The morning after Finley was born (via emergency C-Section around 11.30pm the previous night), my husband went home for a shower. He was gone, I would say for no longer than three hours but during that time I had several very odd visitors. They were separate visits for different reasons but they were some of the most bizarre conversations I’ve had in my life. Of course this could have been because I was high on drugs and hadn’t slept in almost 3 days but equally it could have been because they were all bloody nutters.
Really its inconclusive.
The first was a man, who was very serious and had come to tell me the results of a test they had done on my baby. He had a face like I should be worried, so I focused my eyes with sober intent and tried not to slur. He sat down, looked straight at me, all but held my hand and pronounced:
“Regrettably, baby Finley’s left testicle has not yet fully descended.”
I may have laughed.
In fact I did laugh, because it was about testicles and I thought he was a ‘your son has a second head growing out of his arse’ kinda Doctor. Even as a new Mother, I knew that ball dropping shit or lack thereof was no big deal. These things tend to sort themselves out on their own and if they don’t well there’s an operation for that.
Looking back now, this response was most likely my very first black mark on the ‘Bad Mum List’. I should have taken his testicle issue more seriously, solemnly nodded my head and agreed with the Doctor about its regret ability.
Oh well, you live, you learn.
Anyway the next visit was from a woman and she was certainly very Senior. She was dressed very smart, she was very posh and her perfume was overpowering. She did in fact hold my hand and again wanted to look deeply into my eyes. Why does all the weird shit happen when my husband isn’t around?
I don’t know who she was, she could have been a Doctor, she could have been a Psychiatrist – I suppose she could even have been a Lawyer, sadly we will never know. But she had come to ask me, less than 12 hours later, how I was feeling about my C-Section. Not how I was physically feeling as a result, but how I felt about having had a C-Section.
“Do you understand why you had an Emergency C-Section?”
“Do you have questions about it?”
Let me tell you, I am a huge fan of my Emergency C-Section, I cannot rave enough about it – and I probably did. After an incredibly painful and pointless induction that dragged out for over 24 hours – being drugged up, hooked up and sliced open was a Godsend. I am not being sarcastic. My C-section was quick, painless and calm, everything that the previous day and night hadn’t been. The only question I had, was why did they torture me for so long beforehand – why wasn’t it done sooner?
And then she said…
“You really mustn’t worry, this in no way means you have to have a Caesarean with your future children.”
MY WHAT THE FUCK NOW?
Correct me if I’m wrong, but ain’t nobody – whether they had a C-Section or a vaginal birth or one that popped out of their FRIGGING ear hole, is considering how they might birth their fictional future children – a mere 12 hours after birthing their current one.
Again, I’m pretty sure I laughed at her. Was she telling a joke? Was this a test? Was she even really there? It’s a mystery…
My third ghost was definitely a Midwife, The Ghost of Room Temperatures Present. She certainly chalked me up for bad-mummying and was quite clearly having a bad day. Having never clapped eyes on each other before, she marched into my room and reprimanded me for having an open window.
“That window is causing a draft and your baby is cold!” She declared.
Needless to say, being bed bound I had not been the one to open the window. Nor had she in fact, asked my baby if he was indeed cold. But given it was August and the kid was wearing a motherfucking hat – she was probably right. She slammed the window shut and went about her business – possibly to terrify more Mothers and babies, who knows?
I was yet to venture off the bed and still had a catheter up my jacksy, so there was very little I could do about all this. We both boiled in fear until my Husband returned, who promptly told me off for having shut the window and letting the baby get too hot.
Ah fucking Mum life, hey?