Four months ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. And I am still surprised that she isn’t hiding in my uterus because of the unspeakable, scary things that were said to her mother during labour.
‘Oh, this pain is just 20 percent of what you’ll be feeling a few hours later’
Why, thank you doctor for that uplifting assurance, given while I was practically rolling about the floor in agony. I don’t know why some practitioners seem to relish freaking out patients in pain – another woman I know was even told that ‘if this pain is Kanyakumari, just you wait till you get to Kashmir’. Guess what? Such statements are NOT helpful. I was fairly stoic up to the point that I met this doctor, but I completely broke down after her cheery reminder. Instead of getting through each moment, I started seeing labour as this huge mountain of pain that I wasn’t even halfway through. She also did not take my reported pain seriously, which meant that I went through several hours alone in my room rather than in the labour area where there were tools that could have helped me cope. In the end I was taken to the delivery room when I was almost fully dilated. I should have used her face as a stress-busting ball.
‘You do not need an epidural’
NOT your call to make, doctor. There is no excuse for disrespecting the reasonable desires of a patient. In the end I had to kick up a huge fuss and was given pain relief only when I was 7cm dilated and it was removed (against my wishes) when I was at 10cm. The anaesthesiologist was quite annoyed when she was sticking in the needle because my hard and fast contractions kept interrupting the process. But wait, she was a bitch too. See my next point.
‘Wow, you really piled on the kilos’
OK, I admit it. There was no need for me to have used my pregnancy to have inhaled huge slabs of steak (for the iron, of course) or those tall, icy chocolate milkshakes (for the calcium of course), but the delivery table was not the place to chastise me for my lack of discipline. The anaesthesiologist kept whining about how my back fat was making it more difficult for her to give me the epidural and wasn’t it a shame that pregnant women used their condition as an excuse to overeat. It wasn’t enough that I was bare assed and in excruciating pain. I had to feel shame over my body too, which despite the unsightly flab was actually doing something pretty cool – giving birth! I finally snapped and told the doctor ‘If I apologize for eating too much, will you do your job?’ Luckily, she did, but though my physical pain eased I was left with an uncomfortable and unnecessary feeling of embarrassment.
‘Do potty! Do potty!’
I am a modest sort of person when it comes to my body. Changing rooms are like torture chambers to me and when I am in a stranger’s house, I leave water running when I take a piss. One of my top fears in the run-up to giving birth was pooping on the delivery table. I know it isn’t rational to worry about such things when a little human being is shooting out of your uterus and tearing its way out of your vagina, but that’s me. It was one indignity I didn’t want to go through. One of the nurses, unfortunately, did not know this, so when the time came to push, her advice was to ‘push like when you go potty’. I froze immediately and told her that I’d rather let the baby calcify inside me than do potty. She just chuckled, pretty much climbed on top of me and screamed even harder, ‘push push push. Potty karo potty karo. Do potty do potty’. At that moment I gave up and the poor baby had to be suctioned out with a vacuum! Advice: LISTEN to what a patient is telling you.