Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Child Birth

The books tell you you'll experience a great rush of love and form an instant bond with the child that will never be broken.
The maternal types tell you it was painful, yes, but so worthwhile.

It isn't.
Worthwhile, that is.

I went into labour at 11 'o' clock at night, just as I'd drifted off to sleep. I spent two hours vomiting and shitting uncontrollably. When that eased enough for me to get in a taxi, I went up to the hospital and was put in a room where I vomitted some more. Then the nurse stuck a metal contraption up inside me that hurt as much as the contractions did.

I was moved to another room where the midwives stood in the corner and chatted about Coronation Street while I screamed. I distinctly remember one of them yelling at me to shut up because I was giving her a headache.

Eventually I got an epidural which hurt like a bastard but was very much worth it. But I couldn't feel the contractions and wasn't able to push, so they let it wear off. I felt every second of that horrific, alien type creature tearing my bloody vagina in two as it pushed it's way out of me.

The midwife asked my partner to watch the head emerging, just to add to my humiliation.

Then they plonked the little bastard on my chest, slimey and writhing about, jabbed me with a needle and hauled out the after birth, at which my partner screamed, "Arghh! It looks like an alien!"

They tried to force me to breastfeed. When I couldn't, they enlisted my partner to force me to do it, all the while trying to stich up my ruined body without anesthetic.

They left me alone in the room with it for a while, so we could 'bond'. If there had been a bucket of water nearby, I would have drowned it.

After that, they asked me to manouvre myself from the bed to the trolley, so they could take me to a ward. I couldn't lean on my hand because it still had a line in it, and it hurt. They shouted at me for that.

On the ward, everybody was given food for their tea except me, because I hadn't been there when they came round to ask who wanted what. I hadn't eaten in two days. They offered my partner tea and toast, but not me. I ate a box of After Eights that my Mum brought me.

That was exactly five years ago today. I still have flashbacks and nightmares about it. I can't stand being near newborns or heavily pregnant women. A labour scene coming on the television without warning makes me hysterical. I can't bear loud noises. I self harm. I ended my last relationship with a wonderful man who I love very much because I'm too frightened to have sex and risk pregnancy. He said he wasn't in it for the sex (!) and understood, and would wait, but even the possibility of pregnancy was too much.


Anonymous Nicola Cairncross said...

This was so sad. Worse than my mum's story of giving birth in the 60's and that was bad - and you are talking about the 90's.

You sound very brave and I'm going to try to find your RSS Feed so I can read your blog on a regular basis. GREAT PHOTOS! are you doing anything with those?

Motherhood, even when you want it, aint' no picnic and nobody tells you that. You have sure got it worse than most though with your son's challenges which become yours (have you read the Curious Story of the Dog In The Night? wont' make you feel better but might make you laugh)

Keep bloggin' babe as I find it helps!

Love Nicola

4:20 PM  
Blogger Aine said...

Hi Nicola :)

I've got that book beside me on the shelf. It's great, isn't it?

The photo's aren't all mine, so, nope, not doing anything with them. But I plan on getting more of mine up as soon as my camera's fixed.

Thanks for commenting, you've made my morning!


3:41 AM  
Blogger Aine said...

Thanks for mentioning RSS feeds to me. I knew there was something I hadn't done yet!

You can find it at the top of my links list.


8:34 AM  
Blogger xERYNx said...

I have read these old entries on your blog hundreds of times now, I think. I don't know if you'll get this comment, given that it's been more than 5 years, but I feel I need to say something to you anyways. I am a depressed single mom as well. My daughter is 2, and she is not autistic but extremely gifted (which comes with a set of challenges in itself, many of which mimic autistm) so I relate to your stories of your son's habits and idiosyncracies. My daughter's father is severely mentally ill (much like The Sod's ex that you discussed at one point) and no matter how I try, I cannot get him out of my life. I am fighting in court for complete custody of our daughter (in Canada, that's basically a termination of most of dad's parental rights).
I suffer from major depression, I'm a full time online student so I'm trapped up in my house a lot. Some days, if I can convince my daughter to join me, I work from bed and don't get up at all. My little flat is filthy - coated in laundry and toys and crumbs and popsicle drippings. I want to remedy that, but can't get started. I love my daughter very much, but a 2-year-old as my only companion gets lonely. So much of what you said here resonates with me. Why can't you be my nextdoor neighour? I suspect we'd be great friends. Anyways, if you get this, I'd love to talk. Do you have a new blog? I haven't really bothered to start one yet... but I'm getting there.
You can reach me at xerynleighx@gmail.com
Hope this finds you happy and healthy, and The Boy too!

8:00 PM  

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