Well, my name’s not really Proxy, but in the absence of the Great Thorner himself, I’m going to post a story our very own Kyle Katz posted to Facebook this morning. This story is funny, touching, beautifully written, TRUE, and just down right one of Kyle’s best works. It may be wrong to post it without her permission, but what the heck, Thorn gets sued, not me…….
So, here for you to enjoy as much or more than those of us who are Kyle’s Facebook family, is Kyle Katz doing what she does best. And her story is now presented to her AWwYP family.
Here come da Judge…………………
Drug Free Baby…
by Kyle Katz
The nurses scurried around desperately trying to locate a squatting bar, so I could push the baby out- naturally. The Bradley method emphasized that pregnancy was not a disease, but a natural process of life. You didn’t need drugs. You didn’t need an appointment to have a baby cut from your womb, the baby would know when to arrive.” I ploughed into discomfort preparing for my excruciating, burning push, drug free, while squatting, listening to music, sipping on a jug of green drink. The night before, I craved one more bite of protein. “ Don’t! That steak will just sit there.” My vegetarian, surfer husband was horrified. I replied with a piece of medium rare hanging from my lips, like a primitive warrior, growling and daring him to even touch my food. “You touch my food, your surfing days are over!” The feeling of fullness paled in comparison to swallowing the world itself and wondering if this late in the game, this middle-aged woman could successfully have a baby without drugs. The back end of life started tracking me down. I started to receive old peoples stuff, like brochures of motorized wheel chairs, sample fiber bars that wouldn’t get stuck in your dentures, specially designed showers with a toll booth seat, followed by a discount on a burial plot… if I died now!
I protested. “I’m not ready yet! You’ve got the wrong address. Stop sending me stuff I’m eligible for. I’m having a baby.” Life’s intensity– my son– squeezed himself into daybreak.”Times up. Get out!” I screamed. “This fucking hurts,” while holding on to my insides. I woke the dead. Even the nights razor-edged darkness, howled for its mama. “Oh God, where’s the drugs? Get me the juice!” My command echoed through out the hospital corridors. “Remember honey, no drugs. Drug free baby. Just visualize the waves, you’re at the peak now…it will subside.” Damn surfers. I’d like to visualize those waves, feeling up your lungs, so you don’t say another word to me. The calm did come for a short moment. I thought about that lovely girl in the red vest, whose nametag read, Meg “ask me.” I was seven months along. A comfy oversized sweatshirt with an elephant balancing a ball, was my fashion statement for many months. Excuse me, but could you tell me where the diaper aisle is? I thought I’d stock up.” “Sure, follow me.” Such a sweet young girl, I thought. Reality punched me in the stomach, when I realize she left me standing in front of an entire shelf dedicated to awfully big adult diapers. I laughed hysterically. Then I cried. My last contraction: The vast halo of love and bliss encompassing natural childbirth, cannot touch words or even translate what I cannot explain. I would have never known how soulfully alive I could feel if I hadn’t the courage and faith to embrace contradictions-giving a miraculous natural birth… against all odds. Drug free. Epilogue: Notes from my son. Yes mother, we are both getting more weary and annoyed of each other…what do you expect… I’m thirteen! “Get me the juice!” I scream!