If you’ve read about my prior deliveries ( especially DS#2’s delivery), you probably know about my intense feelings towards epidurals.
10 PM (or thereabouts). Knock knock. In walks a very perky, nice foreign “doctor”-ish type lady. She introduces herself needlessly. She had scrubs on (who doesn’t?) but the sign that gave her away? The consent form. She smiled and introduced herself as… Well, I didn’t hear her name. I saw the consent form and heard “blah, blah, blah, Student Nurse Anesthetist.” Two bad points in that sentence. 1. STUDENT 2. NURSE ANESTHETIST. She says, “I’m here to discuss your epidural.” I quickly said, “No. I’m not having one.” She says, “Oh, ok. What are you having?” I’m starting to get a tad flustered by her persistent salesmanship. I say, “I don’t know what I’m having but I’m NOT having an epidural.” My hubby awkwardly says, “I *think* she was asking the sex of the baby, honey.” crap. HAHAHAHAHA. “A boy.” 🙂 The rest of our conversation was strained so… If I need anesthesia of some kind, I’m hoping she forgives quickly.