3 hours ago
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
The 12 stages of having a C-section
Stage 1: Disbelief
So who decided it's a good idea to let you lie there, awake, while they cut open your belly and poke around, even if there's a sheet draped over the area? Is this really happening? What's that weird pressure? How is it possible you are all joking about politics, as if you're sitting around in a bar, when what's going on is this: Your guts are completely exposed and they are about to fish out your B-A-B-Y?
Stage 2: Disgust
Ugh. What's that smoke?! Very funny, doc, but the resident isn't lighting up a cigarette. Actually, you do not want to know what part of your flesh they are cauterizing. Also: Some aromatherapy would be appreciated right about now.
Stage 3: Fantasy
Wouldn't it be nice if they could do a little liposuction while they're in there?
Stage 4: Utter and total amazement
OH MY GOD—THEY CAN SEE HIM?! He looks good? OH MY GOD HE'S CRYING! It's him!!! It's him!!!! This WHOLE ENTIRE BABY fit inside your belly! OH MY GOD!!! He actually does kind of look like those 3D photos but thankfully his nose is less blob-like! THIS IS THE BABY WHO WAS IN YOUR BELLY!!! AND NOW HE'S HEEEEEEERE!!! OH. MY. GOD!!!
Is it too late to do liposuction?
Stage 5: Pain
How can it hurt so much to move so little? Yes, you will valiantly attempt to pull up your torso by holding onto the rails of the hospital bed and then awkwardly swing your legs over to the floor while grimacing and try to take a step or two, but for the love of God please stop watching.
Stage 6: More disgust
And you thought periods were gross.
Stage 7: Tree trunks
Your ankles: They are gone. What's with all that swelling? It's so not fair that you are getting pregnancy cankles after having the baby. Oh, yes, you look extra-glam shuffling down the hospital hallway.
Stage 8: Denial
In which you hope that the nurses don't realize how many pairs of disposable mesh underwear you are hoarding.
Stage 9: Total freakout
How are you going to get up the stairs in your house/get in and out of bed/care for this munchkin on your own when your midsection is still aching? And what do they mean you are not supposed to drive for six weeks? They want you to be a prisoner of your own home with an infant? What kind of torture is that? And what do they mean "some discharge" is "normal"? Eww.
Stage 10: Not gonna look. Not gonna look. Not gonna.... EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
It's a good thing this baby is keeping you occupied practically 24/7, and delirious the other times, because you don't have time to check how the wound looks. Also: Doing that would entail lifting the roll of flab formerly known as your belly, and you are so not going there. Well, OK, maybe you'll just take a little peek.
It's like a war zone down there.
Stage 11: Healing
Mortification: When the doctor has to lift up the roll of blubber to examine the wound, which evidently has healed. Not that you know, because you have wisely decided to ignore the area and focus on your other fab parts, like your wrists and earlobes.
Stage 12: Eternal sacrifice
"Mommy, why is there a red line on your belly?"
[In your head: "These are the sacrifices mothers make for their children!"]
To your kid: "That's where the doctor got you out of my belly, sweetie. And you were beautiful right from the start."
Posted by Ellen Seidman at 6:40 AM