Alright, then, very well. They’ve already been born. And now what? (2)

My post-operative period was awful (well, I suppose that they all are, but I had no previous experiences). I could only see that time went by and that I only wanted to be taken upstairs. I did not think of the girls. I wanted to be with Jordi, my husband. I was told that when I could move and lift my legs the epidural would have worn off and could go up to my room. I became obsessed with trying to move and lift my feet. However, this was fruitless. And then, this was when the prick actually came round. What they shot me had to be strong, but when they asked me “in a 1 to 10 scale, your pain would be...” I looked like a fool. I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to tell you. “What does a scale from 1 to 10 mean? It hurts like hell. I wanna get out of here.”

I even had a surrealist moment. One of the women who assisted me in my last gyn/ob appointment came to see me. She was the one who had calculated and told me that Estel was 3 Kg. 400 gr. and Ona, who was smaller, weighed 2 and a half Kg. That day, Jordi and I did not take her seriously enough. “It’s impossible that they know exactly how much they weigh, with the mess of legs and arms inside". She saw me and happily bursts: “ So, I got the weight wrong only by 60 grams, huh?”. “Bloody hell!”, I think. What a memory she has!

But things get complicated in the birthing rooms. The pain and the shot that they’ve given me give me I a hard time trying to keep up with what’s happening around me- I am concerned enough with my body. I sense that the situation in the operation theatre has become difficult, because they have brought a woman who has them running about. I don’t really know what happened, why she is there, what happened to her baby. I only know that things have gone wrong and that the medical staff are tense and nervous. The woman shouts. She makes me even more nervous, but even so, I still wonder if when I watched TV series on hospitals and thought that they were overdoing it the series were actually such an exaggeration... or not.
I don’t know how long it has been, but I feel that I can lift my feet. Such a simple thing feels like a total success. I’m taken up to my room. Where are the girls? I want to see my girls. Jordi has already called our family and they are thrilled to bits. My youngest niece has been the first one to arrive and it's been a while since she met them. My mother and my sister are helping Jordi out. At this point, my girls' pix must be on every existing social network.

When I get to the room and I see them, and Jordi hugs me, I can't help it any longer. I brust into tears. Tears of happiness. And emotion. And fear. At last I have them both with me.