part right? Newsflash, it isn't.

Let me take you through what happened that day.
At about 11:30 at night, on the 15th of Dec, I felt an acute pain. But it came like a flash and was gone. When you read so much about pregnancy, you automatically analyse symptoms and then come to the conclusion that it is false labour and there is no need to panic or rush to the hospital. It could also be gas and to save yourself embarrassment you call it false labour and stay put at home.  Half an hour later the pain came again, don't worry I won't be taking you through a half hourly tour of my ordeal. From about one in the morning (16th Dec) it became a little more frequent, so I decided to go to the hospital, just in case. I was very sure that the nurse would send me away saying it was false labour, but instead I was given a hospital gown, after being thoroughly prodded. 

I thought,'This is not bad, the baby should be coming out maybe in another hour or two, tops'. Wrong again! The pains were now getting rough to handle and I was crouching like somebody had punched me in the stomach. I heard a few women in the labour ward screaming, like they were having Rosemary's baby and not their own.
I decided to remain calm, not cry, not scream and have a dignified birthing process. All of those things when right out of the window when the doctor decided to induce me with a drug from hell. You see it was twelve o clock in the afternoon, I was supposedly having frequent contractions since one o clock that morning and nothing really had progressed in eleven hours. That means, the doctor saw that I was not in 'enough' pain and decided to give me some more. 
After twelve o clock, I am sure I was in hell and all the nurses and doctors were the minions of the devil doing his bidding, by ignoring my cries and pleas for the epidural. I actually begged for it, I am not making this up. Every time I asked for the drugs, my sheet would go up, there would be some prodding and a curt 'Now is not the time'. I think they were waiting for the time of the Blood Moon, the reverse eclipse, to offer me as a sacrifice. I kind of knew that at some time during my labour I would be reduced to a crying and screaming state, but begging, that too for drugs, now that was the low point.

And then there was this lady in a bed next to mine, who was moaning; the sounds were like sex noises but the labour ward, if anything, can definitely not turn you on. After about 20 minutes of some more moaning she was whisked away to the delivery room to have a baby! Here I was, the screaming, begging lunatic, with no sign of a baby coming out in the near future watching a slightly moaning lady being taken to the delivery room. 'She needs to be in more pain', I thought.

Anyway, at four o clock, after four hours of relentless labour, and still no baby, I heard the word,'epidural'. I was taken to the delivery room and pricked in the spine, but was way too exhausted to feel any pain. Then I felt this cool flow throughout my spine and the pain was magically disappearing. The doctor then tells me, that I would not be receiving a 100% epidural only 75% so that I would be able to cooperate with the nurses when it was time to push the baby out. I thought, 'Oh 75% can't be that bad, what is 25% of pain, should be alright.' Wrong yet again! This party keeps getting better.

The epidural gave me some relief though and I was feeling better. Of course, being in no pain is always a wonderful feeling. Santhosh came in around that time, he drove from Bangalore and came straight to the hospital; When he saw me all the blood drained from his face. It probably looked like the hell hounds got me but I was actually now relaxed and feeling rested, some drugs are just wonderful. I don't think he would've lasted even one minute if he had seen me in the state I had just come out of. If he stayed longer I am sure he would be in a hospital bed being treated for extreme shock and probably nausea.

Now that the idiot doctor had given me only 75% of the epidural, after 2 hours the pain was back. That pain was now concentrated on the left side of my hip, because it was supposedly reduced to 25%. It was so terrible that I thought my pancreas and left kidney would be coming out along with the baby. The screaming, crying and begging started all over again and went on for another three and a half hours.

What happened in those three and a half hours and the miracle that is birth, in my next post.

Coffee Shop Talk

Just when I thought I'd be posting regularly here. Oh well, old habits die hard. Also, I think this old blog needs a new look. It's oh so coffee shop, all beige and warm and so cosy that you can sit there all day lost in a book drinking a large cup of extra hot coffee that will last you long enough to keep you contained in the chair which is actually a mini couch. Err, I'm sorry, I guess I am in love with coffee shops and small cafes and that is why I haven't had the heart to change the way this page looks. And these kind of ruminations give rise to uncomfortably long sentences.

Do you enjoy your melancholy time in a coffee shop or have had that now lost pleasure and miss it? I know I have and do I miss it. Come to think of it, my daughter and husband are both gone during the day, I can brew myself a mean cup of coffee, I have a fairly comfortable couch and books all around. Why then do I not get that "feeling". Do you know what I'm talking about or is this just nonsensical babble to you. I know I'd be happier reading my book in that coffee shop than at home. But nowadays, that coffee shop is a far cry even though one just opened next door (I'm not making this up) and the majority of my reading is done in the public transport and my comfortable bed which puts me to sleep before I have read two pages, ok maybe fifteen, but that's not enough reading for a day.

One year, which was a long time ago, I was at Starbucks almost every weekend, eyeing my favourite chair while I waited to get my coffee and sandwich. I didn't think Starbucks made the best coffee, but it provided me with the most suitable ambience. It had the lovely smells, the best couches, tiny enough to be cosy and large enough not to be stamped on while the new guy goes scouting for a seat.

Have you heard about the "Starbucks Posers", apparently they are the ones who bring their work to the coffee shop, drinking their coffee and pretending to work. I hope we bookworms are not on that list. 

Today as I was just getting out of the mall, I saw the familiar lady against the green background. I know there is no Starbucks in Oslo, but there was no mistaking this lady. I had to make a choice between picking up Kicky from kindergarten and checking out the newly opened coffee place. Of course, I was going to pick Kicky. I checked the Internet once I got home and it was true. Starbucks was here. 

Does that mean I am going to be have a tryst every weekend with a tall, extra hot, cappuccino? Not likely, but it warrants one visit for old time's sake.