Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Where Are My Pain Meds When I Really Need Them?



I don't know that I can adequately describe the intense inner turmoil and severe emotional pain my ten year old daughter causes me on an almost daily basis. Just writing that line was hard. But, since I am trying to prove myself worthy to be called a writer, I am going to give it a try.

Let me begin with labor. It sucked. I wanted natural childbirth; they strapped a continuous stress monitor on my belly and kept me on my back the entire time. Noone listened to how I wanted it. Nothing went the way I wanted it to. I was so angry I threatened never to marry her father, and never ever to give her his last name. When I hadn't dilated past 3 cms after over 24 hours of labor I overheard them discussing the possibility of a C-section. And I told them right then and there that if they were going to cut into my stomach after all of this then they might as well just go ahead and tie my tubes while they were in there. They had apparently heard this before and followed routine procedure.

They asked Damon if HE'D like them to give me an epidural.

Blissfully tanked out of my gourd, I drunkenly proceeded to council the lady screaming in agony behind the curtain next to us not to be a martyr and to go for the epidural. Since she came in begging for one, but already 10 cmns dilated, I wasn't helping anyone in that department either.

Honestly though, anyone who dilates to 10 cms without knowing it and then delivers within two hours of mild cramping doesn't deserve pain relief. (You KNOW who you are, Laura, Cindy and Tracy and yes, I am so jealous. Although, Karen, delivering in the car doesn't count in this category; for that you deserve our sympathies - and a life-time supply of narcotic relief.)

Back to the pain. I did learn, after the first one, that it does end and that it ends in joy. But the first time you're going : when will it end? Will it get worse? Will I be able to stand it? Will I be strong enough - and good and worthy enough - to see this through and to do it well? How could I do this better? (Okay those last two might be just me, the result of having an overcritical father who also happens to be an ob/gyn.)

And I'm still there - in labor - trying to bring my daugher into the world. And it still hurts and I am still wondering if it will ever end. Or just get worse. And if I am strong enough to be able to stand it, good and worthy enough to deserve joy as an outcome. Or could I be doing something better? (Thanks Dad, for that last one.)

It's harder now that she can speak and resist andfight back. At least in the hospital we were working together.

Doesn't she understand that I am trying to help her? That I only want what's best for her? Why is SHE strapping me to the bed when I want to get up and do it my way?

I brought her into THIS world. Why does she now insist on creating her own?!

Life hurts. And brings us joy.

If someone would just give me an epidural until she's out of the house, please.

No comments:

Post a Comment