Want to know what it’s like to witness a C Section from the Husbands perspective?
Don your scrubs and take a seat, its about to get messy.
I was shitting myself. Not because I was afraid of seeing blood and guts, it was the thought of not seeing my wife again. A Cesarean section though classed as routine if elective, falls under the major surgery moniker. Scalpel at the ready, we are going to cut through 17 layers of stuff that holds you together. Its serious surgery so do I have your attention now? Good, breathe deeply cos here we go.
Picking up from my previous post which you can read here, you find me entering the Theatre and as much as I love Theatre, think of this more Sweeney Todd than Swan Lake.
My initial thought was that there was crap everywhere and how do you not fall over it all? It looked like a cross between an old Doctor Who set and Casualty. Thankfully a full complement of professionals were already running through the WHO check list. This gave me great confidence as its pretty easy to lose something in someone’s tummy.
The thing about blood soaked gauze is that when its soaked in blood, in a pool of blood, residing in a bloody great hole, which in itself is a sarlacc pit of blood, it’s tricky to see. Hence the checklist. No one wants to go home with a set of forceps they didn’t come in with so they check, check and check again.
Various things were being said, then repeated and repeated again. Good, I like check lists, check lists ( like The Who ) rock. I was given what looked like a bar stool to perch on next to the missus whilst the Anesthetist and her assistant ran through the surroundings getting me orientated. Obs machine, check. Lots of cables, check. Big blood thingy, check. Another machine that was massive and had pretty flashing lights, check. More cables to trip on, check. This is not the place to be after a couple of Guinness.
If you trip over in here, everyone dies. I made that bit up but it would be a serious fail and I don’t think you would get to keep your hat as a souvenir. Very serious.
Ahmed Hassan our consultant surgeon was out of the blocks and had his blades a’ whirring like some manic Edward Scissorhands as I got seated. At least that’s how I pictured it but research post operation suggests otherwise. He was in fact making precise incisions and was starting his descent into gutsville. Now not being privy to this ( though I could have been ), I can only imagine what it must have looked like. I say imagine, I actually do know. I had a Go Pro fired up and had peaked it over the screen.
This you may say is perverted voyeurism but we are so glad to have recorded proceedings as in the mist of the excitement and the high end drugs, ( not me obviously ), it’s very difficult to recall the moment accurately, if at all. Trust me on this.
Blokes take note
Fellas a serious pointer, take your camera and action cam of choice if you can. The memory for your other half will be sporadic at best and part of your job is to preserve that. You can always delete it months after but if you don’t seize the moment, you may not get to practice how you got here in the first place!
The screen is a blue piece of fabric positioned just below the ‘clients’ breasts and was held up by to poles. Insert your own equal opportunities joke here. Blood pressure was being monitored, and previously to me entering, my better half had been given the spinal Anesthetic. This is like an epidural but a real shop stopper cocktail of goodies. She had thrown up a few seconds before and then the needles came out. She recalls it not hurting at all. Brave girl.
The docs are about their business from the get go and for all intense and purpose, you don’t realise that they have started. Everyone is communicating well and Deb lurches a couple of times but it’s not pain it’s the experience of having her innards yanked around. Deb said she felt like the ‘furniture’ was being moved around inside her tummy. All too quickly, we were close to meeting new life. It literally was happening inside of ten minutes. For many, not unlike the conception, which may or may not included the dinner and wine.
Brace for the Birthquake
The anesthetist assistant started to get excited and gave us the count down:
5 ,4, check go pro is recording, 3, 2, 1…..
Shit the bed! That by the way is an exclamation but may well have happened too. Anyway, Deb recalls feeling a heavy weight on her chest, then the team slowly dropping the curtain just enough to for us to see a grinning Ahmed holding our new born aloft. It literally was like having the chest buster waved in your face, fresh from the late great John Hurts abdomen. It was quite a shock but equally, amazing. There was life, life you had created.
For a second I zoned out and my heart skipped a beat. This was f*cking incredible. It’s not every day you come face to face with an alien of your own creation and our lives had changed in a matter of seconds. Ten months later after actually watching the Go Pro footage, it turns out my thoughts of it being f*cking incredible were aired vocally. Sadly a rather low rent ‘f*k me’ can be heard quite clearly and for that I apologise. Sorry, totes emosh.
I looked on in awe as this dripping little being, twisted, punched, cried and cavorted as she took her first breaths on earth. It was an awesome time to be a fully paid up member of the human race. Creating life is the adrenalin rush of Gods. Simply stunning and nothing comes close.
Although she had been rinsed to a fair degree, hanging there, dripping with all manner of innards about her person; a baby straight from the inner sanctum as any Pediatric Consultant will tell you, looks like a fake zombie you can buy off ebay. Not that attractive but all yours. It made no difference though.
Let there be life…
There in front of my eyes and the eyes of the one that had been carrying the wriggly little haggis for nine months, was life. Life you had wished for. Life you had worked hard to create. Life that you hoped to love, cherish and nurture for the rest of your days.
The curtain was then raised and the first act of the show was over. This little interval didn’t last long but long enough for me to focus and accept that I was now part of a new club. The Club of Dads.
Next Thursday join me for the clean up operation and being left with our newborn. This begs the inevitable question, ‘what the hell do I do with this???’