...and all is not well. New mothers have a naive and almost floral imagination about birth (They may deny this but seriously, its what we all hope for). You know, flowers, music, female solidarity - not slice and dice. I'm unceremoniously stitched up and have been wheeled down the corridor, and everyone is being positive and happy and talking above me, whilst the white square ceiling tiles rush past. I appear not to be joining in with the celebrations.
I'm slid onto a bed in the recovery room and its very dark and my new son is laying under, what I can only describe as, a toaster. He's a bit cold and needs heating up they tell me. Its just NOT what I was planning, and I am so tired I don't actually care anymore about anything. Oh and I now have to summon up the energy to breast feed like some earth mother. I can't even sit up without assistance, let alone be the all giving benevolent mistress of child birth.Who is this child anyway.Has everyone completely gone mad. Don't they understand that I've not slept for 3 or so days, have been politely butchered and jetisoned into unreality? Apparently not. Women give birth every day don't they.
Another room, another protocol. Buzzer here, swinging cot thing there, and catheter over the side of the bed. I feel completely cheated. And why is it I suddenly feel paranoid. I am truly in a dream state. I'm not awake but I don't think I'm sleeping. Reality has become a very odd shape.I have a screaming baby trying to eat from me and all I can think of is dropping him on his head to shut him up. Oh, and actually are you sure this is my baby and why do I still feel pregnant? My hold in the sane world at this point is fairly tenous. Oh yes, and I'm not telling anybody this. Would you? I know I'm not ok. However telling somebody at this point does not seem sensible. Maybe it'll pass? Maybe all mothers feel like this and it all part of the glorious journey.Um. Maybe not.
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