… or Thank you for not haystack. Nowadays it is fashionable to tell scary stories about “violence in childbirth” and other horrors. No, I do not deny that rudeness and rudeness may well take place. But the conditions in which they give birth now are strikingly different from the situation, for example, 17 years ago.
– Well, when the second? – Cheerfully ask me my mother’s girlfriends at every meeting.
I smile back and think: “Never, damn it!” Exactly the same thought occurred in my head when I walked out of the doorway of the hospital with five-day-old Sasha in my arms. “Come back for the boy,” the nurse said goodbye. Yeah, right now. Of course, the maternity hospital is not the only reason why I remained the mother of an only child. But the impression was powerful.
My pregnancy was pretty easy. I was young, rosy-cheeked, I did not have the Internet (no one at all had it 18 years ago), there were no girlfriends who were ready to broadcast around the clock about the horrors of our obstetrics. All was good. I went to the hospital when the contractions began. Ambulance.
Of course, I had a bag with me. But the inside is not at all what is being collected now. Of the same, probably only slippers and diapers. Which were then worth their weight in gold, by the way. Nightgown? Robe? Socks? No, absolutely. They will give out a sick leave – washed out, eerie, in nauseating stains. There were four holes for hands in my nightie – on one side. On the other, one. But then from top to bottom.
“It’s just humiliating,” even the doctor from the next ward found my outfit too shabby.
Postpartum pads? How are you going to wear them? Underwear is also not allowed. I don’t know why, but I can’t. In general, the bag turned out to be rather modest: slippers, a toothbrush, diapers and medicines.
I sit at the door on a high chair, the midwife fills out the map. From time to time I freeze in pain – the contractions run.
“Have you brought pampers? – a nurse who is passing by kicks the chair on which I am sitting. – And what about the ambulance? Couldn’t walk by yourself? “
I look up at her in confusion. It hurts me, it is difficult to concentrate on something other than my feelings. And in general, I don’t want to listen to anything other than myself. This is the first time this has happened to me, you know.
“Tanya, then,” the midwife reined in her.
Then they take me to the prenatal room, put me on the couch and leave me alone. Measure the frequency of contractions? Calm down! “By five o’clock, not earlier,” they say to my mother, who called the department. The clock is noon.
There is a dropper in the vein. Which I brought with me – yes, in my bag, besides slippers, there were painkillers (baralgin. Epidural anesthesia had not yet been invented), syringes, a dropper, oxytocin in ampoules. I lay alone for an hour and a half. Nobody came up to me – you see, they were waiting for me to start screaming. But I didn’t scream. It was somehow awkward – right there the children are asleep, mothers are resting.
“Didn’t she scream? And didn’t you cry? ” – then my grandmother wondered. That’s how. I have a conscience.
She opened her mouth only to call the midwife. I realized that it was time to do something. Give birth, for example. She strained herself – and realized that something had happened. “Natalya Vasilievna” – I call. “Yes, yes, now,” he replies from the corridor. I’m waiting. The next attempt – they were, it turns out. There were no birth preparation courses at that time either. What and how, I had no idea. But no one pressed on the stomach either. I didn’t have to.
“Natalya Vasilievna!” – I call a second time.
“Stop! Wait a minute!” – the midwife threw back the sheet. All the staff of the department, including the cleaning lady, came running to the scream. Where am I going, tree-sticks …
My daughter, contrary to forecasts, was born at half past two. What the rozal looks like from the inside, I never found out. And I have no regrets.
40 minutes after giving birth, they put me on my feet, examined me on a chair and sent me to the ward. Yes, under its own power. What gurneys? I mean, you can’t get up? Are the joints in place yet? Stop it, they used to give birth in a haystack before. OK. I lay down on a bed with a crushed armor mesh. The child was taken away, then they brought only for feeding. A few years later, “mother and child friendly” maternity hospitals appeared. And before that there was what? ..
I am trying to understand what happened to me in general, where at one moment my belly, which I had been growing and carrying with me, went to.
I want to go to the toilet. I get up, I go. There is a hefty layer of ice on the shattered window pane. The toilet seat does not inspire confidence from the word “not at all”. In appearance – older than me, wooden, covered with peeling paint and, it seems, in splinters. I heard an hour ago that they brought from the village a woman with a “20” uniform. She has lice, in general. And god knows what else. Sorry for the details, but riding in a cowgirl position after giving birth is still a thrill.
I want to wash myself. Blood, you know, sweat. “Can I go to the shower?” – timidly ask the midwife. She, wiping her wet hair with a towel, says that they will take me to wash if I stay here for more than ten days. Until then, do your hygienic chores in the ward, there is a sink.
Twice a day in the corridor is heard the loud “Women, wash yourself!” This means that the nurse has heated the water and drags the bucket into the bathroom. In which, by the way, it was still possible to close. At the call along the corridors, women in childbirth pulled themselves up with a duck gait. Why duck? Well, remember, you can’t take underwear with you. Mothers were given hefty diapers, which were suggested to be used as pads. Imagine what it would be like to move around while trying to keep this towel between your legs. Not everyone succeeded. One of the girls walked holding the diaper with both hands – front and back. Is it humiliating? And how.
Thirsty. In the corridor there is an enamelled drinking water tank for these purposes. Not imported, no, boiled water is added there every day – warm, disgusting. There is a ladle on the lid. I lift it up – a fat cockroach is looking at me from under the ladle. I swallow the lump in my throat and put the ladle back in place. No, life did not prepare me for this.
We were all fed in the dining room. I went there exactly once – for tea. Tea, like oil, just as black and oily, we scooped out of the bucket. It is impossible to drink it because it is not tea. For color, soda was added to it, not tea leaves. I just disdained to approach the table: the bottom of the plates were covered with a rough layer … I don’t know why. Bleach, maybe? I didn’t want to touch it.
Five days later they let us go home. The happiness is incredible. And not even because I was finally able to be with my daughter. I was able to wash myself, put on clean linen. Yes, in general, put on something normal with this epic flaw. Have some tea. Eat some soup. In the end, fall asleep in an embrace with a child.
In a haystack, you say? Thanks for not haystack.