I am writing a post that has a fairly descriptive depiction of my memory of my first labouring and delivering experience. It is upsetting. It is upsetting to read. It is upsetting to write. I don't think about it. I am starting to get worried now though. I am just over seven months pregnant and my labour is looming in front of me. I don't know if I could do it again if I had to go back to a hospital. I remember feeling so vulnerable, so neglected, so ignored.
I am not concerned about the labour itself so much as the whirlwind repeat of interventions, decisions made for me, voicelessness, unimportant. Now that I have the safe haven of the birthing centre, I feel slight relief. not full. It is ahead of me, and now I relive what was behind me. The more I think about it, the more questions and concerns I have. How did it spiral out of control like that? How did I let it?
I just want my beautiful new baby to be with me from the very first moment it breathes air on the outside. I want to be able to touch them, see them, be with them. How is that a novelty? How strange.
I babble. I probably won't publish the post I mentioned. I think I need to get past it before I can share it. One day.
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