“To give birth or not to give birth,” that is the question. Elders often say that you can’t really repay your mother for all that she’s done for you if you haven’t experienced being a mother yourself. I don’t quite agree with this pronouncement. For one reason or another, not all members of the female species are bestowed with the ability to give birth. Others choose single-blessedness. And still there are those who opt not to have kids at all. It’s everyone’s prerogative really; to each his own.
I never thought of myself as a mother. I never even thought of marrying to begin with. But as fate would have it, I married and I am now a mom (and proud to be one!). But being a mom isn’t all just fun and excitement. Along with the joy and blissfulness that accompany motherhood is the one thing that most first-time moms fear greatly, the pain of giving birth.
“What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” so they say. But what we do know will hurt us greatly. There is much to be said and heard and read about giving birth. And who else would tell you a great deal about it but those who have already experienced it. And none of them says it’s easy. And the pain that goes with it is yet another story.
And so it was that the nine months went by oh so swiftly and the day I dreaded the most came like a breeze. It was time and there’s no backing out. There’s really nothing much I could do but look forward to the time that the whole procedure is over. That’s how I psyche myself when things that give me so much stress is forthcoming — look for when the thing is finished, ended, kaput!
And on that fated day of July 7, 2006, I woke up rather early, having been admitted to the hospital the night before, to receive my fleet enema before my caesarean delivery. And you couldn’t imagine how time flew so fast that I was wheeled to the delivery room and was prepped for the procedure, all the while trying to maintain my composure and convincing myself that it was all going to be fast and that it would be over even before it started.
And I saw the nurses, my anesthesiologist, an assisting doctor, and my O.B. Gyn. I should have been comforted knowing that I had one of the best doctors to perform the procedure and was in a good hospital. I was in good hands really but all the more that I was scared out of my wits. Why? Because all the time that an IV needle was being inserted on my left hand, the catheter was also being put to position, and my mind was going gaga on which first to focus on, the IV or the catheter, for both were detestable. Then I lay there, exposed to the highest level (like an animal about to be slaughtered), with my arms outstretched and trembling at that, and a drape placed between my head and the rest of my body.
My doctor announced it was going to be general anesthesia for me, so it was going to be fast. And there they all were, a group of people hovering around me, ready for action, going for the kill, and the feast is on me. The next thing I knew I was in the recovery room and my stomach hurt so bad I did not want to move a finger.
But I was up and about in no time. I healed so fast I could probably join a marathon. After almost two months and a 2-½-inch midline scar later, I have fully recovered. But have I finally gotten over the whole thing, giving birth, I mean? Nope, never. Will I do it again? I say nope, never, but we can never tell. But do I regret it? Nope, never. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would you?