Today, I’m going to tell you all about my forceps delivery experience at the ripe old age of 40. It’s a bit of a bumpy, beep-filled ride.
Imagine having a meticulously crafted birth plan, consultations with consultants, and H prepared to be the supportive sweat-wiper. No, my grand entrance into motherhood took an unforeseen detour through the land of Pitocin-induced labour and epidurals, setting the stage for a childbirth adventure unlike any other.
Gamaj, gamaj, gamaj (a type of Persian cooking pot in Rasht among other things)
As an apprentice nervously attempted to administer the epidural, she mistakenly aimed for the wrong area. Cue me saying gamaj, gamaj, gamaj (cooking pot, cooking pot, cooking pot) a few times under my breath. In a bizarre turn of events, a seasoned doctor stepped in to take charge of the injection process. The delivery room, already filled with beeps and pings, became a scene from a medical comedy of errors. Email me if you want to know gamaj’s other ‘less favourable’ meaning.
Not what H signed up for
After a few hours, my husband’s supportive smile slowly morphed into an expression that screamed, “This is not what I signed up for!” And to top it all off, the midwife’s once-friendly expression turned into a real-life horror movie. The script? My baby’s heart rate dropping and the urgent need for forceps.
But here’s a twist that added to the chaos: amidst the beeps, I was convinced that the heart rate monitor had become unstuck. A seemingly minor detail, but one that sparked disbelief among the medical team.
Forceps, not on my radar
Forceps, my friends, were not on my radar. I had mentally prepared for a serene, intervention-free birth, not an episode of “Forceps Frenzy.” But as fate would have it, those shiny, medieval-looking instruments became my unsung heroes, ensuring the safe arrival of Little C.
An unexpected subplot
Now, let’s zoom in on an unexpected subplot: the tablet call with H’s Maman (my mother-in-law) … while I was being stitched up. Amid the lingering trauma of forceps, there I was, sharing the highs and lows of my delivery room experience with a virtual audience. It added a surreal touch to an already dramatic scenario, turning the delivery room into a makeshift stage for an intimate family connection.
Day that left me in stitches
Our conversation was filled with gamaj references and occasional beeping interruptions, turning what could have been stressful into a memorable family moment.
And here’s the kicker: I can’t speak Farsi. While I usually rely on hand gestures and visual cues, the aftermath of childbirth left me temporarily speechless and gesture-less. Yet, with the beeps and the language barrier, we found a way to share in the joy, confusion, and humour of the moment.
Mum’s the Word: When Childbirth Leaves You Speechless
Reflecting on this rollercoaster, I can’t help but think about the questions I should have asked. The disbelief about the monitor, the language barrier, and the unexpected humour that emerged from the chaos. The tablet call just added a unique layer to my experience as a mum caught between two cultures.
Lost in translation
So, the next time you plan your grand entrance into parenthood, remember forceps, beeps, and unexpected plot twists. As they say in Persian, Now that we’re here, what’s the most surprising thing? The answer: life, childbirth, and the unpredictable comedy that comes with it.
Cheers to beeps, forceps, and the unexpected humour in every delivery room tale.