puking. After throwing up three times in the longest five minutes ever, the anesthesiologist came to give me an epidural. She told me to sit up and be still (which is hard when you are having contractions). I manage to sit up, not puke, and be still. She inserts the needle and it feels like she has just plugged me into a wall socket. Electricity shoots up my body and shudder a little. The anesthesiologist says "you're going to have to be still." I said "you're shocking me." So we try again. I throw up a little, and then I sit still. She pokes me again and connects me once again to the wall outlet. "You really have to stay still when I am doing this," she says to me. "Oh, wait. Oh you poor thing. I was in the wrong spot." There's a small prick in my back and within seconds I can hear Grace Slick in my head "one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small." I can't feel anything except mellow. The anesthesiologist asks me "How do you feel now?" I say "Like Grace Slick is singing just to me." She says "I don't understand what you mean." My nurse, who must have been some sort of child prodigy, because she couldn't have been a day older than 16, says "She feels high." I say "You get me. Do you like Jefferson Airplane?" My prodigy nurse says "I don't know who that is." But she is very distracted by the machines that I am hooked up to and some readouts. This is where things get a little fuzzy. Because then, there's my doctor. I don't remember this, but my husband has since told me that my doctor looks at machine stuff and says "Oh shit … oh shit … Oh Shit!" (my husband did not find that comforting, since it was not in our birth plan.) And so then I am getting prepped for an emergency c-section. Someone hands me a cup and says "Drink this!" and so I do. A few minutes later, the bad thing happens, and I know it's happened because I can smell it, but I don't care because I'm so high and I'm about to have my baby! Then my doctor is there again with an electric razor,and all I can think is "dude, you should have bought me supper first." And then I am on a gurney being whisked to the operating room, and it's all very E.R. And it makes me want to sing. So I start singing "They're trying to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no." The operating room is packed with people. I notice the nurses around me are very concerned with my husband, asking him if he's going to faint, which he doesn't. So I sing a little "Rehab" to him to help him calm down, you know like you do. Sometime during this, I have failed a test to see if I have enough drugs in me to withstand the surgery and they have given me some more drugs. Which makes me intensely nauseated. That is when I realize that the only part of my body that I can move is my head. And I can't move it a lot. I pan. I panic hard. "I'm going to throw up, I going to throw up, I'm going to throw up!" There was some reassurances said and a slight movement to my right, and my mellow is back. I have to sing! "They're trying to make me go to rehab, I said, la la la la la la la la Elmo's World. Yes I've been bad, but when I come back you'll la la la la la la la la Elmo's World." There's an angry pissed off crying past the fabric barrier covering my abdomen and I see my doctor hold up my son. He's long, with huge Fred Flinstone feet, and he is the maddest little newborn ever. I cry. He's beautiful and I love him. The anesthesiologist, who I think may have been the person on my right the whole time asks me "Why are you crying? He's okay." I think this is a beautiful f-ing moment, I'm happy. That's why I'm crying. What I say is "My son. He's so pissed." And that's how I met Eli.
written 4/2014 for Arc Stories (which they eventually decided against.)
Sorry for the unedited block of text, I'm trying to do this in a minute.