FUCK CSECTIONS.
Yeah I said it. Duh, right? I still am gonna say it forever, cause Ive had three of these gory brutal invasive terrifying fucking surgeries, THREE babies whose mother was a complete drugged out invalid, Each fucking cesarean was a hundred times worse than the previous one--no fuck that--a thousand times worse, then ten thousand. I promise you. Who am I directing this to, exactly? Poor pregnant ladies? Hardly. The mean old doctor who hates you and cuts you up for no reason? har har, but nope. Just to the WORLD. To the fucking world. You all need to fully grasp what a crock and a farce and a huge, HUGE deal this thing is. this thing that is apparently happening to nearly half of all the mamas-- HALF???? That chapter in the cheesy pregnancy book you kinda didnt even read cause it was a bummer and bad luck--well its all fucking LIES, my darlings, the little lady doing some weird sit-up in some gross leotard--no. This is not the scenario, THIS IS NOT WHAT MY CSECTION WAS LIKE, AT ALL. It wasnt about a fucking nursing pillow or fucking tylenols or fucking deep breathing. It was about searing, sizzling, jolting, clunking, crushing, swollen, twisted, lost, misplaced organs, it is about being a broken, oh so fucking broken fucking flower, a beautiful tragic flower, with a rose for a head, strong green leaves at the base, and a pulverized, decimated liquid mush covered in tears and staples and milk and gauze and pus dandelion stem.
A pregnancy, a beautiful live healthy baby--the blessing is too overwhelming to comprehend-- this alien swirling and swelling your every moment towards ultimate ripeness--and to think of how the mother, the vessel of life, the beautiful gigantic rose pregnant goddess mama, laid out naked and fucking STRAPPED down to a metal SLAB, robot lights zooming down upon her purest glory with blue nasty spearmint sinister glowering glare--to think of then TAKING A KNIFE--A __KNIFE!!!!!__ and searing right into her like that???? It stands in direct opposition of everything that has transpired for 10 moons.
And what of the baby? Oh, the dear baby-- well its so difficult explain how a sectioned woman receiving her child is from the truly transcendent supernova that is reaching down into yourself--your SELF and lifting up your baby. Upside down vomiting into your eyes and nose and seeing a small tunnel visioned glimpse of some red face in a blanket while there are deafening gurgling suction noises coming from behind the magic curtain....well it is cool, to see your baby's face a little bit, its awesome that the baby is "here", alive and whole, but pretty much your body can't decide whether to shake uncontrollably, to vomit violently, retching for air, or just nod in and out of consciousness for the next undisclosed time period. So um, no, it ain't really the same, hmm?
One can only wonder how they seal the deal--I hear there is a lot more medical glue and a lot less stitches going on nowadays. I like that I have to learn about my own belly from the internet, lemme tell you. But they do it roughly, they do it rote-ly, and they don't go easy--after all, you are still numb, and they don't ever have to see you again. So expect extensive, alarming bruising, inside and out. Then the lovely staples. STAPLES??? I almost fucking fainted when some nonchalant bitch , one of hundreds of non chalant childless mean 23 year old bitches who would fucking PARADE into my bedroom-- well it is isnt it? You are in bed barely clothed--so it is your bedroom--when she told me "You gotta watch out for yer staples, bla blabla" MY WHA??? S T A P L E S??? I was horrified, alarmed, scared. I felt that magic curtain come back up, whenever "the wound" was discussed, I just felt it go up up up and we were all just chatting about some other poor old soul who has been attacked by King Arthur's best swordsman or some shit--right? My staples? blech!!!!!
But you do get the courteous little gauze patch, its size rather belying the extent of your actual injuries-- are you fucking kidding me, I feel like a foolish fucking moron with this tiny little white rectangle taped to my upper crotch, someone come in this room and give me a full body cast, some blipping machinery, and a continuous drip of actual fucking painkillers that actually work!!! Hell, I could have used one of those halo things that head injury victims use, where you have your entire head encircled with a metal ring and that ring is connected to your shoulders--that is just the tip of the iceburg of how much insane pain I was in after I had my Eska.
Thats all for tonight. its taken me 21 months to even hint at a real honest birth story of Eskarina, but maybe this small post will help unveil everything to anyone who still reads this blog.
