My dream last night:
I start to go into labor, so Steve and I drive to the hospital. At the first sign of pain, Steve says he is getting me some drugs. Suddenly, it is hours later, and the baby is born, and I don't remember anything - much less the birth. It turns out I was so drugged out that I lost my memory of it. Steve doesn't get why I'm angry about not remembering the pain of childbirth. "Isn't that what you'd want?" he says. I say, "I've been waiting all my life to go through this experience. Of course I wanted to be able to remember it!" I ask him to tell me all the details, and it saddens me so much that this life-changing event can only be accessed through the memories of others.
Even worse, I've been discharged from my room, and they are sending me home on the same day I've had the baby. I am furious! I try to stop a couple of nurses as they pass - beg them to put me back in a room: I need more time to let my body rest and heal. I need support. I need help learning to breastfeed. But the hospital is crowded, and every room is taken. At one point, the nurses reluctantly set up a gurney for me in the middle of a cafeteria. The roof is dripping, and I am again furious that this is all they can offer me, after all the promises of a comfortable birthing center room that I cannot even remember.
Meanwhile, the baby (a boy) is bonding with my mother more than with me. But then he leans toward me and gives me a big kiss. I take him in my arms, and he and I become inseparable. This is the one bright spot of the dream.
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