Caesarian Section was the preferred method of delivering me into my parent’s waiting arms, according to the excellent Dr. Josze and his medical team. I was happy with that decision considering that my head circumference was far too large to fit through my darling mum’s pelvis. We all know the drill: round peg; square hole. Plus my flipper feet I wedged under mum’s right ribs from around the eighth month she was carrying me in her kangaroo pouch, and there was no way I would release my feet without a fight.
But battle on my brave mum did, suffering hours of contractions and intense labour pains until the clever medical team figured out that I would not release myself without a fight, from the deliciously warm cocoon mum had made for me.
Wheeled into theatre we were, with dad half excited half terrified walking beside us and well tended to by the charming Dr. Jozse who invited dad to scrub up together before entering theatre. Mum and I on the other hand were hooked up, IV drips and monitors all about, nurses, midwives, anesthetists scurrying to and fro, and a screen erected to shield my mum’s eyes from the gory world of my very own Caesarian Section delivery.