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Unfiltered Story #100616

, | Unfiltered | November 26, 2017

(I’m 37 weeks pregnant and we catch the signs of preeclampsia early so my doctor decides to induce me. The L&D nurse instantly recognized my husband as a child she used to treat years back, and she spends time telling me stories about him and his siblings whenever she’s in my room.

When there are problems with labor progression that threaten the well-being of my child, my OB/GYN, husband and I decide a less-rushed c-section rather than an emergency one two hours later is the best chance for minimal trauma to my son. The following exchange happens when the medical staff is explaining the process to me:)

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: What we’ll do is have you sit and curl forward and I’ll stick the needle in and get you numbed up. Then you’ll lay down and I’ll be monitoring you from the sidelines. Any questions?

ME: No questions. Just, don’t show me the needle.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: are you afraid of needles, then?

ME: yeah, but I’ve gotten myself to the point that if you don’t show it to me, I’ll be okay.


(A short time later the medical staff are getting everything ready around me while the anesthesiologist is getting me prepared. The same nurse is with me since my husband had to go through a different entrance to the OR and wash/get scrubs, and she is very attentive to the fact that I’m starting to get very anxious)

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: ok, we’re ready. THIS is what I’ll be sticking in your back today!

(He proudly holds up the needle which my rational brain registers as being 4 inches, but my illogical anxieties scream at what I irrationally decide is more like 8 inches and then I imagine it being pushed up my spinal column and start to panic. The look the nurse gave him was a pure promise of pain and suffering once surgery was done.

During the injection process, though, she was a saint and talked me through my anxieties. She held my hand, being the only person in the room to recognize the barely contained anxiety attack, until my husband arrived and took over.

A short time later, my son was born perfectly healthy, and I had a textbook recovery because we’d caught the warning signs of a potentially deadly condition early enough)

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