The Birth of… (Part Three)

1 Sep

So after pushing for two ungodly hours…

Side note: Thanks so much, Doc, for letting me push that long even though I kept telling you that I didn’t think things were progressing (and I imagine that you could definitely tell that things weren’t progressing, but didn’t respond to my comments). Oh yeah, and super thanks for following up my frustrated pleas that I just wanted the asshole baby out of me with: “Well, it’s all up to you.”

Really, lady? I think everyone in the room, included a pee- and poo-covered YOU, can attest to the fact that I literally was pushing my guts out. How I managed to not utter a big “Fuck you, you stupid mother fucker” at that moment is beyond me. Who knew I could maintain somewhat of a filter in such a time of stress?

So the doctor had just told me that we could try yanking Bug out of my vagina, but if that didn’t work, we’d have to do a C-section.


After a very light tug, the doctor decided that there was no way that the baby was going to come out my babyhole as intended.

People have asked me if this is when I totally freaked out. Surprisingly, no. Like I said before, I just wanted the dude out of my goddamn uterus. I’m pretty sure that if the doctor had suggested letting a pack of vampires gnaw the baby out of me, I would’ve ushered those sparkly douche bags in to the birthing suite with a smile.

I gave a quick goodbye to my family (who I guess were freaking out way more than I was) and was wheeled to the operating room. Mr. Bee was taken aside to get dressed in some ridiculous Hazmat suit. I’m guessing it was just a precaution in case Bug turned out to be radioactive?

I also got to wear a hawt shower cap, which was pretty considerate figuring that I had taken the time to flat iron my hair before we left for the hospital. Who knows what kinds of junk would be flying around when they cut in to me?

As Mr. Bee donned his hard hat and eye protection, I was wheeled in to the OR and thrown on to the table ER style. Doctors and nurses started prepping for surgery by counting all the instruments (which I kindly reminded them to please not leave in my abdomen unless it would somehow ensure me a free tummy tuck later) and the anesthesiologist settled down at my head to get me nice and numb.

See, friends, all this time, I’ve still been having contractions. I’ve just been completely without my support system to deal with them. So while I’m being laid out on the table with the big blue sheet up so I can’t see the God-awful things that they are about to do to me, I’m contorting about trying to get through contractions without hitting someone.

After 30 minutes (THIRTY MINUTES) of suffering through contractions and having to declare “Yep! STILL FEELING THEM!!!!”, the anesthesiologist finally got me numb enough for doctors to slice me open. Oh, and during that 30 minutes, I also got “prepped”. And by prepped, I mean that some poor nurse who totally doesn’t earn enough had to shave part of my…region.

This is where I sincerely apologized for the 1970′s porn-esque bush I had been maintaining (or not, as the case may be). She assured me that she had seen worse in her day and I felt obligated to explain my “I can’t see it therefore it doesn’t exist to me” pubic maintenance policy.

Honestly, I can’t believe that I’m allowed out in public most days.

At this point, I am laid out Jesus-on-the-cross style, with the big curtain up, and my right arm hooked up to a blood pressure cuff. Shockingly, I was tied down completely because, girlfriend, I was fucking seizing around from either shock or the fact that apparently the operating rooms were all occupied and they had chosen to open me up in the cafeteria’s freezer.

Seriously, I half-expected to see a piles of Drumsticks and ice cream sandwiches on the tables that surrounded me. Maybe the nurses had been counting plastic cutlery instead of operating implements? I swear to God if I end up getting sick because someone left a spork in me…it will be the most awesome thing EVER! I mean, how many people get to say that?

To recap, I’m so cold that I’m having shivers so severe that my entire body is shaking AND I’m still suffering through contractions AND THEN I notice my right hand. Remember, my right arm is hooked up to the blood pressure cuff? Well, apparently I was suffering some weird calcium deficiency that would cause my right hand to contort up every time the cuff filled with air.

That’s right, folks. Every few minutes I got Palsy Hand.

Also referred to as The Claw.

So, yeah, I was a fucking mess. And the baby wasn’t even out yet!

Since this post is ridiculously long, stay tuned for Part Four: Why I’d Rather Shoot A Baby Out My Vag Hole Than Have It Cut Out of Me. Shit, that’s a long subtitle…

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

6 Responses to “The Birth of… (Part Three)”

  1. Lacey September 1, 2010 at 4:30 pm #

    I’m dying laughing so hard. I’m sorry you experienced all of this, but DAMN you’re a good story teller! :)

  2. Keegan September 1, 2010 at 5:44 pm #


  3. Kassia September 1, 2010 at 6:16 pm #

    And now I’m super scared to have this child. Thanks.A.Lot.

  4. Betts September 1, 2010 at 6:31 pm #

    I’m gonna cut you some slack, because I know you’re in nipple shackles with the little Bug. But damn, girl, the waiting is killing me.

  5. Jenne September 2, 2010 at 9:27 am #

    I wish I had half your ability to express myself. You are FABULOUS and the story has kept me on the edge of my seat, sometimes laughing, sometimes choking (because I snorted my coffee while laughing/reading) but always in anticipation of your next installment. Until the next chapter in Bugs birth enjoy that little man and I’ll pray for your sanity, after all as the mother of 4 previous ankle biters I know sanity is in short supply with them in the house.

  6. Pearl Wisdom September 2, 2010 at 9:45 pm #

    He is such a cutie pie though… totally worth palsy hand!

    I think we should all send in a donation so you can purchase some of that speech to text software and dictate your blog posts hands free!

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