My Cesarean Story: No Floater, No Panic, Just Faith

PART 2:  Into the Theatre, Out with a Daughter.

Don't scream. Don't shout. Just breathe.
Walk a lot during pregnancy.
Hemorrhoids? Don't dare constipate!
Those nipples, first baby latch—you will call your mother!
You know SIM 2 could give way? Jesus!
Your hooha could tear—and girl, the sewing back. 😳

My headspace as I approached labor...

Reality...

Contractions, ever so intense, so close. Let me tell you, Maina—wueh!
When they say teach your child the right path, and they will not deviate from it when they grow up...they were right.
The number of times I called God, Jesus, and all His angels.

I recall one prenatal check-up—I was a bit body-conscious. My doctor, sensing this, casually told me, "Shyness will disappear at childbirth."
Look, the way I was pacing in the labor room, my  bottom on display🤭
(BTW, what is it with those open gowns at the back?)

Mum whispering to Njeri at some point.
No one warned me this pain goes to the brain.
I had them thrown out.

"Very faint heartbeat," the nurse said.
Crazy discomfort as another slid his hand up my lady bits, only to have my unborn child poop up his gloves.

The doctor came in—ever so calm—and explained why we needed an emergency CS. My baby was getting tired.
At that point, all that mattered was keeping my baby alive.
I agreed to it quite fast...as if I had a choice😏

Quick preparations for the procedure.
My bed slowly wheeled to theatre.
Mum’s worried face.
Njeri putting on a strong face.
As for me—heavy panting from the pain, tearful eyes trying to hide behind avoidance glances.

Surrounded by a number of practitioners, they bent me head to knees trying to get that spinal anaesthesia working.
(And to date? I occasionally still suffer from the back pain.)

Several attempts later:
"Let us give full anaesthesia. This isn't working."
I desperately wanted to be put out of the pain.
Darkness crowding my space.
In split seconds, it felt like being pulled out of a dungeon.
Relief!

When I came to, I grabbed onto the nurse next to me.
Excruciating pain!
My lower tummy felt butchered.
Bloated.
Need to sneeze—(guess reaction from anaesthesia)—let's not even go there.
No strength to move a muscle, to say a word.

She knew I needed that painkiller jab like yesterday.

"Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl," she said.

The relief.
The joy.
The tears!!

“To every mother with a scar — this month, this ribbon is for you.”