- Well, when the second? - my mom's girlfriends cheerfully ask me at every meeting. I smile back and think: “Never fucking shit!” Exactly the same thought arose in my head when I went beyond the maternity hospital with a five-day Sasha in my arms. “Come back for the boy,” said the nurse. Yeah, right now. Of course, the maternity hospital is not the only reason why I remained the mother of an only child. But the impression was powerful. Pregnancy was pretty easy for me. I was young, my mother-in-law, I did not have the Internet (no one ever had it 18 years ago), there were no girlfriends who were ready to broadcast around the clock about the horrors of our obstetrics. All was good. I went to the maternity hospital when the contractions began. By ambulance
A photo: GettyImages Of course I had a bag, of course. But inside is not what they collect now. Of the same, probably only slippers and diapers. Which then were worth its weight in gold, by the way. Nightdress? Bathrobe? Socks? No, absolutely. They will be given a sick-list - a faded, eerie-looking, sickening spot. There were four holes for hands in my nightie - on one side. On the other one. But from the top to the bottom. "This is simply humiliating," - even my outfit seemed too shabby even to a doctor from the neighboring department. Patch pads? And how will you wear them? Underwear, too, is impossible. I do not know why, but it is impossible. In general, the bag turned out to be quite modest: sneakers, toothbrush, diapers and medicines. I sit at the door on the chair, the midwife fills the map. I freeze from pain from time to time - the pains run through. “Did you bring diapers? - kicks the chair in which I sit, a passing nurse. - And what about the ambulance? I couldn’t walk myself? ”I look at her bewildered from the bottom up. It hurts me, to concentrate on something other than my own feelings is difficult. Anyway, I don’t want to listen to anything but myself. With me this is the first time, you know. “Tanya, then”, the midwife put her on the line. Then they take me to the prenatal room, put me on a couch and leave me alone. Measure the frequency of contractions? Yes, calm down! “About five o'clock, not before,” they say to my mom, who phoned the ward. On the clock - noon. In Vienna drip. I brought with me - yes, in my bag, besides slippers, there were painkillers (baralgin. Epidural anesthesia was not yet invented), syringes, a dropper, oxytocin in ampoules. Alone, I lay for an hour and a half. Nobody came up to me - you see, they were waiting for me to start screaming. But I did not scream. It was awkward somehow - right there the children are sleeping, the mothers are resting. “How, didn’t you scream? And didn't you cry? ”My grandmother was surprised then. That's how. Conscience I have. The mouth opened only in order to call the midwife. I realized that it was time to do something. Give birth, for example. She strained - and realized that something had happened. "Natalya Vasilievna", - I call. “Yes, yes, now,” responds from the corridor. I am waiting. The next attempt - it was them, it turns out. There were no training courses for childbirth either. What and how, I had no idea. But on the stomach, no one pressed. I didn't have to. "Natalya Vasilyevna!" - I call for the second time. "Stop! Wait! ”The midwife threw back the sheet. At the cry ran all the staff of the department, including the cleaning woman. Where am I going to see, stick trees ... My daughter, contrary to forecasts, was born at half past two. I didn’t recognize how I looked from the inside. And I don’t regret it. After 40 minutes after the birth I was put on my feet, examined in a chair and sent to the ward. Yes, under its own power. What are wheelchairs? I mean, can't you get up? And, the joints in place have not yet risen? Yes, stop, before they even gave birth to a haystack. Okay. I lay down on the bed with a crushed armor mesh. The child was taken away, then brought only for feeding. A few years later, a maternity hospital, "friendly to the mother and child." And before that was what? ..
Photo:GettyImagesI'm trying to figure out what happened to me, where my belly, which I've been growing and carrying around for so long, has suddenly gone. I want to go to the toilet. I get up and go. There's a huge layer of ice on the cracked window glass. The toilet seat doesn't inspire confidence at all. It looks older than me, wooden, covered in peeling paint and, apparently, in splinters. I heard an hour ago that they brought a woman from the village with a "20-size figure." She has lice, basically. And God knows what else. Forgive the details, but peeing in the cowgirl position after giving birth is a real thrill. I want to wash myself. Blood, you know, sweat. "Can I take a shower?" I timidly ask the midwife. She, wiping her wet hair with a towel, says that they will take me to wash if I lie here for more than ten days. Until then, do your personal hygiene in the ward, there is a sink. Twice a day, a loud "Women, wash yourselves!" is heard in the corridor. This means that the nurse has heated up the water and is dragging a bucket to the toilet. In which, by the way, you could still lock yourself in back then. In response to the call, women in labor waddled along the corridors. Why waddled? Well, remember, you can't take your underwear with you. Mothers were given huge diapers, which they were supposed to use as pads. Imagine what it was like to move around while trying to hold this towel between your legs. Not everyone succeeded. One of the girls walked holding the diaper with both hands - in front and behind. Humiliating? Of course. I wanted to drink. In the corridor for this purpose there was an enamel tank with drinking water. Not imported, no, they pour boiled water in there every day – warm, disgusting. There is a ladle on the lid. I pick it up – a well-fed cockroach is looking at me from under the ladle. I swallow the lump in my throat, put the ladle back. No, life did not prepare me for this. We were all fed in the canteen. I went there exactly once – for tea. Tea, similar to oil, just as black and oily, we scooped it out of a bucket. It is impossible to drink, because it is not tea. For color, they added soda, not tea leaves. I was simply disgusted to go near the table: the bottom of the plates was covered with a rough layer… I don’t know what. Chlorine, maybe? I didn’t want to touch it. Five days later, they let us go home. Incredible happiness. And not even because I could finally be with my daughter. I was able to wash myself, put on clean underwear. And actually put on something normal instead of this epic rag. Drink some tea. Eat some soup. Finally, fall asleep hugging my child. In a haystack, you say? Thank goodness it wasn't a haystack.
