As someone who holds high expectations for myself, I often thrive under pressure. So, when I first heard about the various risks associated with labor and delivery, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of facing such a situation felt so far-fetched that it was almost laughable. I had confidence in my abilities; after all, I believed I was in control of my own destiny when it came to this life-changing event.
I’ve always prided myself on my self-control and dignity, which made me feel assured that I was fully prepared for whatever the birthing experience might throw at me. To all the well-meaning individuals offering their advice, I thought, “I’ve got this!”
Looking back now, it seems so simple and preventable. I thought I could handle anything, but this experience changed me forever. I can’t go back to the person I once was. I’ll never fully regain that sense of dignity I had before. Where I used to feel strong and confident, now I grapple with feelings of vulnerability and insecurity. Even the simplest tasks have become overwhelming sources of self-doubt.
It was a small incident, maybe the size of a nickel — not that the size matters, really. I recall a wise professor once saying that size doesn’t matter, and since he was a scientist, I generally trust him. What truly matters is the undeniable reality of the event. The “now you see it, now you don’t” scenario still signifies that someone witnessed it happen. There’s undeniable proof!
I felt it. I may not have seen it, but I knew it occurred. Even after all these years, just closing my eyes brings back the shame. Despite the loss of sensation in that area, I was acutely aware of what had transpired. Maybe I’m a medical marvel, but it’s impossible to ignore an explosive release from one’s own body, regardless of the specific nerve sensations.
The look on my nurse’s face said it all; her awkward attempt to discreetly remove the evidence was painfully transparent. Did she even realize who I was? I’m usually the one in control of situations, not the one being deceived!
My husband, bless his heart, was off in the corner, wishing he could vanish into thin air to avoid the embarrassment. While his reaction was predictable, it felt oddly insignificant at the moment. I know his own share of embarrassing moments; we share that knowledge in our relationship. But this nurse? She knew nothing else about me! This was a pivotal moment, and first impressions are everything. I can handle a degree of nonsense, but being lied to right then was unacceptable. When I asked the nurse a straightforward question, she not only avoided answering honestly but changed the subject entirely.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Thompson! Meet your beautiful new baby!”
But I had pooped on the table. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
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Ultimately, what I learned from this experience is that sometimes, the most embarrassing moments can define us in unexpected ways.