Chapter 38 mice love rice

The reporter said, I will publish a full version of your topic on Tuesday.You have to write more, or the number of words is not enough. I said, what to write?I have nothing to write?I'm not a movie star, just a story writer.No one will care about my real name, no one will care about my appearance, no one will care about my life.As long as the story is good, people will remember me.Otherwise, even if I am full of gossip, even if I have plastic surgery and slim down, no one will care. The reporter said, who said that, readers will wonder how gossip the person who wrote such a story really is.You can write about your current living conditions, such as raising children, writing at home, and so on.Also, what are your plans for the future.Also, you said that now "everything is enough to have a child", what kind of changes does the birth of a baby bring to your thinking, life and even values.

I thought about it and said, okay, then I will make up a production diary! That morning by accident, the window was dimly lit, and it seemed that fine rain flowers were floating.I don't remember the details, because it was raining myself, it was pouring, and I was so nervous that I forgot everything. Lying in the taxi on the way to the hospital, it was the first time that I felt such a long journey in the past nine months.The labor pains that hit me from time to time made me keep asking my husband, "Is it there yet?" My husband always replied in a perfunctory and general way, "It's almost there." He kept wiping more sweat than I did.

I was pushed into the delivery room immediately because my water had broken for a while. At that moment, I understood that "women are made of water".It's hard to imagine that besides a big-headed son, a person's stomach also contains as much water as Sima Guang's companions, and he is like a big water tank. It was hot in the delivery room.I feel.Like a big steamer, I'm already drenched. "Turn on the air conditioner!" I told my husband during the contraction.My husband replied, "It's only 15 degrees indoors." The contractions approached me more and more intensely, and I tightly held the iron handrail of the delivery bed with both hands. Tooth marks.Then I started howling without shame, completely incompatible with my usual title of "Iron Lady".

I used to disdain those behaviors of howling like pigs in the delivery room, and felt that they were exaggerated and had a bad image.I thought that I would be like those heroic revolutionary martyrs, with a smile on the corner of my mouth and determination in my eyes, and easily complete the production process.Only when it was my turn did I realize that the reason why the heroes of those years are commemorated and sung today is because ordinary people cannot do it. My husband also unkindly took a photo of me struggling on the delivery bed, and made me feel ashamed afterwards.After seeing that group of photos, I suffered from postpartum depression - it turns out that the birth that has been praised through the ages is actually not beautiful.My hair was disheveled, my clothes were soaked in sweat, and my face was hideous.The face that had already been fattened by ten months of nutrition was even more swollen due to hanging water. A girl who was once beautiful, at least a girl who thought she was beautiful, turned into a yellow-faced fat woman in a blink of an eye.

I threatened my husband that if he dared to publish this photo, I would hunt him down to the end of the world. Holding the memory card in his hand, he laughed three times and said, "From now on, Liuliu will be taken down. If there is a second heart, it will be announced to the public." I held the handle of the iron bed tightly with both hands, and shook the delivery bed back and forth as the contractions rose and fell.While I was resting for a while, my husband told me excitedly: "Look! Such a strong iron fence can be shaken loose by you! It's so powerful!" The iron handle has experienced many times of torture by women in childbirth. , the bed is still brand new, but the handles are almost broken.I didn't even have the strength to smile.

The doctor came and gave me a very comforting word: "Let her be anesthetized." Oh!God!I can finally be anesthetized.The feeling of happiness rises from the soles of the feet to the top of the head. Later I found out I was fooled.The anesthesia the doctor said was a gas called laughing gas.It is said to be effective for 50% of people.Unfortunately, I belong to the other 50%.The pain came, and the nurse quickly put on a mask for me.I moaned under the mask, and outsiders only saw my mouth open and close.The husband said the only thing the laughing gas does is to gag the mouths of people who wail louder.

Before giving birth, I had memorized all the possible medical English, and there was a word worth kissing three hundred times: EPIDURAL, the Chinese name is spinal anesthesia.But at that time, I had completely forgotten that I knew a second language. In the pain of almost fainting, I could only shout in my native dialect, Hefei dialect: "Anesthesia!" It is said that judging a person's mother tongue is the most direct way. The method is to knock him unconscious, and the language spoken in his coma is his first language. I then knew that no matter how standard my Mandarin was, no matter how close my English was to a Cockney accent, my mother tongue was still Hefei.Although I've been trying to forget about it for years.

The doctor appeared at my bedside with a kind smile.My affection for the doctor reached its peak at that moment.In my eyes, the big boy with a sunny smile may not be as old as me, maybe he just graduated and is just an intern doctor. At the moment he stood by my bedside, he was like the Virgin Mary, with a halo on his head, Carrying the cross of my salvation. The doctor said, then spinal anesthesia! The husband turned his face away in fear.Later, my husband told me that the big needle that pierced the spine was so long that he couldn't believe it was used by people, it just pierced my back like that, and I didn't feel any pain at all.For me, there is no pain in this world more than a child's head on my belly.That kind of pain, as if someone grabbed my arm and bit off a piece of meat.And the scary part is biting into one every two minutes.After giving birth, I was like being delayed.

Within a minute of the spinal anesthesia, I fell into a deep sleep. In my sleep, I happily surrendered to the enemy, although I knew that I would be dragged out and shot immediately.I thought, I must not be a righteous man of the revolution. In times of crisis, I have already tested myself and failed.After testing my tolerance, I decided to be a turtle. I leave the cocoon to moth pain alone to my son.We were supposed to go through it together, but I, as an adult, gave up first, and my son would use his tender scalp to drill a hole in the wall himself.I wept in painless peace, empty-handedly cheering for my son.

Fortunately, my son is not stupid, he is born to enjoy.Since his mother didn't work hard, he also gave up. After 14 hours of stalemate, the doctor wheeled me into the operating room for a "C-section." The anesthetist told me that the aftermath of anesthesia can cause chills and shivering. During the operation, I know that anesthesia will not cause tremors. The tremors come from the two doctors wearing masks. You can't see their faces, but you can clearly hear their chatter and laughter.You can clearly hear the sound of knives and scissors cutting through the belly: "Squeak..." Then another doctor said: "Cut bigger, deeper, and bigger..." Then they were talking about yesterday's movie and Go golfing next week, and the vampire sizzles the blood out of your belly.Every minute is very long, so long that your teeth can't help but bite the tip of your tongue. This part is very painful because it is not anesthetized.

"Push!" The doctor pushed hard, and the son's cries were clear and loud, without even needing the nurse to lift his heels upside down and slap his buttocks. Tears began to flow down, and at that moment, I felt that even if I died at this moment, I didn't worry about anything. The nurse came to me holding a little Roudandan: "Son, look at the little dick. There is a blue birthmark on his left hand." My son's eyes were closed, his skin was snow-white, and his body was covered with vernix. I kissed his little face with the fragrance of mother's body.He was conceived by me, a piece of flesh in me. I am relatively fat, and the operation took 1 hour and 45 minutes and the sutures have not been completed.At the end of the operation, I asked the anesthetist suspiciously: "Why do I feel pain in my stomach? And I feel a needle poking my belly?" The anesthetist looked up at the clock and said, oh!An hour and a half of anesthesia has passed.Usually an hour is enough for the surgery.I'll give you some anesthesia. Holding back the pain and sniggering, I earned it!For the same operation, others only do it for one hour, and I need two hours, and I am not charged more money.He was pushed out of the operating room with the joy of taking advantage of it. In order to help the blood flow out of the uterus, the doctor cruelly tied a small stone on my wound to weigh it down. (Of course everyone is the same) An hour after the surgery, the pain returned.And the painkiller that the nurse gave me was actually Banadeu!That fake and shoddy product that can't stop toothache!For the next three nights, I couldn't close my eyes.My husband said that when I was with him during the day, I snored loudly from time to time. I had to question: "Are you sure it's not a coma?" The doctor asked me to walk on the ground as soon as possible after the operation to restore the gastrointestinal function. After two failed attempts, I thought angrily that the doctor who came up with this bad idea must have never practiced it himself, and it must be a male doctor.Anyway, when the doctor forced me to get out of bed and walk for the third time, I was stabbed by the catheter and passed out.There are stars in both eyes, the eyes are white, and the ears can't hear, and then they are moved back to the bed. There were four people living in the ward, three of whom were mothers who had undergone Caesarean section for the second time.Maybe it's because I'm used to being tortured by pain. Everyone is very brave, and they seem to be more tenacious than me and get off the ground early.I am amazed at their courage. Judging from my own experience, I will never have a second child anyway.I have to admire the wisdom of the Chinese government. In order to relieve the pain of most women, it promotes the one-child policy. Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital with my precious son made of flesh and blood. After two weeks, I was back to normal, and the scar on my stomach was less noticeable.In my husband's words, the abdomen was originally more fleshy, so it was easy to mistake the scar as a wrinkle on the abdomen, which had little effect on the overall situation. Three weeks later, seeing the half-smile on the corner of my sleeping son's mouth, my heart melted, and I completely forgot the pain I experienced not long ago.For everyone who came to visit our mother and child, they talked about the different changes in the child every day, and when asked: "Does it hurt?" Think about it carefully, say, it hurts. What kind of pain method? forgotten. Or rather, I was diluted by the sense of happiness that that shitty kid brought me. Baby, mother loves you like a mouse loves rice. For you, everything is worth it.