Confessions of a Bad Mother by Stephanie Calman Read Free Book Online Page A

he was standing outside the delivery room
listening to this terrible screaming, and he said to the bloke next to him,
‘ Bloody hell! Listen to that! ’ And the bloke said,
‘ We’re not having pain relief. ’
    We walk home in silence, which is particularly tricky because
they’re staying with us.
    Over the next few months, we have extensive experience of the Moral
Hierarchy of Birth Methods, with – naturally – No Pain Relief at
the top. Before you read on, though – or email me – please just
note one thing. I have nothing but admiration for women who give birth the way
nature intended, and if I ever thought there was the slightest hope of my doing
so, I would. But I know myself, and I’m not one of them. Even my mother,
former press officer of the National Childbirth Trust and potentially the most
annoying person I could possibly meet at this stage – upon hearing my
absolute terror of childbirth, extends her sympathy and support. With that in
mind, I must say, it is easier to go on. Still, I become a magnet for
everyone’s Birth Politics.
    ‘I do personally favour a Caesarean,’ says a woman from
Peter’s work. ‘But I wouldn’t have one, because if you
don’t actually give birth, your body fails to release oxytocin and
bonding doesn’t occur.’
    Which rather begs the question: if the Caesarean is an emergency, does
bonding occur then?
    I could do what Kate Winslet subsequently did – and lie. But
I’m not an actress and lie badly. Besides, I am intrigued by how the
choice I – an individual – make about my method of delivery, is
taken to mean that I am anti every other method and therefore have to be taken
to task. My C-section doesn’t illustrate my attitude to natural births,
any more than using a condom makes me anti-Pill. If you wear black to a party
and I wear pink – does my pink automatically state that I believe black
is wrong ?
    ‘Is home-made bread better than shop bought?’ says
Peter.
    ‘Usually, yes, it is.’
    ‘Ah, but is it morally superior ?’
    Confident that he has had the Last Word on the matter, he opens his car
magazine. Well, at least one of us is going to be in good shape for the birth.
I, on the other hand, come home every other day in a state because someone or
other has ‘picked on me’ about my choice.
    On top of which, I’m completely stressed at work. At thirty-seven
weeks, I’m still on a project that should have finished by now, and am
getting on so badly with one of the team that I keep thinking I’m going
to have a heart attack and die.
    ‘Well, that’d solve your Caesarean problem,’ says
Peter.
    ‘The weeks leading up to the birth are supposed to be CALM!’
I scream.
    Maybe if I’d been a man, I might now be writing: Week 37: I am
continuing to produce excellent work. I am earning good money –
    and am soon to be a Mother as well!
    The day arrives. There are two surgeons, two anaesthetists, a couple of
nurses and two more people as well. Are they training everyone in this
theatre? Or am I so nervous I’m seeing double?
    ‘What do you do?’ I ask a bloke in theatre greens.
    ‘I’m a Medical Technician.’
    That makes eight. No wonder the NHS isn’t keen. I try not to look
at the row of scalpels. As I bend forward for the epidural, they ask me about
the CD we’ve brought. Peter’s choice of opera duets has won over
mine of James Brown Live at the Apollo . Even though I know they’re
trying to distract me, I feel flattered. It makes a pleasant change from:
‘ Going on holiday this year? ’ as they shove in a freezing
speculum.
    ‘I feel as though I’m at a cocktail party,’ I say at
one point.
    ‘Oh yes,’ says the anaesthetist, ‘we like to provide
that atmosphere.’ Someone produces a bar, a bit like a huge loo-roll
holder.
    ‘You’re not going to stick that in my back, are
you?’
    They hang a cloth over it, screening off what my sister refers to as
your ‘lower