Ready, Set, Go! |My C-Section Story


It is amazing how, when you are tired, your brain wanders to things. Today I began thinking about my C-section. I woke up feeling rubbish again today. I had slept in (again) after being up until midnight trying to do things, namely get my hubby’s uniform ready for him after he handed me it a 8pm…..he had all day to uniform me that his stuff needed washed and decided that late in the evening was a good time for me to get a wash on….grrrr!

Today, I am wrecked. My tired state this morning did nothing for me mentally and allowed my mind to wander on to things that I don’t like to think about. Today it was about the time I nearly died while in hospital giving birth to my son. Three and a half years ago I went in for a C-section, my choice, because my son was bloody huge at 10 pounds. I was a size 6 before I got pregnant so there was no way that boy was coming out the traditional way. I put my life in the hands of doctors, experts in their field, or so I thought. I didn’t know that one of the surgeons was a student who was getting to practise on me. Now, before you get all annoyed, I know that doctors have to train, they are well supervised, and all that jazz, but at no point did I say that they could practise on me. Pick a willing subject, just not me. I never gave permission for a student to come near me, let alone with a sharp object. During the routine operation, the stupid brat cut one of my veins in my abdomen and I started to bleed internally at a rate of knots. At one point my family was informed that I wasn’t going to make it and they should begin making “plans”. Some say it was a miracle, others said it was luck, but I think I’m a stubborn ass who refused to go out like that, but the bleeding was eventually found after four hours or searching and I was stable. I lost over 6 pints of blood but got over 20 staples and over 40 stitches to make up for it.

So, why am I telling you this? I’ll be honest, I have no idea but it seems important to share this, partly because afterwards I received no help. I was discharged after only three days. I went to my doctor after a while because I knew that I would need help dealing with it at some stage. Right after it happened I was all, “I lived! Get me and my bad self!” Now, when I think about it I’m like, “Shit, I nearly died!” I was given no help because my doctor believed that I wanted to be signed off on the sick and claim benefits. No counselling, no help, no nothing.

Despite this tale of woe, over the years I have learnt to deal with this trauma. I meditate every day, I try and keep busy. I make sure I’m well fed and rested. Exercise is a new thing for me to try. I couldn’t before because of the mess of my stomach (I still have no feeling in parts of it). Exercise before would have tugged at my scars, inside and out, and left me in agony.

There is a moral to this story. Nobody but you can improve you. Despite what hasĀ happenedĀ to me, I have chosen to move on and rise above it. I could have given into my misery along time ago but didn’t. I still have bad days, days I remember more of what happened, but I will be positive. Be strong and don’t let your misery define you. Give that bitch the middle finger!

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