Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Another Traumatic Experience

In the beginning of summer, suddenly I had a threatened miscarriage so my doctor, a kindly old man, put me on complete bed rest for a month. When I say complete, I do mean 'complete'. Flat on my back, no pillow under my head, I was not allowed even to lift my head to eat or drink, but had to turn sideways and be fed! Nor could I go to the bathroom. It was humiliating, with me feeling fine otherwise, to be subjected to this continual handling by the nurses [however kind and cheerful they were]. All this was due to the fear that any movement even in bed might trigger the miscarriage that so far had been stayed.

When my doctor wanted to prescribe a diet of rich protein, he was faced by my vegetarianism. He ranted, 'Someone has brought you up badly! What you need is good rare steak!' - which immediately made me feel like throwing up. So he made me eat lots of cottage cheese and jello [ok, it may have gelatin made not from synthetic ingredients but actual hoofs of animals, but like most other items I had been used to and liked, that never mattered to me]. This was so bland that I had to beg him to let me eat some home-cooked spicy food, and he concurred, saying there was after all nothing wrong with my digestion. So Ramu brought me each evening a small jar of sambar or other curry to mix with rice or whatever. Within days, I found the amount had diminished to a mere mouthful, and asked him why he was bringing so little. He protested he was in fact bringing nearly half a jar [usually old jam bottles] each time, so we checked with the nurses and they owned up to taking some each, if I were still sleeping when their own dinner time came around – it was so tasty, while if I was awake and had finished my dinner by then, they used to get some anyway. A good testimonial to R's culinary skills! Thereafter, he had to get a full jar so they and I could both be satisfied.

Another problem was that my hair could not be washed during my daily sponge baths. I could only stand it for a week before the itch got too much. So after my pestering the staff for another week, the nurse wheeled me in a stretcher to a wash basin and washed my hair over it! What ecstasy! But only once in the whole month did they offer me this luxury.

Suddenly one day, Dr. G froze when he checked the baby's heart and then broke the news to me that he could not hear it at all. They did some other tests [no ultrascan in those days] and in a couple of days, he was sure it was no go. He told me calmly I could go home now. But what about 'that'? I asked and was aghast to find that he wanted me to go back to some strenuous activity so that the foetus would come out by itself. I cried at having a dead baby still within me for who knows how long and begged him to force it out, by Caesarean or whatever, but he was unrelenting. He pointed out I had had already one operation and i f I did want a child again, it was not good to do another one unless absolutely necessary.

So I scrubbed the floors and dusted and cleaned and carried heavy grocery bags up our stairs and tried to hasten the delivery. For what seemed ages but probably was just a few days, nothing seemed to happen. One day, without warning, I sensed more than felt the labour pains [I recalled that even in my first pregnancy I had not felt real pain when my labour pains at Pimpri had come on]. Ramu was away at work so I told him and then called a taxi; when I told the driver the destination, he turned around and said, 'But lady, it is just a few blocks from here – you could easily walk it! ' I agreed a bit ashamed that yes, I could, but I was not well at all, and would he please hurry. I had in fact to shout to the hospital attendant at the door that I was going to deliver then and there as I felt it almost coming out, but they managed to get me to the delivery table. Dr. G took one look at the baby and said, 'It is just as well it did not survive – it would have had multiple congenital deformities'.

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