As if Gellért Hill wanted to turn out of me

As if Gellért Hill wanted to turn out of me
As if Gellért Hill wanted to turn out of me
Anonim
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For the general public of Poronty, there are basically two types of birth stories. There is the "why do they publish this, it's pure horror, I've lost the desire to give birth for life" and there is the "why do they publish this, it's totally uninteresting, boring, what can you say about that?". Since mine belongs to the latter, I didn't want to write about it for a long time, but I noticed that there is a small minority here, whose members gather strength from such things. Well, for their sake, here is the story of my birth back and forth. Would you like to share your birth story? Send it to us at this address!

It was a sunny, pleasant Sunday morning at the end of May. I got up, stumbled out into the living room, machine pressed in, when all of a sudden… Flötty! No, not watery. Something much more disgusting than that came out of me, but in almost nine months I slowly got used to the at least bizarre biological phenomena that accompany pregnancy. This will be the mucus plug, its name is disgusting. But at the beginning of the 38th week? I still have so much to do… Panic!

After a quick poll, I estimate the remaining time until delivery to be between three hours and three weeks. Much more specific than that, in two days, on Tuesday, my midwife, who diagnoses a fingertip-open cervix, and my doctor, who jokingly notes that he will be on call on Saturday anyway…

On Friday, I've been feeling some pains since morning, supposedly divination pains. In the evening, however, since they turn out to be quite precise little fortune-telling pains with regular five-minute breaks, I reclassify the process as labor. I will give the command at around half past ten: departure! At most they will send you home.

As we walk out into the late spring evening holding hands, a scent hits me. A plant, perhaps jasmine? It's flourishing like crazy, and the thought that this is the last time we'll be walking like this together, as a childless couple, is tearing me apart. This scent will always remind me of this memory.

Getting into the hospital was one of my main concerns beforehand. Unfounded: after some bus and metro rides, we stumble in front of the main entrance of the István hospital. Closed. The sleepy porter asks what we want. To give birth if you let me in.

Then inside ctg, filling out papers, which is a bit ridiculous, since I can only be counted to a limited extent. And after the examination, the midwife declares that there is no going back, a four-centimeter cervix, let's go. In fact, he even makes a crack at it. Since then, I have wondered several times whether I did the right thing by letting him go. In the end, I came to the conclusion that since there was no pain at all, it was possible to infer the condition of the baby (he was fine) and it supposedly made the whole thing faster, so I didn't regret it.

After that, it really hurts a lot more, I take it back a bit from my face ("hey, that's all the pain is?") and start concentrating on the task. I am sitting in an armchair, opposite my husband, for whom we forgot to bring a change of clothes, even though I wanted so much. The other important thing left at home is water, even though this is also very necessary later on. Then I'll try the bed too.

In any case, the parent's room is perfect, cozy, with a single bed, the alternative room was occupied, but I don't need it anyway, sometimes there is some screaming and yelling filtering through the wall, but I don't let myself be scared. The best position - and also advised by the midwife - turns out to be vertical, clinging to the bed and then to my husband's neck. Sometimes they even bother me to pee, which I don't really understand, and we can look quite funny as we stumble towards the toilet with a little blood, but we do it. Yes, I shaved at home, they don't deal with enemas here.

The other interlude, at which I can still laugh to myself, but I can't get out of it anymore, is when two of his sisters come in and with the greatest calmness start filling a cupboard with all kinds of boxes. I'd love to ask them if I'm bothering them, but I'd rather mind my own business, I think that should be the biggest incident… and it was.

Based on my excellent sense of time, I can spend about twenty minutes hanging from my boyfriend's shoulder, which was actually almost an hour and a half, as it turned out based on the subsequent discussion. By the way, he helps an incredible amount throughout, he doesn't intrude on the foreground, but I always feel that I can rely on him. And I literally do. The fact that they taught me some breathing technique to endure the pain during the preparation also pops up somehow, and it works quite well. I let the pain flow through me, I try to waste as little energy as possible.

Another examination, then an unexpected question from the midwife: have you had plastic surgery? I giggle inside again, scrolling through what he was thinking: breast? lip? Anyway, the answer is a clear no, but then it turns out that he was referring to hysteroplasty, since the cervix does not want to disappear.

Next question: do I want pain relief? Oh, well, I know… because it hurts like hell, it's true. But somehow I always feel that I can do it and the pain is actually a signal, my body simply communicates with me that way. Fortunately, I told my husband in advance that I don't want this unless it's absolutely necessary, so he also confirms: we don't ask. That way, I only get one Nospa injection for the cervix, and I can start pushing out.

Meanwhile, the doctor arrives, we joke that it is really Saturday, his on-call day, even though it would only start a few hours later. He finds everything in order, grabs the little stool, stands next to me and helps to move events forward by laying on my hands. Also, he's holding one of my legs. The other is handled by my husband and the midwife somewhere downstairs. As it turns out later, he does the dam protection, for which I will be grateful to him all my life, because it didn't get a cut or a crack (no, Rita, it didn't stay wide…).

A couple of pressures, as if Gellért Hill wanted to spin out of me, after that I'm always a little surprised that I'm alive and that I didn't split in two. According to the doctor, "one more and he'll be out." Okay, let's have one more. Then again "one more and it will be out". I look at him grumpily, does he look stupid now? But now she might be right, because my husband comments that he already sees something very hairy, he hopes it's the baby's head. And indeed, after the next push, it slips out and at 2:45 a.m., Albert is born at 3130 grams and 52 centimeters. And it's really true: then all pain and suffering will disappear. I have no idea how. In the meantime, the placenta also comes out, but I can't really pay attention to it anymore, because they put my son on top of me, warm as a loaf of bread out of the oven, and he murmurs softly and moves around on my belly.

The three of us are sitting there, huddled together.

Then you open it and they take you to bathe (I think my husband is the proudest of all of this, because he also does this). I will quietly note that by this time I had already accepted the idea that a homo sapiens with a liver, nails, and eyelashes had developed from almost nothing in my stomach, but to this day I still cannot process the fact that I also produced the string that resembles a bicycle lock, which if you see on film I would see it, I would comment on "what a weak prop" and which, according to my husband, was not easy to cut either. The baby's first apgar is 9, perhaps because of its slightly bluish color, the later one is already 10, but this is irrelevant, because the father will come back with his son in a few minutes. The child suits him well.

One more time to pee together, try sucking and then they will take you to "warm up". But I regretted leaving it, or at least it shouldn't have been for more hours, because I don't think either he or I were in a particularly bad state. It may have played a part in the fact that they couldn't find a place for me in the department for a long time, there was a lot of confusion, and I ended up spending half a day in the delivery room.

I will get it back in the morning. It's the first time we're together, my son is rubbing his head on me, he's very purposefully trying to squeeze milk out of me, while the morning sunlight shines through the window. Let's meet…

madz

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