A Journal of Sorts

Monday, 26 April 1999

Happy Birthday, Teresa

I was sixteen years old with my mother and my grandmother in attendance. I didn't mind being pregnant for the most part but the last few weeks I was starting to feel too heavy and uncomfortable. My due date had come and gone and although I was afraid of the birth process, I was ready for it to be over.

My grandmother had a remedy for everything, so after listening to my complaints the day before, she sent my brother to the store for a bottle of castor oil. She told me to drink the whole bottle. blech According to her, I would get bowel cramps (she was right about that). She said that my stomach would get confused and eventually the cramps would spread to uterine cramps, and I would be in labor.

I was not pleased with the prospect of drinking a bottle of oil so came up with the clever idea of mixing it with a glass of grapefruit juice. I hate grapefruit juice, but it seemed to me that the grapefruit taste would cover the taste of ANYTHING, including castor oil. I poured the oil in the juice and stirred; the oil floated. I stirred harder; the oil floated. No amount of stirring or shaking would mix the two so I finally gave up, held my nose and drank it all down. GROSS! I can still remember that feeling, because it was actually more of a feeling than a taste. I gagged and spit, but I kept it down.

I must have been in the bathroom fifty times. One good thing about it, though, when I told my doctor about the castor oil, he cancelled the order for the enema. I don't know when I actually went into labor, but at some point, I must have figured it out because they took me to the hospital.

I learned that I HATE labor rooms. It was one of many small rooms, barely big enough for a bed and a sink. Plain walls, except for that clock - a HUGE clock on the wall at the foot of the bed. I was very ignorant of the whole process and knew nothing of timing pains, dilating centimeters or broken water. All I knew was from stories I'd heard -- that I would be there in pain for eight or ten hours. I am not fond of labor itself, either.

I suppose the whole process was rather uneventful. I was in a lot of pain, but I wanted to hold off on taking anything for it because I was afraid it would wear off before I ~really~ needed it. The doctor came in with some sort of huge crochet hook looking thing and broke my water. The pain got really bad then and I said the F word when one of the nurses was checking me -- along with a few other choice words that I probably wasn't supposed to know. My mother slapped me for that; I got even more iritable.

Every time the nurse came in to check me, she would ask if I wanted something for pain. I hadn't been there two hours yet when I decided to give in and take the medication the next time she asked. Things were progressing much faster than I knew because the next time she came in and checked, I didn't have time to ask for anything as I was being rushed down the hall to the delivery room.

Two things stood out in my mind. The first was them telling me not to push. Every muscle I had was pushing and it was certainly without my consent. I thought that was the stupidest thing anyone had ever said to me and since my mother wasn't there to slap me, told them so, quite emphatically.

The other thing was the shot. Getting cut was a standard part of deliveries at the time. I remember when they gave me the shot down there that it was an annoyance, like a fly buzzing around your head or something, when combined with childbirth. At any other time, I probably would have felt quite strongly about it.

Another admonishment, don't push, and my body (again without my consent) bore down mightily and I felt I had just had the biggest bowel movement in history -- but no, it was the birth of my beautiful baby girl.

After the doctor did a few quick stitches, I was off to the maternity ward, a longish room with twelve beds, six of them occupied. The babies were only brought in a few times a day to the other moms, but since I decided to breastfeed Teresa, I got to hold her every four hours, day and night. Both natural childbirth (an accident) and breastfeeding (a choice) were not stylish in those days; I was considered an oddball mother.

We went home on the third day. My angelic baby grew into a loving and well-behaved young girl (I'll skip the adolescent part) and a woman who is my role model for motherhood. I like her, too. *smile*

She was/is a blessing to me.

Speaking of offspring, Jason received another award today for his short story entry in the national Reflections of Excellence competition -- this one on the district level. The next level is state. Needless to say, I'm very proud of him. He is one of the few Special Education kids to participate.

Another mention: I have a notify list now! I'm surprised at the response I got from yesterdays mention of it. Now, I get to send out a notification and everything.

Way cool.