The Saga of Birth & Rebirth

All of us have heard the story of the Phoenix at some time or the other. Some of us would have also heard about the Thorn Bird as well. Both stories run parallel about a small bird willingly sacrificing life, either through fire or the piercing of the heart with a thorn kills itself, to be reborn again.

All this to me was a myth till seven days ago. A pretty story to be smiled at and a foolish bird to be pitied for its need for a largely unnecessary even if heroic sacrifice and pain endurance.

This was seven days ago and then all of it came true for me. My Miracle Maker or in other words the baby I was carrying in my womb was due around the end of February. And on the 23^rd during a scheduled visit to the doctor I was advised to get admitted to the hospital the same day. The doc felt it would be judicious to not wait anymore for a natural birth and go in for an induced labour.

I got admitted the that very night, was strapped to a Nuchal Stress Test machine which could on one hand monitor the baby’s heart beat and on the other the contractions my body was having in an attempt to bring the baby out into the world.

To help the process various injections and gels were used so that the baby could have a safe and smooth passage. This however was not to be, so after enduring the contractions which kept getting worse as the hours progressed, for about fourteen hours , I was finally taken into the OT for a Caesarian section. And this is when the stories of the Phoenix and the Thorn Bird became true as I signed the document agreeing to the procedure.

After some basic preparations I got wheeled into the OT. And before I could take in the atmosphere or orient myself, I was told to sit up for a ‘small injection’ in the back. What they didn’t mention was that the injection would be given in the gap between the spinal bones and was extremely painful. That done and with a tingling sensation taking over my body I was made to lie down with an oxygen mask. And soon after I heard the wailing of a child only to realize a second later that this was my own child.

She was briefly shown to me and then the nurse followed by two doctors took her out of the OT, while I lay there being stitched up.

The doctors having delivered safely became chatty and were soon discussing their next meeting of the local gynae chapter and the sort of participation to be expected, over my cut belly. Very much like you or me might discuss the latest from work over a cut cake.

All this I could hear though I felt nothing apart from a few tugs now and then. Twenty odd minutes later it was my turn to be wheeled out and I was put in a room with another set of monitoring machines that kept a check on my heart beat, pressure etc.

It was then that I saw that my BP had plunged to about 123/38 and slowly felt my lower body to discover that my stomach onwards everything was so bloated up that it felt like a taut balloon. As I puzzled over this phenomenon first my mom and then husband walked in. Their faces showing the relief at having seen the child and me both safe and sound.

An hour or so later, I was again wheeled out this time to a room in the in-patient section of the hospital. The moment I reached there I was surrounded by friends and the air was thick with warm wishes and happy smiles. Buoyed by the anaesthesia in the blood and the relief of it being over, I chatted away with them, being my usual witty self. And as my husband later commented, distributing the largesse of my ‘gyan’ freely and widely.

Later that evening, after checking with me, my little baby was brought to me, and I was told I could keep her with me as she was doing well. They wanted to know if I would want the child to be given a top-up feed and I declined as I had been told time and time again that mother’s milk is best for baby. And then when I tried to move my body to accommodate Aarini did I realize the pain and discomfiture that the operation had given. I could barely move. And yet feed I must.

The pain progressively grew worse and as the anesthesia wore off, I became increasingly aware of the mountain of pain that I needed to climb before I could hit the valley of recovery.

The nurse offered a sleep inducing injection, at least for a few hours; I would be oblivious to the pain. But I refused. What if my daughter wanted to be fed during those very hours? Today, sitting on the comp , on the seventh day, at home, with Aarini blissfully sleeping in front of me, I pen down this experience . Not because it’s unique, there are thousands across the world, who go through this every minute even as I write, but because I want to chronicle what it was like to get her into this world. And perhaps, keep a record for her to read some day. I am still unable to talk in more than a whisper as a louder voice causes pain. So does laughing, sneezing and coughing. Walking from the bedroom to the attached washroom is still an ordeal. And turning sides while lying down is a difficult art, I am relearning it gradually.

But much like the phoenix and the thorn bird, I have a song on my lips as I go through all this. Cause the Miracle maker is finally here.