Challenge Accepted!: 253 Steps to Becoming an Anti-It Girl. Celeste Barber

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СКАЧАТЬ Wendy had come back in a few times to check on me with the phone jammed between her ear and shoulder fielding calls from expectant teenage mothers. Turns out the Mid North Coast is a busy place for damaged hymens and ripening cervixes.

      After seven hours of contracting, Wendy came back in and I. Was. DONE.

      Me: Wendy, I can’t do this.

      Wendy: It sounds like you’re transitioning, love?

      Me: What are you talking about?

      Wendy: When it’s getting closer to the time to push, most woman say they can’t do it, but you can, you can, love.

      Me: Look, I understand that, I know that people say that they can’t do it but they can and they are just scared, but you need to understand that I can’t do it! So you need to pack your shit up, Wendy, we are going home. API, WAKE UP, WE’RE OUT!

      Turns out Wendy was right, funny that. I was actually in transition and about to meet my baby. Shit! This gave me no comfort at all. I knew that I was too far along to make the most of the hospital’s drug stash and I quickly realised that the only way I was going to get this baby from the inside to the outside was by way of vaginal exorcism.

      I wish I could say that the thought of holding my baby in my arms cancelled out any fear I was feeling and instead gave me strength to soldier on, confident and empowered, but it didn’t. I was petrified of the pain, the imminent burning ring of fire and the possibility that I might push so hard that my arse would explode!

      Wendy asked me to get on the bed so she could see how dilated I was. I quietly and considerately kicked Api to wake him the fuck up so I might be able to have a woman fist me for the second time that day. And yep, she was right, I was eight centimetres and ready to get into that lukewarm bath and start tearing.

      Wendy ran the bath, Api walked around a little dazed – but to be fair no one wakes up well from an afternoon sleep – and I tried to run out the door.

      I got into the bath and nothing changed. I thought that all my troubles would wash away when I got into that water, because that’s what the women in the birthing videos tell you. Then there’s the women who manage to orgasm during labour. Fuck those women. The water did nothing. I was still in pain, just as uncomfortable, and now I was wet, and not in the way that the orgasm ladies were wet.

      My water hadn’t broken yet and I was starting to freak out. The bath was in the corner of the bathroom and it had a red cord that hung above the centre of it in case there was an emergency. It was there to pull on to alert the authorities, then the cast of Grey’s Anatomy would come running.

      Wendy had yet again run out to tend to other cervixes, and I got a crazy amount of pressure in the areas where one would expect to experience crazy amounts of pressure during the transitioning stages of labour.

      Holy shit, he’s coming, my baby is about to tear out of me without me needing to push! Jesus, were those rumours that the school bitches made up about me being ‘loose’ right?!?!

      Then came this almighty surge. ‘Holy shit!’ I screamed at Api. ‘Get her, get Wendy, he’s coming, the baby is coming!’

      With that Api jumped up and yanked on the red cord above the bath so hard he pulled the goddamned thing out of the roof. While he was trying to untangle the cord from around his perfect face, I realised that it wasn’t in fact my baby coming out, it was my water breaking. YES! I’m not loose – suck a fart, Year 8 bitches.

      After my water broke, Wendy came back in to check on Api and I made it my mission to get as comfortable as possible. Trusty Wendy was there to suggest some positions.

      Wendy: Try crouching.

      Me: No.

      Wendy: Sitting back with your legs rested up on the sides of the bath?

      Me: No.

      Wendy: Some women like to lie on their side, propping themselves up with their elbow, and their partner holds their top leg in the air, like a scissor kick.

      Me: No. Please don’t say ‘scissor kick’.

      Wendy: OK, let’s get you on all fours.

      Api: Hehe, that’s what got us into this.

      Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS?

      Api: Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood.

      Me: Come here and let me cut your dick off, that will lighten my mood!

      So I got on all fours and bit the metal on the side of the bath and the pushing began. They say that you should push into your bum when having a baby and it makes you feel like you are pooing.

      Well, Wendy had this covered. I was 45 minutes into pushing into my bum and Wendy, my Wendy, leant over and said how important it was for me to really focus on pushing like I was pooing.

      Wendy: We’re nearly there, we really are.

      Me: FUCKING ARSE TIT PRICK POO AND MUTHA FUCKING BALLS!!

      Wendy: You’re doing so well, Mum.

      ME: AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!

      Wendy: Now, just keep focusing on pushing into your bum. I don’t want you to worry if you do a little poo, as I have a poop scoop.

      With this she presented a poop scoop shaped like a ladle and showed it off proudly, much as Mufasa did with Simba in The Lion King. She put it next to my face, she showed it to Api and then just for added value showed it to me one more time.

      This was all going on while I was mid-contraction. I turned around – well, my head turned 180 degrees and the rest of my body didn’t move. I glared at her with bloodshot eyes and snarled through gritted teeth: ‘I’m not interested in the poop scoop, Wendy. I don’t care if I shit on your face. Just. Get. Him. Out.’

      Api was scared, the trainee midwife standing in the corner staring at my shirtless #hothusband in the bath was scared, I even scared myself. But Wendy didn’t flinch. She didn’t take her eyes off me as she slowly put the poop scoop down. I think if she could have she would have told me to shut the fuck up and know my place, but as she was a professional she let it slide. Wendy and Celeste BFF status was back on track.

      An hour into pushing, Wendy said they needed to monitor my heart, as they didn’t want it to be straining for too long. Turns out that being in active labour for eight hours is fine but once you hit that eight hours and five minutes mark then people start to panic.

      It was around this time that the burning ring of fire was really in full flight and Wendy could feel the top of my baby’s head. GROSS! She asked if I wanted to reach down between my legs and feel his head so I could be a part of this moment.

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