Another Reason not to C-Section
A c-section can be painful. The doctors will prescribe wonderful pain medication too fake yourself into feeling half-way alive. These drugs will make you constipated. If you've never really experienced true constipation you will think, "this doesn't sound bad at all" and you will happily take your drugs which lull you to sleep. You will convince yourself "this isn't bad at all...." and then you will essentially pass out while your significant other tends to the baby.
Eventually, however, your body will expel all things held in the depths of your bowels for the past seven days. This will not be pretty. You will curse life as you know it while trying to figure out what to grab on to while you sit on the toilet sweating profusely. You will think "just breathe through this and everything will be okay..."
Twenty minutes later, while rocking back and forth, you will be pleading with God, "please just let me live through this..." Sweat will be dripping so bad it will sting your eyes. You will make deals with God like, "I promise to go to both the morning and the evening church services if I just don't get a hemmeroid!"
Just like labor, when you think you can't possibly take any more of the pain, something will pass out of your body that you swear was WAY too large to exit the path it just did. You will feel yourself tear in two and ready yourself for the gallon of blood you are convinced is currently oozing from your body.
A wild explosion of waste will ensue. You will not care that the toilet will be clogged, or that the walls are thin and everyone in the surrounding area can hear absolutely everything. You will not even care that smell has created a smog-like effect, one in which you could actually reach out and touch the stench.
Your body will convulse, arms and legs flinging themselves in front of you like one of those rediculous wooden Santa's that has the string coming out of its crotch, you know, you pull the string and the arms and legs shoot out like it was just electrocuted.
After you unclog the toilet, you will think, "at least now I can relax" and you will try to carefully pad your way back to the living room, only to get halfway there and be forced to race back to the porcelain stool which you will soon learn will be your best friend for the next hour and a half.
You will go through a roll of toilet paper and flush the toilet more than a dozen times.
Eventually you will feel empty enough to complain about it and you will swear that you will never take another stupid pain pill again, because nothing - not even the effects of being cut in half - could be worse than what you just went through.
Eventually, however, your body will expel all things held in the depths of your bowels for the past seven days. This will not be pretty. You will curse life as you know it while trying to figure out what to grab on to while you sit on the toilet sweating profusely. You will think "just breathe through this and everything will be okay..."
Twenty minutes later, while rocking back and forth, you will be pleading with God, "please just let me live through this..." Sweat will be dripping so bad it will sting your eyes. You will make deals with God like, "I promise to go to both the morning and the evening church services if I just don't get a hemmeroid!"
Just like labor, when you think you can't possibly take any more of the pain, something will pass out of your body that you swear was WAY too large to exit the path it just did. You will feel yourself tear in two and ready yourself for the gallon of blood you are convinced is currently oozing from your body.
A wild explosion of waste will ensue. You will not care that the toilet will be clogged, or that the walls are thin and everyone in the surrounding area can hear absolutely everything. You will not even care that smell has created a smog-like effect, one in which you could actually reach out and touch the stench.
Your body will convulse, arms and legs flinging themselves in front of you like one of those rediculous wooden Santa's that has the string coming out of its crotch, you know, you pull the string and the arms and legs shoot out like it was just electrocuted.
After you unclog the toilet, you will think, "at least now I can relax" and you will try to carefully pad your way back to the living room, only to get halfway there and be forced to race back to the porcelain stool which you will soon learn will be your best friend for the next hour and a half.
You will go through a roll of toilet paper and flush the toilet more than a dozen times.
Eventually you will feel empty enough to complain about it and you will swear that you will never take another stupid pain pill again, because nothing - not even the effects of being cut in half - could be worse than what you just went through.
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