Subject: My losing entry: The Blueberries of Peevishness

Date: 26 Feb 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (MegaLiz)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

Not ONLY did this not WIN a web story contest, it didn't even make it

to the final threesome. HAHAHAHHA. I LOVE REJECTION! I have to admit,

I may have missed the jist of the Drama Queen theme--Betrayal by a

Girlfriend. The stories that are up for votes have to do with SEXUAL

BETRAYAL, but I didn't have any of those up my nose, and I couldn't

make this one into a tragic expectoration. All to the good, or

somethinglikethat.

***

Most people thought that I should be angry that the Reverend, my

husband, didn't want to be my birth coach. They didn't share my

practical assessment. I honestly didn't blame him--if *I* could have

avoided being there, I certainly would have stayed home too. They

didn't have to watch him clutch his heart and nearly faint at the

First Birth--The Day When Everything Went Wrong. Thinking it over, I

was content to have him home with little Sparky; after all, I'd have

my mom and my best friend with me. That's what I expected while I was

expecting.

A good birth plan is not to have a birth plan. "Of course, you can TRY

to be ready for anything," said Dr. Bob, "but if you come in here with

two typed pages of instructions like the other one did..." he just

shook his head and smiled.

I was not like "the other one" I had it figured like a computer

program. IF contraction is true THEN squat; IF dilation is five THEN

epidural; IF no Mom THEN Lulu. I had done my reading and THIS time I

even read the chapter titled "Things You Irrationally Believe Cannot

Happen to You." This is the chapter that all first-timers skip. As a

second-timer I found that it included exactly what happened to me the

first time. Humph. I had finally been a textbook case and hadn't even

read the textbook.

I resolved to pay attention and to follow my own method. On the big

evening, Mom took me to the hospital well before I needed to be there.

I didn't call Lulu right away; she had her own newborn at home and I

expected a long wait. When the hospital agreed to admit me around

10:00 p.m., I called Lulu and spoke to her answering machine,

confident that she'd get my message in plenty of time.

Lulu had been pleased but puzzled to be invited to the birth. I

explained to her that I wanted to have someone who wasn't afraid of

doctors, who would make a scene for me if I didn't get my pain

medication on time. I'd learned the hard way that my mother was no

Aurora, ala "Terms of Endearment" and Shirley MacClain was surely

busy.

It was nice to have Mom, of course. She had enough sense to spectate

and read and not to try to pet me. Since the First Birth, the hospital

had bowed to fashion and constructed homey birthing suites, so we not

only had enough room to be comfortable, we had enough room for an

emergency resuscitation for BOTH Mom and me and STILL had room for a

respectable poker game off to the side if necessary.

At varying intervals, I tried to reach Lulu again. I called when I was

blessed with anesthesia. I called when it became obvious that the

anesthesia wasn't working on the left side. I called when I got more

anesthesia at about three o'clock in the morning. Eventually, I

decided that everybody around me was optional except for the

anesthesiologist, so I made her promise to keep coming back. Lulu

would be forgiven in advance. Maybe. I was comforted that I had both a

call button and a handy telephone to dial 9-1-1.

Progress was a bit slow, Dr. Bob told me, and he suspected that the

baby was face up. He knew how much I wanted to avoid another abdominal

birth, particularly since my mother would never make it into the

operating room under her own power and Lulu STILL hadn't shown her

face. I told him that I wouldn't sue him if he wanted to use forceps.

Surprising nice doctors is a little hobby of mine, so I was gratified

to see his eyebrows hop up for an instant.

Spunky, our baby-to-be, didn't enjoy my little joke and demonstrated

it by causing me a tremendous whooshing and churning sensation. On an

instinct, I asked Dr. Bob to look again. He found the baby perfectly

positioned and things began to happen easily and quickly after that.

Mom bravely held one of my feet and shrieked with Old World delight

when Spunky's head appeared. As Dr. Bob hauled the rest of the baby

out Mom proclaimed her a boy. "Look again," said Dr. Bob.

She was a strong and graceful baby, alert and mature enough to hold

her head up and appraise her surroundings before she fell soundly

asleep. Reluctantly handing her to the nurses so that she could win

the newborn olympics, I reposed and called the Reverend while the

doctor cheerfully went about his peri-repairs.

"She's perfect and a little scary," I reported, "It's really too bad

you're not here right now, you're missing all the blood and

guts...Nono Lulu never made it...She called?...OH! Here she is!"

Lulu tiptoed into the room and apologized in what seemed like several

languages while trying not to look at either my stitches, the man who

was making them, or my dished placenta. She had turned the phone off

in full confidence that I wouldn't have this baby while she was so

dead tired.

I love Lulu, but I love her logic even more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"I would say DUH! when you say that, except that you told me

that's rude. So can I just whisper "duh" instead? Really quietly?

Would that be okay?" -Sparky

* alt.foot.fat-free: where you can experience the thrill of da feet