I wrote this piece over a few months in the quiet minutes between one feed to the next; between the nappy changes; between the difficult naps. I remember discussing my episiotomy with friends after the fact, feeling scarred physically and mentally (having flashbacks to that day as I would fall asleep at night!) I felt as though, despite us all knowing that my son was going to be quite large, the notion that an episiotomy might be needed wasn't mentioned once.
It's a strange dichotomy...it was both the best day of my life, and one of the worst. Writing helped me return to myself after having my son, even if it was just a poem scribbled quickly whilst I escaped for ten minutes as my son enjoyed Miss Rachel's videos!
The Delivery
I thought he'd arrive wrapped up in paper
Slide from between my legs screaming in a red, velvet bow.
I thought the box breathing would null the pain
Stop the serrated daggers clawing my abdomen
Writhing around my insides with little courtesy for my sanity.
I thought I wouldn't feel anything for him, a stranger covered in my blood and vernix
Grasping for breath in this bright, new world.
And yet, I was all wrong.
He arrived surrounded by doctors
One, two, three, four, five? Six? Are they interns just here to observe as I rip in two?
One. Over one litre of blood was about to be spilt in crimson
Gilded, glinting vermillion all over the floor from the cut they made.
“Out, damned spot” - more like damned patch, puddle, pool.
Could we drown in this elixir together?
Before it happened: "Please, please can I just push once more?" I said.
"Once more." “You must try really hard now".
She squeezed my hand, the truth written in her eyes.
Could they smell the fear as I tried to defy my own body’s limits?
Once more then, once more.
He's in distress it's time to dissect
And disconnect my skin from itself disarm its ability to keep him in
My protests dissolve my husband distracts I am dismantled
Those standing there watch, enrapt as I am discombobulated
Disturbed Disrobed Disinfected Whilst my heart was made whole.
He appeared in all his invisible finery
Placed on my chest whilst my heart pumps love and blood which drips an hourglass
Counting down how much time until shock will set in.
It doesn't. I am saved. He is safe. Yet I am scarred in more ways than one.
“There was so much blood on the floor”, he told me, nights later
The memory wrapping itself around us both like
Poison ivy wound around a tree, beautiful, yet deadly.
***
"I can feel you stitching me up," I said.
The needle threads through my dismembered skin.
"Did you give her enough? She can have two doses," the midwife muttered.
"One will do," the doctor replied.
I turned, looking at my husband holding his son
He is a fresh, newly opened present, about to become dog-eared and worn by love.
I wait until I am whole enough to hold them both.
Such a beautiful poem, thanks for sharing!