The strangeness of the situation still strikes me.
Imagine coming from gastric bypass surgery, or an appendectomy, or your scheduled lobotomy, and waiting for a post-op on how things went, and then having your surgeon end the update with, "Also, don't forget to sign up for free coupons to Home Depot. Here's your Home Depot jacket. It's waterproof, with thermal pockets."
Let's see if we can take 17 unrelated things and throw them together in the maternity ward. Because entering parenthood is not confusing enough.
The hospital where I had Miss C, along with every hospital in this area, has signed on to this deal. And though I had a good experience there, I also brought a doula with me. She was sort of like a bouncer. She ran interference, talked with the staff, brought me juice, and helped Dave to help me. At one point, in the thick of things, I was sitting buck naked on a giant exercise ball, and the door to the delivery room flew open and in walked a medical student. Nothing against medical students, because many of them become doctors that help people. Except this guy was so excited. To see a natural childbirth. That he just couldn't stop talking about it to me. In a loud and enthusiastic voice.
"Good job you're doing great look at you go what a good job lookin' good you're looking goooooood!"
Since the power of speech had left me back at 8 centimeters, I just held on as he bobbed from side to side, like a cheerleader on speed.
My doula was swift, got in my face and asked, "Do you want him in here?"
I shook my head, and the happy man was escorted out. Never to return.
I think she is the one who should help escort Disney out, gently but firmly.