17.05.2009

It was in the maternity hospital No. 1 of the city of Kurgan.

So, December 1993.

Having decided that our family was ripe for replenishment, we decided to finally give birth to a child. True, it dragged on for a year and a half. My map already contained a referral to the infertility office when I found out that I was pregnant. After waiting a couple more weeks for fidelity, I went to antenatal clinic... The doctor looked at me and silently discharged me referral for an abortion... I stared blankly at this piece of paper and almost burst into tears. What kind of abortion? We've been waiting for so long! The doctor sighed, shrugged her shoulders indifferently and began to write directions for tests.

At the same time, she dryly uttered:
“I hope you understand what you are doing.
- Of course I understand! We need this child!

This is how it was born in me and began to grow new life... The most wonderful thing is to feel the movement. This is something completely inexplicable, and unlike anything else. I could watch my belly for hours, talk to it, rock it, sing songs. My husband took over in the evenings. For some reason, he spoke directly to the navel, caught protruding elbows, knees, stroked the head, and regretted that he was not allowed into the ultrasound room with me to look at the baby. (At that time, men were not allowed further than the threshold into the housing estate).

There was little literature on pregnancy and childbirth at that time ( Eka-mom was not the same, editor's note). Ordinary doctors were not painfully talkative, they just did their job. A friend brought a book from a German doctor, which contained a sea of ​​information and a wonderful tablet, according to which, knowing the date of conception (and I knew her!), It was possible to determine the date of birth. Just two digits. And my birth took place on December 14, after my husband's birthday.

They constantly threatened to put me on storage. Probably because my whole pregnancy was tormented by toxicosis, edema and terrible heartburn. This is how I felt. But there was something else that made me quit my job and lay at home, visited by a midwife. I persuaded the doctor to wait at least for my husband's birthday. On December 4, we celebrated his 25th birthday and the next day with our things, we left for the hospital.

In the corridor, there was one more such couple yearning. Together we spent 40 minutes waiting. Until a big, rude aunt took us to the emergency room.

Quickly to me! Both! Cards! “She commanded like an American sergeant. Nice start. We were beginning to shake a little.

We were changed, the second woman was treated by nurses. Knowing how this is done in gynecology, I took care of myself at home. I washed, cut my hair and shaved. But they checked me out. They did not want to take their word for it. A humiliating procedure. This is even worse than when you, like horses, look in the teeth. I was placed on the 3rd floor for preservation. Outside the door - 2 wards for 2 and 3 people, shower, toilet. Eerie gray walls. A gloomy, silent neighbor, whose name I no longer remember. All days of procedure, garbage look and taste of food and horror stories roommates about childbirth. I've read books. I was pleased with the free payphone in the corridor, through which you could contact your relatives.

Regular check-ups on the chair. On the second day, the doctor asked me when to give birth. I replied that everything is written on the map. She looked at me as the last dumb person in this world and said:
- I do not ask what is written in the card, I ask what is your due date and when are you going to give birth.
I replied that on the 14th. So she wrote it down.

I had to tune in exactly for this date. On my 13th evening, I said that if I didn't call in the morning, then I was giving birth. On the night from 13 to 14 I did not sleep, it was somehow uncomfortable, I read, wandered through the empty corridors, which greatly annoyed the nurse, and she constantly grumbled so that I did not stagger here, but went to sleep. I asked if contractions start, what to do?

- Do what you taught.

At about 5 o'clock in the morning, contractions began and I began to obediently detect them, and breathe out. At 7 she pushed the sleepy nurse to invite a doctor. The doctor looked and said that disclosure was in full swing. And again she sent me to sleep. It became uncomfortable to lie down. But it was wonderful to walk. And walk quickly, from one end of the corridor to the other. I stomped and groaned and puffed with the watch in my hands. Apparently when I was completely tired of everyone, for some reason they sent me to the boxes, on the 1st floor, as they later explained, the card said - a runny nose. But it was written 2-3 weeks ago! And I am as healthy as a horse! Of my clothes, only slippers were left on me, carefully regretting my cambric shirt and dressing gown, and giving me a short matting with brown spots with a cut to the navel. They shaved me dry, with bald patches, abrasions, put an enema and took me across the entire corridor to the delivery block. Between the legs, the wounds were terribly sore and bleeding, the contents of the intestines urgently asked to go out, pulled the back.

Boxing consisted of two small family houses with couches, armchairs and children's tables. What a blessing - there was also a toilet and a shower! But for some reason, without light and without doors. No doors because there was no light. A nurse with a rag was constantly darting back and forth. What soap and what is not clear. I just crawled on the floor on duty.

They laid me down on a bare couch and stuck an IV in my hand. My questions were not answered. What do they put on, why? God knows. It should be so! Or - spelled out! After the dropper, they began to twist me like a chicken while cutting, it felt like they were twisting my legs in my hips, about to be pulled out of the pelvis. Compared to previous contractions, these seemed unbearable. They rolled abruptly, sending a sharp pain into every cell. I breathed, massaged the points with one hand. I was thirsty. I asked the nurse to give me water and call someone. The nurse barked that when it was necessary, then they would come. But she gave me water. She poured it straight from the tap and put it behind my head, on the couch. How to dodge to take this glass is a question. I asked if I could get my hands on it. Silence. As a result of waving my hands in search of a glass, at the next fight, I just brushed it to the floor. Glass to smithereens. A nurse came running to the noise and in a colorful swearing uniform I learned everything about myself, my mother and my future child. Even my husband got it. He was obliged in absentia to screw in all the missing bulbs. In payment for the broken state property. A nurse came to her screams, then a doctor. Looked at me, suppressed me, touched me inside, took long knitting needle and to my cry "Why ?!" calmly replied: "Pierce the bubble." Warm water ran. The waters are clean. This is good. And then another nurse comes in with a second counter. They put another IV in my other hand. Everyone leaves, telling the nurse that I will be in bed for another 3-4 hours. It was enough for me for half an hour. I wriggled, growled, gritted my teeth, moaned, breathed and asked my roommate, who could at least walk and do the necessary exercises, to call a doctor. I came. He stood by the window. He said to behave himself and not yell. Massage points during contractions. Points ??? How?? I have both hands busy !!! To this he just shrugged his shoulders: "Well, somehow ..." And he went out.

I feel the attempts have begun. I endure, I breathe as expected, I feel - something is interfering. Then she pulled out one dropper, touched it with her hand - the head! Warm, round, hard and ... hairs! Here I really yelled. The midwife came running, then more and more people in white coats. They will scream that I do not climb with my hands where it is not necessary. They are told to get up and move to the table. And for some reason I am afraid that a child is about to fall out of me, and I try to keep my hands ready. On the way, they put shoe covers on my feet. On one he remained dangling on his fingers. While I climbed into the chair, one of the doctors leafed through my card. Then an exclamation: "So her testimony is a narrow pelvis!" They called a team with an anesthesiologist. In the generic one did not turn around. They are talking, glancing at me, leafing through the map. I can't hear anything, but I understand that something is wrong. Preparing equipment ...

I got a super chair. There were no handrails on the table to hold on to the knees at different levels. The back does not rise and the nurses held me under my back. I suddenly swore and almost got it from the midwife. Then I just roared: "Dear ones, you at least say what and how to do, everything flew out of my head, and I'm afraid too !!!" Here they started talking to me like a human being, and they showed and told me everything. Thank you. I gave birth almost sitting down and saw the whole process with my own eyes. Once the painful contractions were over, everything else seemed like heaven. I saw how the head was born, how the shoulders emerged and how she jumped out herself. The funny thing is, when you see her being born, you push instinctively: now, no, you can wait a little, now you can. And you squeeze it out of yourself. Rather, you give birth. The afterbirth gave birth without any peculiarities. Easy and casual. I clearly remember the red curly head, the face with red spots and the rumpled ear. My. This is impossible to change.

Then they darned me quite a bit - a couple of stitches. No anesthesia. Which was quite tangible. While the doctor was sewing, a man's voice from the window said: “This is how we can, with a narrow pelvis and ourselves! And you - Caesar, Caesar. We can! "

The daughter screamed as soon as she was born. Monotonous, shrill, so that everyone's ears stopped. It was processed on the next table. My eyes hurt, it turned out that the blood vessels burst, my head ached terribly and I only wanted peace. They did not give their daughter in arms. I climbed from the table onto the same bare couch and began to fall asleep. My daughter continued to scream and I asked either to give her to me, or to take her away from here, and asked for something from my head. I felt sick. Everybody left. Then all and sundry came in. Someone covered me with ice, someone, on the contrary, covered me with a blanket, someone climbed up to the elbows into me, and everyone pressed on my stomach and pieces that looked like a liver came out of me. I did not feel the theoretically set two hours of rest, and now I expected to be at least taken to the ward. Later, two nurses came. "Get up, let's go to the ward." "How, on foot?" "Yes, legs, legs." I couldn't get up on my own. They lifted me up and led me by the arms across the entire corridor. My legs did not obey, my head was splitting from pain. I couldn't see with one eye at all.

I woke up only a day later. The roommate was gnawing on an apple and humming something. There were no children in the ward. A neighbor told me how I gave birth, how everyone ran, how she gave birth, how relatives came to me, and how they could not wake me up. Well, that's all. I walked along the wall, my head was very dizzy. I realized that I hadn't eaten for two days and hadn't drank. Eagerly grabbed the ice water right from the tap. It was impossible to leave the ward, it was like in the infectious disease boxes, where you are watched through the glass and food is brought directly to the ward. Toilet and shower right there.

After dinner I tried to take a shower. The whole back, from ears to knees, was covered with dried blood. Barely wet. Then a neighbor explained to me how to use local pads. It seemed - everything is simple - you put a piece of cloth between your legs and walk, squeezing it with your hips. And if the thighs are thin and the legs in a standing position do not touch each other at all ?, how and what can they pinch? No panties, no bras. The picture turned out like this: mothers walk along the corridors like Chinese women, with small steps, holding the pad through the robe with one hand, and the breast with a towel with the other, because milk is constantly flowing. The acrobats are resting.

Our room was opposite the nurse's station. And the day after the birth, students appeared in the department (namely, at the post). What they were doing? They listened to the tape recorder all day long, whinnied, butuzili each other and periodically carried away on heels to the family. Special mention should be made of heels. Everyone went to them, from department heads to nurses. Maybe they had such a uniform? This is how they clatter along the corridors all day long. And over the heads of mummies. Now it's worth talking about the kids. Mine was brought to me a day later. That's probably when I really realized everything and was delighted. I AM A MOTHER!!! Mom! .... And all that I had experienced faded into the background. There was not enough milk, my daughter was asleep, I had to wake her up. I noticed that it is yellow. I told the children's nurse if I could undress my daughter and look at her. She barked that if everyone was unwrapping, then she would have no time to work, winding them back as it should. I did not pay attention to the yellowness. Then the next morning I told the pediatrician, the head of the department, that she was supervising us. She unfolded the child, showed it to me. I counted all the fingers. Then the doctor called the nurse and said that the girl had jaundice and urgently needed to be treated. When the nurse came, the first thing she did was very rudely attacked me that I had the baby undressed. “Don't you understand that this cannot be done ?!” I didn't understand. Seriously. This is my child! And what is it that is NOT, which she herself is afraid of? The doctor quickly reined in the nurse. This girl did not speak to us anymore. And I was always worried about how she carries babies - three on each hand! She kicked the doors with her feet, slipped into the room, tossed them to us like woods, and carried away on. We were afraid that someday she would bang her head on the corner. Once my daughter was not brought to me. The reason was not explained. It should be so. I myself went out and went to the nursery. There, through the glass, she began to look for her daughter. A young doctor came up and asked what I needed here. I said. Then he asked the name. I answered. He asked, thought, and gave out that my daughter was in intensive care. And he went on. Here everything went around me, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, everything went somewhere and I lost consciousness. Later it turned out that he was simply mistaken.

While my daughter was being treated, my milk began to disappear and there was nothing to express for feeding. But at the neighbor's place it flowed like a river. In a minute, she easily strained my bottle. Thank you, Tanyush, for helping me and my daughter!

In the corridor, opposite the children's department, there was a nook where children were preparing a mixture on a hotplate. In addition, they were soldered with glucose and water. Why - I don't know. The cubbyhole was dirty, not cleaned, bottles and nipples were strewn about in a basin.

10 days after giving birth, I was discharged. The nurses put on everything that was prepared on the child and I brought home a sweating and screaming bundle. Together with another one who was checking out, we dressed in a room with one chair. It was necessary somewhere to lay out the winter clothes that the husbands brought, and just sit down to pull on the tights. The children were dressed right there, on the diaper. It was hot and crowded. More doctors came for discharge. We thanked them dryly, and when asked to come, we yelled out loud - no! Without flowers or gifts, the nursing staff departed sadly. And we went home.

My memories were enough for me for many, many years. The second time to give birth, I will not go there. Impressions are not the most pleasant. It remains to envy the girls who quickly forgot and who came across good staff. With a purely human attitude. Mercy has not yet been canceled. After all, this is all routine for the staff, but for us it is the hardest test. I would like, if not care, then at least attention and understanding. It's not lalek production plant, it - maternity hospital... And you shouldn't make a soulless conveyor out of it.

Someone complains about low salaries, someone justifies this behavior of the staff by saying that they work as they pay, but forgive me, dear medical workers, no one forces you to work here. You yourself have chosen a profession, you came here and do your job voluntarily, and since you sold your services for that kind of money, then please do the job efficiently. You work with real people, however. Low bow and thank you very much to those who are aware of it.

P.S. In the photo above - I am with my daughter, below - my beauty!


Throughout my pregnancy, the thought never once occurred to me that I was scared to give birth. I was looking forward to the birth with impatience, with joy, but not with fear. It seemed to me that I would be the happiest when the process went on, that when I gave birth and the baby was put on my stomach, I would cry with happiness. It turned out not at all as I expected.

... At 38 weeks, I learned that the maternity hospital in which I was going to give birth was closed for the car wash exactly on my PDD. The frantic search for another maternity hospital throughout Krasnodar dragged on - I traveled around them all, and everywhere there was no option to give birth - one was overcrowded and said that, at best, they would accept it with contractions of 5-7 minutes and disclosure of at least 2 cm, in another they said that without pathologies, the fetus will not be accepted even with contractions - they will call an ambulance and send to another RD, in the third it was already scary for me to give birth - there were terrible rumors about this RD that healthy children were not discharged from there at all, and the doctor with whom I wanted to give birth warned that on my PDR and the next 2-3 weeks there will be an observation there - i.e. Everyone will give birth - and without certificates, and homeless women, and patients, and even tuberculosis. I even poked into a rural maternity hospital in Adygea, but the doctor, looking at my beautiful swollen legs-flippers, was afraid of complications in childbirth and refused to take me to give birth. As a result, I have only one maternity hospital to which my LCD is attached - maternity hospital in Goryachy Klyuch. Even before pregnancy, I categorically did not want to give birth there, if something happens - I have not yet met a single woman in labor who would come out of there at least with normal memories, and not with mats on her tongue. Everyone, absolutely everyone said that it was better to give birth in the park on a bench, in a haystack, at home in the end, but not there. But I had no options - the 41st week went, my stomach was already threatening, there were no precursors at all, and I was slowly beginning to get bored with my ever-pregnant state. In the end, with tears, I surrendered to the Hot Key maternity hospital.

At first, I was even delighted - firstly, there were doctors nearby, they already inspired some hope for an early birth and their normal outcome, and secondly, the living conditions were not as terrible as I imagined - good wards for two people, they feed normally ... I relaxed. But in vain.

After the first examination in the maternity hospital on the chair, the cork came off, and for the next 2 days, the remains came out a little bit. I was even more delighted - well, that's it, I'll give birth soon! I went calm, joyful, met girls in the hospital, with nurses and midwives. The first shock I had was when they told me that according to ultrasound, my baby pulls 4-4,400 kg. To say that I was in shock is to say nothing. During my entire pregnancy, I was never told that I had a large fetus - on the contrary, at 36 weeks, the son was even small for his age. I was even glad that I gave birth to my little one easily and naturally.

On October 14, I woke up at 6 in the morning, sorry, out of natural need. And I saw on toilet paper bright scarlet spot. Naturally, I immediately raised the entire maternity hospital on my ears, found a midwife and we went to the chair. As soon as I climbed on it, something leaked slightly. They told me that red is not bleeding, but a cork, and they sent me to wait for contractions, or maybe sleep. The contractions were not long in coming - they went immediately and often, at intervals of 2-3 minutes long, half a minute or a minute. It was pretty bearable and I even took a nap until 10 in the morning. At 10 the head of the maternity hospital came for a detour, looked at me on the chair again - my water leaked again, the disclosure was 2 cm, they said - that's it, we are giving birth, and the bladder was pierced. After that there was an enema - ooooo, an enema is something, it cleaned me for another 2-3 hours after it, since there was a toilet opposite the prenatal one. After the enema (thank God, I managed to shave myself) I was assigned to the prenatal ward - in fact, the same ward, only now I was lying there alone and with a CTG sensor on my belly.

The contractions were similar to severe, severe cramps in the lower back, as with menstruation, only more severe many times over. But it was quite bearable. I, naive, waited for the disclosure of 5 centimeters in order to ask for an epidural and relax, and then the first setup awaited me - in the maternity hospital they did not do epidural anesthesia AT ALL. Maximum - general anesthesia for caesarean. Everything. I was shocked, how so? I had to endure all childbirth without anesthesia. The opening went very slowly, after a couple of hours from 2 cm it opened only by 3, and it was decided to put me on a drip with oxytocin. It was then that the heat began. I didn’t howl, didn’t cry, didn’t scream, everything that I read about correct breathing turned out to be unnecessary garbage, NOTHING helped. The midwife and the doctor were shocked by me, they even asked later - well, you at least shout for decency, otherwise they won't believe that you are giving birth)) I said that I can only swear and it’s better for you not to hear it))

Under oxytocin, things went more fun, the disclosure went as it should, but it hurt just like horror - and I was forbidden to get out of bed. As a result, I spent almost all the time lying under an IV on my right side. The doctor periodically came in, checked the disclosure, and praised that I was behaving well. Towards evening, at 5-6 o'clock, I already prayed for a cesarean, to which I received the answer that with such an ass like mine, it would be a sin not to give birth on my own, and in general, not to pee, we will break through. I was already going crazy - I was forbidden to go with a dropper, drink, eat, did not give an epidural, and in general, everything somehow took too long. The doctor, when he looked at the opening, said that the son's head was going a little wrong, and the rest of the time he manually turned it - the feeling was simply indescribable. For the final disclosure, the baby finally turned right. And I also began to grieve at an opening of 6-7 centimeters, and continued to grieve for three hours, right up to childbirth. The second school of doctors - no one, not a single bastard told me that it was impossible to push for now. And I pushed for all these three hours, not hard, but in such a way as to ease this tearing pain - there was a feeling that a balloon had been inflated inside me and it would now burst and tear me apart. Naturally, this ultimately also influenced the process of childbirth - by the time of my transfer to the delivery room, I was already exhausted.

At 7 o'clock the doctor looked at the disclosure, ascertained the full 10 cm and ordered - to the delivery room! I no longer believed that I would ever give birth. I was half asleep, I walked these 5 meters to the delivery room, I staggered like a drunk, I remember how in the delivery room they took my nightie off me and gave me a disposable maternity hospital, I remember how I climbed into a chair - and immediately it became so easy for me felt so comfortable on it. They began to try to push - the process seemed to have begun, but again no one explained to me which muscles to strain, where to push, as a result, most of the pushing went into my face, into my eyes - then I flaunted with beautiful bursting vessels in my eyes, on my cheeks, on the forehead. The head seemed to start to go out on an attempt, but as soon as the attempt was over, it went back. Plus, for the pushing it was necessary to push three times without a break - I only got 2, the third push was actually not a push. After 15 minutes of such a case, the doctor put pressure on my stomach, although he himself said that he had no right to do this - and the process seemed to go better, the head got up where it should, but still did not come out completely. Half an hour had already passed, and I kept giving birth and giving birth, pushing and pushing. And then I ran out of attempts. They simply were gone. I lie for half a minute, a minute, waiting for the pushing - but they are not ... the CTG sensor shows a good heartbeat of the baby, the process seems to be going on, but there is no pushing. And there is no strength either. They decide to do an episio - and this is another doctor's jamb, for some reason they made an episio in the side, a small incision about a centimeter and a half, and not along the crotch, they would do it right - the baby would get out without problems. Somehow, without trying, I manage to push my head out, the doctor squeezes out a little one for me, and then everything completely disappears - both strength and attempts, I am in some kind of delusional state, I push without interruptions, they shout to me that I’m not pushing, or I’m not pushing. there, that it is necessary to push, that the child will suffocate, that the shoulders are stuck, I push-push-push, my crotch is stretched with my hands ... and for these damn seven minutes the baby was squeezed in the neck, it was at that moment that he suffocated. I do not know by what miracle, how, but I nevertheless pulled out my shoulders and in a second he came out completely, immediately there was a huge relief. While I was coming to my senses, I almost did not understand anything, only the next minute I realized that something was wrong. The son did not shout. Generally. Not a sound. I turned my head and saw that he was being reanimated, I saw some tubes, a bulb with air, adrenaline in a syringe, the doctor started my heart, everyone was running around and fussing around, and I ... and I didn't even cry. There were no tears. There was some kind of boundless horror. And howl. I howled so much that they told me that they would now put a gag in my mouth. After about 5 minutes they just carried him away. I was lying on the birth bed and did not know what was happening to him, whether he was alive at all or not. I didn't really see him - I saw some kind of gray body with closed eyes, without signs of life, without movement, without anything. After 10 minutes, the nurse brought me a phone, told me to call my husband and say that the baby is alive, weighs 4,150 kg and 53 centimeters. I gave birth at 20.00. I spent an hour in the delivery room.

Then they sewed me up in the place of the cut under the ice - it did not work at all and they sewed me profit. It was unpleasant, but this pain is insignificant in comparison with childbirth and what was happening in the soul and head. I have not broken even once, not a single tear or crack.

I was forbidden to get out of bed for another hour, this hour I lay with my phone in my arms and cried, called my husband, cried together. He tried to comfort me, to support me, but he almost lost his mind. Only recently he said that he was howling and was hysterical after my call, he wanted to come and smash the maternity hospital and doctors who were natural childbirth and did not do a cesarean, although they saw that the process was going badly.

Then they took me to the ward, my body did not obey me at all. Somehow they put me on my stomach, told me to lie there for another hour. The kind midwife made me some tea and brought cookies, said that the baby was in the intensive care unit, his condition was very serious, but stable, that he was born with asphyxiation and is now on a ventilator. She also allowed me to get up in an hour, go to the shower, put myself in order and come to my son, if I can. I already knew that even if my legs would not obey me, I would go on my hands, on my head, I would bite my teeth in, but I would go.

The sight, of course, was terrible. Denis was covered with tubes, droppers, catheters, and he was swollen terribly. The horror of what he saw is beyond words. This is very scary, believe me. It is unbearably painful to see your child in such a state. This is how he looked on the second day:

The doctors did not say much, there were no predictions. Yes, the condition is serious. Be patient, they said. The baby had severe convulsions, he himself did not breathe - only on mechanical ventilation, on the second or third day they found pneumonia - they wrote later that intrauterine, a lie. They covered their asses, he did not have any intrauterine pneumonia and could not have. In general, the doctors behaved like the last whores, I just started to understand this. In the state in which I was, they could inspire me with anything - and they took advantage of it. They began to press me so that I did not raise a fuss, did not go to the Ministry of Health, the courts and so on - they said that it was my fault, that I gave birth badly, that I was pushing badly, that it was my fault, and the doctor did everything he could, the doctor is great, and you are bad ... what a complex they have nurtured in me! How I blamed myself! I really wanted to hang myself or jump out of the window. What kept me was that my son needed me, that my husband would be left either alone with the child, or even alone if the son did not survive.

Physically, I retired from childbirth very quickly, on the second day I ran across the floors. Nothing hurt me, apart from the muscles that went nuts from such tension (on the delivery chair I pulled out a handle-handrail with meat, which I had to hold on to during attempts) and bloody wounds on my palms on my fingers - all from the same handrails. Morally ... I really don't know where I got the strength to survive all this. I tried not to cry, but of course, nothing came of it - the only thing I could keep myself next to my son. it was impossible to let it out in front of him, he felt everything. I came to him several times every day, they had already kicked me out of there, and I came and came, stood next to him, admired. Slowly, the swelling began to subside, the son became like a normal child:

Then he opened his eyes:

On the fifth day, Denis was transferred from Goryachiy Klyuch to the Children's Regional Hospital, to the perinatal center, neonatal intensive care unit. There we were allowed to come at any time, but once a day, and for 5-10 minutes. But my husband and I were finally given at least to touch him !!! Lord, what an indescribable happiness it was ... every day we went to him, stroked, talked to him, rejoiced at his successes and grieved at his deterioration. Denis then began to breathe on his own - even with wild wheezing in his lungs, but on his own! then he refused to breathe himself and did not open his eyes for several days ... The convulsions either went away or returned in such terrible seizures that I could not help crying right in the intensive care unit. My son had an ultrasound scan and a tomogram, thank God, there are no strong changes in the brain, the ventricles of the brain are slightly enlarged, but they are within normal limits. In intensive care we were not allowed to photograph him even once.

A week later, the baby's condition more or less stabilized and it was decided to transport him back to Goryachy Klyuch, all to the same intensive care unit. I fought to the last to be left in Krasnodar, we went to the head physician and found a friend of our acquaintances who worked in the health department of the Krasnodar Territory, so that she somehow influence, offered money, asked - but nothing came of it. Denis was transferred back. I was in despair - remembering the rudeness, callousness, fucking attitude of doctors towards me and my child, I wanted to howl. I will never forget how they did not want to discharge me from the hospital, and at that time Denis was already in Krasnodar, and they told me that it would be possible to come to him - the head knew that I needed to be discharged, we agreed with her what and when, but she pulled it to the last, deliberately, mocking, running away from the tmen, she asked with a snide - and what, you TAAAAK want to go to him? they'll let you go there for a minute and that's all! .. I'll never forget how the child's doctor asked - why are you crying? I will never forget how everyone convinced me - and convinced me for a while! - that it was all my fault, that it was because of me that my child would be like that ... there were those who immediately began to tell me that my child will be disabled with cerebral palsy and epilepsy, so give him up and give birth to another, healthy one ... how much shit I have passed through me from the doctors - I can't even remember everything, every single day I was driven, humiliated, destroyed with a word, and nothing more rare people from the medical staff sympathized and helped me.

... Denis was returned to Goryachy Klyuch. By that time, I had already been discharged from the hospital - alone. I will never forget how scary, how sad it is to leave the hospital without a child. I won't wish it on anyone. Just me and my husband with flowers. It seemed to me that I didn't even deserve these flowers ... I wanted to stupidly close myself off from everyone and everything, to lie down and fall asleep. But I had to do something, run away, look for, treat my son, support him, find out, consult, it was necessary to do something in order not to go crazy. It was difficult ... it was difficult to lie alone in the children's ward and run to him every three hours - to express milk, which was not enough on such nerves, and then every day it became less and less - in the end I fed him milk for a month, then it ended finally; It was difficult to look at all these tubes-catheters-droppers, at the probe for eating, it was difficult to stroke it quietly from the doctors - only after a few days of persuasion I was allowed to touch and stroke it ...

After some time, Denis was pulled out of the incubator and transferred to a box - like a mini-ward with a changing table and a mini-bed for a baby and a chair for a mother. Now I could touch him, hug him, kiss him, carry him in my arms, swaddle him, change his diaper - in general, do everything !!! I still went to see him, but now not on a schedule, but when I want and as much as I want ... and I learned to be a mother, learned to handle the baby, take care of him.

I really wanted to go home. A couple of times I asked to go home for the night, to bathe humanly and wash things, and at least see my husband normally, and not in fits and starts for half an hour. My husband is poor, he was torn between the hospital, work and home - he cooked for me, and washed me, and bought medicines, in general. helped as best he could. If not for him, I would have gone completely crazy ...

Once we were sent to the clinic to see a neurologist, at first they wanted to send us to an ambulance, then they thought and decided that it would be easier to do this in our usual car, and dad would finally see the child at least a little, because he was not allowed to enter the department in Goryachy Klyuch. How much joy our dad had! ..

Then there was the children's department, where my son was with me all the time, in the same ward. Now we are finally at home, I’m writing all this for the third day, while he sleeps. I didn’t deliberately begin to tell a lot - I don’t even have the strength to remember some of them. Now Denis has problems with neurology, a strong tone of the legs, and we will still be treated and examined, but I know that everything will be fine with us. Because it cannot be. Because he is with me. Because it's not in vain that we went through all this and overcame it. Because I love him madly.

Kira, 24 years old, Yekaterinburg.

“To begin with, I consciously wanted to become a mother from the age of 15. In my youth, I dreamed of four children, and I thought that in such a fit, the main thing is a man who shares your life goals, as well as an effort of will, since four kids are, in my opinion, a strong-willed step. How wrong I was!

* Even the first child - and I still have one baby - is not an effort of will, it is literally a war with oneself. I will say right away that the child was planned and very desirable. But fears about everything in the world did not evaporate from this. Despite the fact that it is clinically mine, and childbirth is quite easy by the standards of doctors and in just 3.5 hours, according to my feelings, I literally visited the underworld. And my way there began from the first minute of the contractions that began. I am quite sensitive to the signals of my own body in "ordinary" life and catch the most subtle "bells" signaling malaise. So the bell alarm that started ringing in my head during the contractions was impossible to ignore or subdue.

* Despite the fact that I gave birth in a modern private clinic with highly qualified doctors who never left me from the moment of the first contractions, I was terribly scared... It's scary, because during 9 months of pregnancy I got so used to a "stable state" that the very thought that everything was about to change dramatically and this was INEVITABLE gave me no peace. I was really looking forward to meeting my daughter. But more than that, I only dreamed that someone would hit me well on the head with a heavy object, and I would be switched off for five hours, just not to be in the thick of these events.

* Contractions are an insidious thing. When it seems to you that it cannot be worse, you are absolutely certain it gets even more painful... And so for several hours in a row. Worse than Chinese torture! You never know how bad it will be next time. All the advice “breathe”, “bend”, “relieve tension from the lower back”, sounding in my head after studying a ton of materials for expectant mothers, instantly evaporated. Only animal instincts remained, which kept repeating: “Tie up with this stress, friend!”. And the reality that said: "Okay, but not in the near future."

* If you want to know what the road to hell looks like, I can tell you this. It is paved with cold hospital tiles, exactly the same as in my delivery room. And if you are going to give birth, then you will learn this path by heart. From hell to the couch and back- this is how the last hours of labor before labor and childbirth can be called.

* Pushing is actually very painful. No not like this. This is very painful... So much so that you do not fully understand whether you are still alive, or it just seems to you. Therefore, do not hesitate to ask the doctors who are guiding you in these minutes if everything is in order and if you are conscious. They are experienced people, and they understand everything.

* The moment when the child's head appears from you can be called the most ruthless in the whole birthing procedure... It is at this very moment that you remember that it depends on your coordination to a large extent whether your child will not receive a birth trauma. And here the forces leave you so much that you cannot control what is happening, and only some internal resource of the body allows you to continue what you started. You can't even scream in pain. Which, by the way, plays into the hands of midwives. Because they believe that a child should not come into this world under the mad scream of the mother.

* It is finished! They've got a child out of you! And show it to you. But he's blue! Blue! What the heck! You start to worry again. He was frantically trying to count the number of fingers on his hands, weren't there six of them? A physically exhausted body begins to finish itself off psychologically. Adding to this burning cocktail of what has just happened, the feeling of anxiety, guilt for your own stupid questions, disgust for a slimy baby, and embarrassment for having such feelings in relation to long-awaited child... The plus of this period is that you absolutely do not feel anything that is happening below you. There, in the meantime, the placenta is born, or you may have the tears stitched up.

* You expect that a feeling of all-embracing euphoria and love will cover you just about, but instead of it - only the baby and fear placed under your side. Who is he? God, how strange he is! I'm afraid to touch him! What if I break it!

True, after a while (for everyone - it is different!) These thoughts go away and in their place comes what all mothers are supposed to feel: love, acceptance and care... And these emotions come out of nowhere, but at the same time you realize that you no longer remember how you lived without them.

One night I was picked up by an ambulance

As luck would have it, in my inner circle no one gave birth in the last five or six years. Therefore, everyone was afraid with me, but no one could give advice. But I was often asked if I had found a "reliable" doctor: "Or are you hoping for" maybe "and will give birth wherever they bring?"

I was searching for. But I did not want to sign a contract with a random maternity hospital. After all, this did not correspond to the goal of finding a "proven" specialist. Despite my fear, I understood that in most cases any doctor would provide me with the help I needed. And a contract with a "reliable" maternity hospital is needed as a safety net. We considered maternity hospitals, which were famous as "good", and those where acquaintances of acquaintances gave birth or worked. In some paid childbirth were more expensive than usual, we were separated from others by a potential traffic jam for several hours.

And one night I was picked up by an ambulance. It was not childbirth. Minor complication common to late dates... I was upset: “I'll have to be treated in an unfamiliar maternity hospital! And maybe give birth there! "

But I liked this hospital. Here, too, help is provided, and is unlikely to be deliberately harmed or ignored. True, I did not have time to give birth there, and it was already too late to conclude a contract. Nevertheless, I was going to "learn something on Monday". But on Monday night my water broke. Then my husband and I just called a taxi and drove to a familiar address.

There is nothing left - just give birth!

On the way, I was very worried. I go to the hospital myself - the ambulance has no luck, I have no referral and no contract has been signed. Strictly speaking, this is not even our area (although, the maternity hospital is one of the closest to the house). How will they react? Wouldn't they be kicked out to “fatten up contractions and come in the morning”? Wouldn't they be angry because “extra” work appeared in my face?

We were met by a midwife. She was really a little surprised: “On a contract? Not? Why didn't they call an ambulance? " She asked these questions, starting to draw up a medical history and taking out a sterile shirt for me. Nobody was going to kick me out.

I tried to change clothes as "disciplined" as possible and answer all the questions for the documents.

Then we talked to the doctor, and they took me to the prenatal ward. The two rooms, separated by a partition, had a total of twelve beds. "Mass character" did not scare me: I initially perceived childbirth as a medical process, I was ready for the presence of neighbors. And at that moment there were only two women in the ward.

I chose a bed, put a bag of things next to it and lay down. It seemed to me that I had already done all the most difficult and important. They took me to the hospital. We are not stuck in a traffic jam. Inspection and troublesome preparation at the front desk. I just have to give birth! And this is - well, sheer nonsense! Lie on your bed or walk in the corridor and give birth! Yes, I planned to spend more time on my feet, as everyone said that it makes the process faster and easier. Doctors advised the same, but for a different reason: childbirth lasts a long time, you cannot spend so much time only lying down.

The pain while walking did indeed decrease. But hopes for speeding up the process turned out to be in vain. Arriving at the hospital at three in the morning, I expected to shoot in the morning and settle in the ward with my son. But it was brighter outside the window, and I kept walking. After each examination, the doctor said that she still had to be patient. Sometimes I was given a pill or an injection.

The adventure begins

The morning brought new pain and experiences. Childbirth stalled at some early stage. But after all, my water has long since departed, so the doctors decided to give me CTG without interruption. CTG is a control of the baby's heartbeat, it can be used to judge the condition of the baby. It should be done while sitting or lying down, so I "fell ill" with sensors on my stomach. And in this position she could no longer restrain herself and began to scream.

The prenatal ward was full by this time. "Beginners" women in childbirth, looking at me, were sad, "experienced" joked and encouraged. Nearby lay a woman with a second birth. She advised me to roll over on my side. The midwife supported this proposal. Several times I rolled over, and the pain really subsided. But the CTG sensors shifted, and when the doctor noticed it, I had to lie on my back again. At this time, I received spinal anesthesia. It got a little easier.

And it was already daylight on the street. I saw houses and a construction site, which I remember from the first hospitalization. Somewhere high, a crane was moving, moving pipes and plates. There continued usual life... And here, in the Rodblok, our destinies were decided. However, for a rodblock, this is also an ordinary life.

I suddenly remembered that I hadn't drunk since the beginning of labor. And if you do not drink for a long time, dehydration and convulsions occur. I shared my concerns with the midwife. And she, kind soul, went to the ward and took my bottle of water on the bedside table, and then ran to the cooler and wore it again and again, and I drank like a traveler dehydrated in the desert!

"No cesarean" or "Cut me urgently!"

When it really hurt, I started dreaming about a caesarean section. And when the birth dragged on, I thought seriously. I asked the doctor about it several times. Well, more precisely, she asked once, yelled a couple of times "Cut me urgently!"

They answered me calmly: “Maybe it’s a cesarean. But don't think it's easier. Caesarean lasts 20 minutes, and we lead your labor in the eighth hour. If Caesarean was better, we would not waste time, but would do it for everyone. "

Then they put me on a drip to stimulate labor. What drug - I do not know. I didn't ask about anything. Firstly, because I do not understand anything about the management of childbirth. Secondly, I realized that I can trust doctors. Probably, I would feel differently if I came to this hospital for the first time, and would be in the mood created by disturbing rumors and discussions on the Internet.

The faces around him were changing. Those who lay with me at night and in the morning had long gone to the hospital. Someone was sent to a cesarean. Now most of the neighbors were "new". The doctor and midwife began to examine me more and more often: the dropper was working. In the end, the doctor promised that I would be the next to go to the delivery room. She said it with some kind of passion. Everyone noticed, and I felt like a champion on a podium.

The rest of the "sportswomen" looked with respect and envy. They also wanted to go to the delivery room, but they still had to work for this.

And then time seemed to speed up. After 12 hours without tangible changes, a stream of events fell on me in half an hour. Here is my name in the delivery room. I get up, and my leg cramp. The gurney is rolled right up to the bed, and I am royally taken away to the applause and jokes of the neighbors.

Everything goes even faster in the delivery room. And after 15 minutes the doctor is already putting a small screaming lump on my stomach. I don’t remember what I was doing during those 15 minutes. From all sides they began to congratulate me - only then I saw how many people were around. The neonatologist asked in a happy voice about consent to vaccinations.

Acquaintance with my son continued already in the corridor of the birth block, where women are placed under observation for several hours. He was brought to me after the procedures - wrapped in diapers, with a scarf on his head and because of this he looked like a girl.

Marshmallows for emergencies

“Here in the maternity ward they yell at women. You can't even imagine how they yell at them! I just called my sister, she consulted with a friend, they say that I should be discharged from here immediately, ”my neighbor reasoned in the maternity ward, during my first hospitalization. She had recently been brought by an ambulance, and now she was resolutely rustling with unassembled packages and was about to file a refusal from treatment. After talking with the doctor, the neighbor agreed to stay, but I don't know where and when she gave birth. We did not meet in the Rodblock and the postpartum department.

Honestly, the information about ore did not interest me at that time. First of all, I was worried about the possibility of getting help.

I believed in horror stories like "they went to drink tea, and the woman gave birth on the concrete floor."

But in fact, during the time that I spent in the maternity ward, no one raised their voice either to me or to other patients. There has never been a time when a doctor or midwife ignored our complaints. By the way, at the end of my stay in the maternity ward, I was also fed lunch, although according to the schedule it passed a long time ago (and in the delivery unit it is not provided at all).

They brought a plate directly into the corridor and helped me to eat, as I was lying on a gurney.

In the postpartum period, things were a little different. No, they reacted just as quickly to any complaints. They taught a hundred times to put the child to the breast, gave out thermometers and blankets at any time of the day.

They checked the color of children's poop and felt their head if it seemed to mom that "he hit the changing table."

But every time we went to midwives or pediatric nurses, we saw how tired them.

I once asked urgently help me give my baby formula when the nurses just brewed their own coffee. I saw it, but there was nothing to do: my baby was screaming, I could not feed him for half a day. I received an exhaustive instruction, albeit in a raised voice.

Our children were in the wards with their mothers, but according to the testimony they were taken to the children's department, and the mothers came to visit them. Each such trip was an adventure: the doctors and nurses did not explain anything, only rudely indicated "there is actually a dropper," and "be careful, do not push the lamp." But the attitude towards children won over.

A nurse could yell at a woman, and immediately start cooing with her child, carefully adjusting the blanket and dropper.

It is difficult for me to appreciate such an attitude "towards women and children." On the one hand, rudeness is unacceptable, and especially to women in labor, whose emotions are not in order anyway. On the other hand, postpartum staff communicate with emotional mothers every day, and this influences their mood.

Any work with people is in one way or another a test of patience. People can be impolite, stupid, with unreasonable requests.

Young mothers often think that something is wrong with them or with their children. They rush to the staff rooms and ask for urgent help. More often than not, these fears are not well founded. But doctors are forced to check every complaint, because there is a risk of missing a serious one. It is difficult to maintain etiquette in such a rhythm. Probably, the problem could be solved by a psychologist if he worked in the department. After all, psychologists help people who are in an emergency, or who work at a strenuous job. Women in labor and postpartum staff fit into these categories.

On one of the Internet forums I was told that in this way the medical rudeness can only be “endured” by nature. And that the rude nurses needed to fight back.

Maybe. But I had no desire for it. Our health in postnatal and child care was treated no less responsibly than in the maternity ward.

The tongue did not turn to be rude in response when I or the child was being helped.

I just decided to “ignore”. The baby and I were preparing to return home. And also in my bedside table were marshmallows allowed for nursing, which I feasted on when the child was asleep.

Don't listen to anyone

I believe that the story of my birth is positive and successful. This is not about humiliation, not about lack of help, not about violence. Memories of childbirth, I shared with friends on the Internet. And then she received her own stories in a distorted form. Some perceived the situation as if I had been denied caesarean section despite the need and my pleas. Others, on the other hand, considered a stimulating drip as unnecessary. Chemistry is harmful, but if I gave birth for another day, everything would be natural and beautiful.

So I understood where the scary stories about evil midwives and narrow-minded doctors come from.

Of course, how many people - so many stories. It happens, unfortunately, that during childbirth, women do not receive adequate assistance. It happens that they try to help them, but medicine is not omnipotent. And with a sad outcome, there is a great temptation to blame the doctors for everything.

But very often it happens that the childbirth is going well and the doctors do everything that is necessary, but their actions do not correspond to the ideas of the patient herself.

She is hurt, scared, and it seems that no one around wants to help her. In addition, it is difficult for a woman to objectively assess the situation, and it is difficult to get out of the Rodblock on the same Internet or call a doctor she knows.

To my friends who are looking for a maternity hospital, I safely recommend the one in which I gave birth myself. You don't have to worry about the medical "part" there. And about the rest - I try not to argue. So that there is no ground for speculation and fears.

I warn you about the atmosphere in the postpartum period, as for many it is also a criterion.

But now I am not discussing childbirth with anyone. It turned out that many consider themselves experts in the management of childbirth, even without having their own experience, and not that of a medical education.

People talk about what really needed to be done in my case. They also explain to me how I actually suffered from the alleged lack of assistance (or, conversely, from excessive interference). And many are simply frightened.

Childbirth is never easy, and the extra details are hard to come by, even if everything went well. After several such dialogues on the Internet and in real life, I realized that many "scary" stories about childbirth are just gloomy interpretations of completely ordinary cases. I don't want to produce such content. And there is no desire to argue with someone.

Tomorrow, September 14, read the continuation of the topic on our website - the opinion of the director of one of the best Moscow maternity hospitals about why the relationship between women in labor and obstetricians resembles a minefield.


Our beloved daughter Vika was born on October 15, 2004 at 15.20 Moscow time, with a weight of 3600 and a height of 53 cm, having received 8/8 Apgar points.

And now about everything in order.

Part one. LCD.

The scary story began back in the summer, in June, when, at the 23rd week of pregnancy, swelling began to appear on my legs. I did not pin my hopes on my doctor in the ZhK on this issue (in my card she steadfastly wrote "no edema" without even looking at my legs, and when I told her that my legs were swollen and showed her "baby elephant legs" - she said, they say, drink less liquid at night). Therefore, I myself began to study this problem, i.e. preeclampsia of pregnancy. And it turned out that this is a very common complication of pregnancy, which by the way ranks third among the causes of maternal mortality, has not yet been properly studied: the causes of the appearance and development of preeclampsia are unknown, no one knows how to treat it (that is, they are treated mainly by the “method plug "). Despite all the methods I have tried to combat edema (excluding salty, spicy; drinking less or more; diuretic herbs; walking; warm baths; watermelons and much more), the edema did not disappear, but vice versa. As a result, somewhere in the 7th month of pregnancy, I took it off my hand wedding ring(before giving birth, it did not even fit my little finger), and from the 8th month my hands began to go numb at night, and in the morning right hand I could not clench it into a fist due to the stagnation of fluid in the tissues, and during the entire period of pregnancy I gained 20 kg.

When one day when I came to the LCD it turned out that I had gained 3 kg in 2 weeks, the doctor prescribed me aminophylline kidney tea. When a week later the scales showed the same indicator (that is, I did not add a single gram in a week), the doctor, satisfied with the result, appointed me a visit in 10 days (this is with my data: protein edema in the urine and chronic pyelonephritis in the past) and continue "treatment". I will say that kidney tea helped me little, as well as lingonberry leaf and all other diuretic herbs.

And here is a beautiful autumn day on October 5, Tuesday, I sit at home, drink all sorts of herbs (apart from them, I practically never drank anything at all, only Hi for pregnant women), I sit in the Mama.ru forum; and closer to lunchtime I understand that I drink and practically do not go to the toilet, and my legs were somehow very swollen for the first half of the day. I got ready and went to the LCD to surrender, although it was appointed for me only for Friday. There, the doctor suspected that something was wrong when she saw my swollen face from the doorway. Weighed - 3.5 kg per week, measured the pressure 150/90, and squealed: "Urgently, let's hospitalize!" And then I am without things, absolutely not ready, I say so timidly "Maybe my husband will take me, I will at least collect my things." To which she received: "No, right now we call an ambulance, my husband will bring everything later." Then they took me to some office, made two injections from pressure, and left me to wait for an ambulance. The ambulance brought me to the 18th maternity hospital.

Part two. Maternity hospital.

In the 18th maternity hospital, my girlfriend gave birth a year ago, she said that the hospital was normal. But according to reviews on the Internet, the hospital was average, very average. In general, I planned to wait for the birth at home and go with my husband to the hospital (I was planning to give birth in 70 or 29). But .. 18th so 18th. The only consolation was that the maternity hospital had only recently opened after washing. And thank God that it was not in the 36th. J

At the front desk they greeted me well enough, there was a nice grandmother-midwife who addressed me as a “girl”. After all the procedures, filling out all the documents, I was taken to the department of pathology of pregnant women. Conditions, of course, are below average there. There is one toilet (2 toilets) for the entire department (40 people), there is only one shower (there is naturally always a queue), they are fed so that they do not die of hunger (the girls and I laughed that they only feed our children, but we need to lose weight ). There are 8 people in the room.

Examination on the chair the next day showed that my neck was not mature at all, long, dense, closed (37-38 weeks). And having said that the only treatment for my gestosis is childbirth, they began to prepare me for childbirth.

And from that day on, my daughter and I began to suffer. After all that I had endured in the department of pathology, I was no longer afraid to give birth, not at all scared. I was given IVs every day (about 4 hours), so I sometimes had to eat while lying down, holding a plate on my chest, and once even go to the toilet with an IV (I walked, and the nurse followed me holding an IV). Considering that by nature I have very bad veins, IVs were a continuous torment for me. By the time of delivery, my hands resembled the hands of a drug addict - solid paths. Several times a day I was given injections (from pressure, to prepare the cervix), were given pills, but my pressure did not fall below 130, and sometimes rose to 150. They constantly looked at my poor cervix, I had the impression that they wanted to turn me out inside out or stretch the neck with your hands, because she did not want to prepare for childbirth. I was put on kelp algae (after which I started to have regular contractions in 5-6 minutes, and therefore I spent the night in the maternity ward, but the contractions, alas, turned out to be false), some gel was injected to soften the cervix. Over the 10 days I spent in pathology, I apparently had time to bother all the medical staff: the pressure did not decrease, the swelling did not go away, the labor did not begin. And when one evening on October 14, my blood pressure once again rose, they took me to the maternity ward and left there, saying: "Enough already, let's give birth!" and pierced the bubble. It was 23.00. The term at that time was 38 weeks and 6 days, the disclosure was 2 cm.

After a while, contractions began, frequent (every 4-5 minutes), but short and not particularly painful. As it turned out, the fights were unsuccessful, i.e. the cervix opened very weakly and slowly. In the morning at 6 o'clock I was given stimulation, after which the process began. It's good that I was injected with a drug that allows me to sleep between contractions, the doctors call it "sleep." Honestly, my feelings and my behavior from that moment I remember very little. Apparently I was so stabbed by everyone in a row that I gave birth as if delirious. But the girls who were with me in the prenatal period later said that I held myself very courageously, breathed, did not scream (in short, as they taught in the courses, apparently everything was deposited somewhere in the subconscious). At 11 in the morning, they put a heart monitor on me, since the waterless period was already 12 hours, and this was becoming dangerous for the baby. Then the head physician of the r / d came to see me, said that the opening of 5 fingers (how many in cm I do not know), scolded the doctors that they had put stimulation late, said to put stimulation on and give "sleep". And I fell asleep again, I don't remember anything, I only remember that I had some nightmares, I grabbed the wall, the dropper stand, threw my hands behind my head (the midwife constantly returned my hands to me). In a dream, attempts began (very strongly, incredibly, I wanted to go to the toilet, and there was a feeling that my ass was about to burst). I woke up from the bustle of doctors around me, someone said: "Pressure 150/100!" I moan: "I want to go to the toilet", they say to me "Baby, you are giving birth." They injected something into a vein, threw it onto a gurney and took me to a small operating room. I still cannot understand - does everyone give birth in a small operating room or is it just me? They ask me: "How do you see?" And in my eyes everything doubles and triples !! Horror. They put me on a chair. There are seven people around me. I hear the name of the anesthesiologist and shout at the entire maternity ward: "A woman with preeclampsia is giving birth !!" I hear: "Episiotomy!" They cut the crotch (I didn't feel it at all), said: "Push!" “You have a girl!”, They showed her to me and immediately took her away. Then the anesthesiologist came, with great difficulty found a living vein after numerous droppers, and I woke up in a different place. The midwife wakes me up and asks, do you remember what happened, whom you gave birth to? "Yes, I say, I have a girl." She put her hand on her stomach, the stomach is cold, cold, and it is almost completely absent, flat. She asked weight, height and how many points they gave. They told me everything, then they say, "You have stitches on your crotch, so try not to go to the toilet for 3 days, on the 5th day the stitches will be removed, and you can sit only after 2 weeks." And they drove to the postpartum. And I think: my husband does not know anything, when they took me to the maternity ward with pressure, I called him and said that they were taking me downstairs, that I had pressure, they would probably be treated again when I call back. I didn't know that they would force me to give birth !!! When they brought my things, I called him, made him happy (he really wanted his daughter). And until the morning fell into hibernation.

Conditions in the postnatal ward also leave much to be desired, there are 50 people in the ward, 2 toilets, 2 toilets each, 4 showers (the shower is decent by the way, I expected the worst). The ward in which I was lying was for 4 people, but there are those that are for 6 people. Children lie separately, childcare is not very good, after discharge we washed the pussy from the maternity powder for several days, and for 3 weeks we treated conjunctivitis, which was brought to us there. Children for feeding were often brought asleep and well-fed, so instead of feeding they had to simply admire their child. Most of the girls in the postpartum have stitches on the crotch, that is, they cut everyone in a row without asking. The staff at the postpartum are wonderful. All midwives are young girls, very good and helpful. Marina, Dasha, Lena, Olya - many thanks to everyone !! Our doctor was Irina Ivanovna, a wonderful woman, she will tell everything, show, answer questions.

Now my treasure sleeps in his crib, smiles in a dream, sometimes even laughs in a dream, and yesterday I already tried to deliberately smile at my dad, the smile really didn’t work, but my face was very pleased. Dad doesn’t like her in her, he just loves it. The baby loves mother's milk very much, and also to walk on the street. Sometimes the truth frowns and gets scared in a dream, apparently she dreams of how she was born ... ..

And after giving birth, I immediately lost 15 kg, I carried so much water in myself !!