C-Section: A View From The Other Side.

First day home from the hospital

My husband uses our family as a topic for most of his English papers in college. Recently he wrote one on his experience during my hospital stay and c-section. I'm proud of him, and think the other viewpoint is worth putting out there. 

 I sit alone in the hallway with pictures of little babies dotting the walls and all I can think is that those pictures are a mockery to all those whose lives have fallen apart in this place. The blue clothing is foreign and unnatural on my skin - not a uniform made for me. The mask is stifling and reminded me of the time in my life where sickness and loss was all I could feel. Fear and helplessness wrapped though my body, coating like a second skin.

     I have been helpless for 9 months; my wife has been in constant fear and pain with me unable to anything but hold her and tell her that everything will work out alright, that every second she suffers is one more second our child won’t be spending in the NICU. Today is the climax of the 9 months of helplessness. I can't do anything but wait and hope that the world will keep turning tomorrow - I have no other options.

Spending time at MeMa's

     I look down at my feet and grip my hands together. In days of past the stereotype was to pop a cigarette and pace. Today I wish I smoked because then there would be some idle task I could use to speed the slowly passing time. All the hospital people rush by with motivation, direction, and purpose; passing me without a glance as if my suffering and inner turmoil don’t matter. And really, they don’t. A person doesn't know the pain of lack of drive till they actually feel it. Right now I have no responsibilities, no work to do, nothing to keep my hands moving. All I am is a nerve, sensitive and vulnerable.

    I start to get worried; too much time has passed. They said it would be "just a moment." This is one moment too long to wait, and I‘m sure it‘s been longer than merely a moment. I consider myself one of the most patient people in the world; I have waited for 6 or 7 hours with nothing to do, but this moment - the word brings a bitter taste to my mouth - is far, far too long.

Getting ready to go to lunch

     They finally call me in to the room of blades and knives, warning me of the blue, for it is sterile and I can‘t even breath on it. My wife is strapped down on the table, I move as fast as I can to her side, trying desperately not to show how panicked I feel. They tell me to comfort her, but all I want is her to tell me everything is going to be ok. She’s supposed to be the strong one. I hold her constrained hand, look at her and smile, tell her everything is going to be ok -but inside I'm helpless, I'm scared.

TV makes surgeons look slow and careful, cutting methodically, and while that might be true today they don't cut; they rip. I try to focus on my wife but out of the corner of my eye I can see and feel them ripping though the flesh, Preying and pulling and reaching. I used to be a butcher, I used to cut dead flesh of animals for food. I would show meat more tact and care than they are right now. I can feel each jerk of her body in my hand though she doesn't feel it. Her eyes are closed and I keep talking, trying to comfort and make sure she’s still conscious - it’s been a long 30 hours.

    More jerking and tearing, jarring my arm and body as I try to be still. The blood letting takes a turn when they find what they are looking for inside my wife. A little baby, my little girl isn’t crying, not a sound. My heart stops. They take her to the table on the edge of the room completely away from me. They wipe her down and slap her feet trying to aggravate her into a reaction and finally a soft little cry of pain. One of the most beautiful sounds I will ever hear. In the middle of the whipping she looks across the room, straight at me, and gives me a grumpy face. I have seen this face before, its the face my other daughter Lindzy makes when its my turn to watch the TV and its the face my wife makes when I forget to take out the garbage. She is mine and everything fades away and when I finally get her she just stares at me and I smile down at her face and know that everything is ok.

Sword fights on no sleep :)

Round is a shape...

Why is everyone so concerned with losing weight and toning up? I'm a bit of a Pinterest addict [a lot of] and I used to really enjoy cruising over the DIY section because I'm also a bit of a a craft addict. Really, I wish I had a whole separate room for all the craft crap because right now It's sort of scattered everywhere. Anyway, now I peruse the sections I loved and about 3/4's of the pins are about losing weight and toning.

"Get a better butt."

"Tone those thighs."

"Lose the love handles!"

Why is society so intent on making women (and men) feel inadequate as they are? If the focus was getting healthier that would be one thing and I would probably stop complaining about it (at least out loud) but it isn't. One doesn't have to be stick thin and have ridges of muscle and taut skin to be healthy, nor does one have to be the size of a house to be unhealthy.

A person can also have tons of health problems but have non related to their "morbid obesity". The same goes for an extremely thin person.

Why are we, as women, so into forcing other women to do things they probably don't enjoy just to end up unhappy and no better of a person than we were before we dropped all the weight and tightened our skin? We are all saying that mothers who have an apron and can't seem to tighten it back up (nearly impossible) needs to save up money so she can have surgery and get it removed. We are showing people that the only thing that matters is what we look like on the outside.

We are teaching our children to hate themselves.

Everything else I've said can flow right over you with annoyance, but if you can read past that last part and not feel even a little bit guilty for the children who start starving themselves at 10 because they're "too fat" then you might have something wrong with you.

I don't want my daughters to grow up thinking something is wrong with them if they don't resemble someone else. If one of my children comes to me and says they are fat, that they need to diet, that they hate the way they look, I am going to feel like a failure as a parent. Society is going to tell them and me that it was my fault as well.

Shouldn't society be held to those same standards?

When a person can't even turn on the television or open a magazine or play a game without having what they "should" be smashed into their face there's a problem. Thin doesn't make you pretty. Fat doesn't make you pretty. Toning doesn't make you pretty. Everyone is pretty. Everyone is beautiful. Every body type is attractive.

We need to start accepting ourselves as we are. 

I need to start accepting me rather than railing on my choices every time I eat a meal or neglect to exercise. It's so bad for me that I can't even eat a salad without saying "of course you're hungry, you're fucking fat and disgusting" as I shovel the lettuce into my mouth.

Why is that ok?

Why is this made to be the problem of the person not the image that is forced into us?

Why are we considered weak and sensitive if being told we're unattractive and wrong every day begins to affect us?

I don't have answers. None that will satisfy myself or anyone else at least.

But, I am going to do everything in my power to make my children love every single thing about themselves even if it kills me. I will fake my way to confidence in front of and around them so much that they believe I love the way I look rather than teach them that I'm fat and ugly, therefore fat is ugly.

Because my children are gorgeous and society is never going to change that.

Screw Being a Victim.

I get it.

You had a terrible home life: beatings, terror, starvation, anything and everything that is whispered about in horror happened to you. Abandoned and lost it's your mentality to stay there, to keep finding the same situations because you're used to it, because you're not worth anything more, or maybe just because it's easier being the victim.

I've been there.

I've endured abusive relationships and friendships, both physical and mental anguish so deep I cut my skin until the blood ran in place of my tears. I clawed my way into friendships that were the worst thing to happen to me, and then, barely conscious, broke my way back out.

Rather than asking for help [it's not a quality I posses] I pretended everything was alright. I pretended I was happy so well that I believed it.

I became an addict instead.

I spent years making myself miserable and happy with a meth pipe, with razors and lighters, with hatred and love both warring inside me. I knew I shouldn't be there but it was all I wanted because it was what I knew.

By the end I was so wrapped up in her and him that guilt still chokes my throat when I try to discuss it. Even free I bite my tongue, flinch and startle at every sound, cry to the flashbacks and tremble when I remember them.

But I escaped. 

I had a reason to change my mentality - I was pregnant.

Do I still have the occasional moment of terror when my husband is angry? Most assuredly. But I shake it off with defiance because now my cowering just makes me more angry. No longer will I stand for myself or my family being abused. It isn't a matter of self esteem [mine is still too low to even acknowledge] it's a matter of strength.

Strength can come from a fragile human growing inside you, it can come from being punched in the face and having your mind thrown over the gravel with words one too many times, but it ALWAYS comes from you.

I get to be me now and that's irreplaceable.

This advice comes from someone who has full experience with victim nature.

GROW UP!

Problems from the past affect everyone, even people who claim or seem to be well adjusted but that doesn't mean allowing someone to hurt you. It doesn't mean allowing someone to hurt someone you love either - shouldn't that be the catalyst that pushes you from victim to victor?

Who wants to be the victim all the time anyway - getting walked on, beaten so badly you end up in the hospital, hurting your family and friends by your unreasonable dedication to a person who destroys you. Step into a life filled with color and love and happiness by walking away from the things that will ruin you - you.

There is a right and a wrong you.

The wrong one is the one letting you be hurt. The wrong one lies on the floor cowering while he pulls back his boot to kick again. The wrong one makes excuses because the wrong one thinks it's what is right.

The right knows that's bullshit. This you is waiting safely in the background ready to take over once you allow it. This you is strong enough to fight back for both yourself and anyone else who might be harmed as a result of the wrong you.

Let the right you come out. Let it take over and rush through your broken soul until being a victim is no longer your choice but your past.