I started this blog in 2012 as my own therapy - to get out there and just let it all out. To stop hiding the crazy and share it with whomever felt inclined to read about it. I haven't written anything since 2012 because, basically, I started feeling like myself again. I didn't feel like I needed to share stories anymore because I had accepted who I was - cheesy as that sounds.
But I miss writing and sharing the controlled crazy with everyone, so with that said, I think I am going to pick it back up. It may not be regular, because you know - I got shit going on, but if you want to hear some of the funny stuff…tune in.
As many of you already know, because I spam your Facebook wall, I gave birth to Olive Audrina Lehman this past April. The doctors were worried she was a "little big" (story of my life) and I was past my due date, so they offered an induction. This was my first baby so I didn't know what the hell I was doing, and truthfully I was over it; I was ready to not be pregnant anymore, so when the doctor said, "do you want to be induced,” I was all "Abso-fucking-lutely!."
We went in Thursday morning at 7am, fast forward to sometime around 8pm on Friday night the doctor came back in to "check" me and I was still one centimeter dilated. Ridiculous, I was having contractions for over 24 hours and I was only one centimeter dialed...things were going exactly according to my birth plan - ugh. Add insult to injury, Olive moved one way and apparently my parts went another - there was zero chance baby lady was coming out the 'ole fashion way. The doctor said, "Well, let me finish delivering the baby next door and I will be back to do your c-section." Um, okay….you “finish delivering the baby next door!" What in the actual fuck were you doing in my room if you were in the middle of "delivering the baby next door?!" Anyway, point is she made the decision this was going to happen for real and it starting to sink in that I was about to have a baby cut out of me. The doctor left the room and old Beth showed up.
At that point my husband came up to console me because tears were streaming down my face, I was convinced I was going to puke, die, shit myself - you know, that old chestnut. He came over, put his hands on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes and said, "Beth I don't think I can do this right now, I might shit myself in the operating room."
You see, everyone handles nerves differently. Some people puke, some people pass out, and some people shit themselves, but in my house we only ever think we are going to shit ourselves - never happens, but we just know it is going to happen.
Anyway, so the nurse comes in and my husband heads for the bathroom. The bathroom that was attached to my room had the acoustics of a cave; you could literally hear everything. People were coming in and out of the room, meanwhile my husband was blasting gassers in the bathroom for everyone to hear. When I am in panic mode I cannot stop talking (sidebar - I know I have a reputation of talking too much, but when I am nervous it is so much worse). I was nervous, I was mildly embarrassed for my husband, and Megan the nurse just happened to be there:
Beth: So Megan, has anyone who's had a c-section thrown up on the operating table?
Megan: yes, it’s no big deal, you just turn your head to the side and it hits the floor.
Beth: Wow, okay, so that doesn't make me feel better. Has anyone ever shit themselves on the operating table?Megan: No, not that I know of (she is still typing away on her computer and my husband is still having an audible back end blowout in the bathroom)
Beth: Has any one's husband ever shit themselves in the operating room...because as you can hear, my husband might be the first.
Megan: no, this would be a first
Beth: so by the sound of it, you think he is going to shit himself in the operating room? You would know right, you are a nurse?
Megan: (just laughs)
My husband comes back out of the bathroom and is feeling a little better, but still isn't sure he can do this. At this point they have brought him his scrubs to put on and he takes this opportunity to head back to the bathroom to "make sure it is all out" and change into his paper clothes. By now, I have calmed down a bit mainly because I have had the opportunity to ask every question imaginable, I drilled the nurse, anesthesiologist, the facilities guy who just happened to be there fixing a drawer on a cabinet...everyone. My husband rejoins me and has now professed that "while he was in the bathroom he has become alright with this now," and does not believe he will shit himself in the operating room. Wonderful.
We are finally to the point where they wheel me in to the operating room. Megan said, "your husband will be in once you are set up and the doctor comes in." So, off I go, I get all hooked up, laid out like a starfish and up goes the drape. The doctor comes in and hits the music and stands next to me like she is about to start cutting. One problem...my husband isn't there.
“Um, is my husband here? Did he make it in?” No one is paying attention to me. I immediately believe he has shit himself. I thought, he had a full on panic attack and he still thinks he is going to shit himself and he can't bring himself to come into the operating room - is that a divorce-able offense? Totally a divorce-able offense. He is going to miss his daughter’s birth because he was scared about shitting himself!?! But... what if he did shit himself - I totally understand why he couldn't be in here, and I can't divorce him if he really shit himself. Does anyone know if my husband shit himself???
Two seconds later he finally joins us in the room, with clean, shit free scrubs and shouts - "Hey everybody, how can I help!"