Persephone: Parent

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Druggie Paranoid Racist!

on May 31, 2013

This is part of my labour story. Not the graphic detail kinda labour story. And not the ins/outs, blow by blow either. This is me on drugs.

I’ve never before taken any kind of medication stronger than what doctors prescribe for basic ailments; the first time I took co-codamol, I woke up a day later! Oddly in all my “research” and reading concerning labour – you know trying to get the basic facts of such a varied time – I never really read about drugs affects on the mother. There’s info on how it kills or numbs the pain, maybe how it works on mother and child. But I certainly don’t remember any information on the trip that was my labour!

I’m going to say that I had a difficult labour, not in that there were complications just that it was, perhaps, awkward. Because of being induced, Elvis had to be constantly monitored and he soon decided that the only position he’d allow himself to be monitored in was a position I found uncomfortable.

So due to the awkwardness, I had to make the most of my gas and air mouthpiece.

And what a trip that was.

Seriously, why did no one tell me that breathing gas and air would make me a paranoid racist?

Let’s see, on one particular go, hubby and midwife were sitting either side of me as a dance remix of a Westlife song played and they sat there laughing as the room spun. For the record the dance beat over the song was actually Elvis’ heartbeat.

On another mass inhalation, I became convinced that the midwife was conspiring with the trainee doctor about how wrong everything was going.

On another I was adamant that there was a problem because the midwife had left the room. Hubby tried to reassure me that there was nothing wrong and, now drug free, it’s obvious that if there had have been a problem the midwife wouldn’t have left the room.

I think at one point I even became convinced that hubby and midwife were keeping the horrendous truth from me – that there was something wrong with Elvis.

Of course there wasn’t (aside from his inability to be monitored), but on another trip, I was convinced that my hubby and the midwife (who neither of us had met before) were having an affair! I get where all the rest of my paranoia came from just not this one.

The best contraction based trip was when I (who solidly had her eyes closed the whole time) heard the male doctor and noticed he had an accent. Now other than to demand this man get my son out there was no other interaction between us. However, and this is the weirdest/funniest/strangest one, I then whispered to hubby : I’m going to say something racist. I’m going to say something racist and then he won’t treat me, he’ll let me die!

Firstly, I’m not racist. I have no idea what racist conment I was going to make. I think I was covering my back as I knew weird things kept happening.

Oh, and secondly, I didn’t whisper.

Sure there are worse things I could say or do whilst trying to give birth, but they’re all bodily functions not bloody psychological ones. On gas and air!

~ Persephone M

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