C Section Pain Quotes

I saw a banner hanging next to city hall in downtown Philadelphia that read, "Kill them all, and let God sort them out." A bumper sticker read, "God will judge evildoers; we just have to get them to him." I saw a T-shirt on a soldier that said, "US Air Force... we don't die; we just go to hell to regroup." Others were less dramatic- red, white, and blue billboards saying, "God bless our troops." "God Bless America" became a marketing strategy. One store hung an ad in their window that said, "God bless America--$1 burgers." Patriotism was everywhere, including in our altars and church buildings. In the aftermath of September 11th, most Christian bookstores had a section with books on the event, calendars, devotionals, buttons, all decorated in the colors of America, draped in stars and stripes, and sprinkled with golden eagles. This burst of nationalism reveals the deep longing we all have for community, a natural thirst for intimacy... September 11th shattered the self-sufficient, autonomous individual, and we saw a country of broken fragile people who longed for community- for people to cry with, be angry with, to suffer with. People did not want to be alone in their sorrow, rage, and fear. But what happened after September 11th broke my heart. Conservative Christians rallies around the drums of war. Liberal Christian took to the streets. The cross was smothered by the flag and trampled under the feet of angry protesters. The church community was lost, so the many hungry seekers found community in the civic religion of American patriotism. People were hurting and crying out for healing, for salvation in the best sense of the word, as in the salve with which you dress a wound. A people longing for a savior placed their faith in the fragile hands of human logic and military strength, which have always let us down. They have always fallen short of the glory of God. ...The tragedy of the church's reaction to September 11th is not that we rallied around the families in New York and D.C. but that our love simply reflected the borders and allegiances of the world. We mourned the deaths of each soldier, as we should, but we did not feel the same anger and pain for each Iraqi death, or for the folks abused in the Abu Ghraib prison incident. We got farther and farther from Jesus' vision, which extends beyond our rational love and the boundaries we have established. There is no doubt that we must mourn those lives on September 11th. We must mourn the lives of the soldiers. But with the same passion and outrage, we must mourn the lives of every Iraqi who is lost. They are just as precious, no more, no less. In our rebirth, every life lost in Iraq is just as tragic as a life lost in New York or D.C. And the lives of the thirty thousand children who die of starvation each day is like six September 11ths every single day, a silent tsunami that happens every week.

We never understood the tendency to underestimate us, we who had been baptized and delivered through pain, who grinned and bore agonies while managing to draw on wing-tipped eyeliner with a surgically steady hand. We plucked our eyebrows, waxed our upper lips, got razor burn on our crotches, held blades to the cups of our armpits. Shoes tore holes in the skin of our heels and crippled the balls of our feet. We endured labor and childbirth and C-sections, during which doctors literally set our intestines on a table next to our bodies while we were awake. We got acid facials. We punctured our foreheads with Botox and filled our lips and our breasts. We pierced our ears and wore pants that were too tight. We got too much sun. We punished our bodies in spin class. All these tiny sacrifices to make us appear more lithe and ladylike—the female of the species. The weaker sex. Secretly, they toughened our hides, sharpened our edges. We were tougher than we looked. The only difference was that now we were finally letting on.

In a conversation on Twitter, a doctor said to me: I do anesthesia for a living, done it for hundreds of tubals I’m sure. I often think: WTF is wrong with the husband? Except when part of a C-section, tubals should be rare. Vasectomies are cheap, low-pain, extremely safe, and highly effective. Why are tubals also a burden that women must carry? An additional point: there has never been a documented death from a vasectomy. However, many women have died from anesthetic or surgical complications from a tubal ligation.

In your journal, reserve a section for painful experiences, writing them down right afterward. Leave two lines below each entry. After one month, return to the journal and write in the first blank line what you learned from that bad experience in the intervening period. After six months, fill in the second line with the positives that ultimately came from it. You will be amazed at how this exercise changes your perspective on your past.

You were burning in the middle of the worst solar storm our records can remember. (...) Everyone else fled. All your companions and crew left you alone to wrestle with the storm. “You did not blame them. In a moment of crystal insight, you realized that they were cowards beyond mere cowardice: their dependence on their immortality circuits had made it so that they could not even imagine risking their lives. They were all alike in this respect. They did not know they were not brave; they could not even think of dying as possible; how could they think of facing it, unflinching? “You did not flinch. You knew you were going to die; you knew it when the Sophotechs, who are immune to pain and fear, all screamed and failed and vanished. “And you knew, in that moment of approaching death, with all your life laid out like a single image for you to examine in a frozen moment of time, that no one was immortal, not ultimately, not really. The day may be far away, it may be further away than the dying of the sun, or the extinction of the stars, but the day will come when all our noumenal systems fail, our brilliant machines all pass away, and our records of ourselves and memories shall be lost. “If all life is finite, only the grace and virtue with which it is lived matters, not the length. So you decided to stay another moment, and erect magnetic shields, one by one; to discharge interruption masses into the current, to break up the reinforcement patterns in the storm. Not life but honor mattered to you, Helion: so you stayed a moment after that moment, and then another. (...) “You saw the plasma erupting through shield after shield (...) Chaos was attempting to destroy your life’s work, and major sections of the Solar Array were evaporated. Chaos was attempting to destroy your son’s lifework, and since he was aboard that ship, outside the range of any noumenal circuit, it would have destroyed your son as well. “The Array was safe, but you stayed another moment, to try to deflect the stream of particles and shield your son; circuit after circuit failed, and still you stayed, playing the emergency like a raging orchestra. “When the peak of the storm was passed, it was too late for you: you had stayed too long; the flames were coming. But the radio-static cleared long enough for you to have last words with your son, whom you discovered, to your surprise, you loved better than life itself. In your mind, he was the living image of the best thing in you, the ideal you always wanted to achieve. “ ‘Chaos has killed me, son,’ you said. ‘But the victory of unpredictability is hollow. Men imagine, in their pride, that they can predict life’s each event, and govern nature and govern each other with rules of unyielding iron. Not so. There will always be men like you, my son, who will do the things no one else predicts or can control. I tried to tame the sun and failed; no one knows what is at its fiery heart; but you will tame a thousand suns, and spread mankind so wide in space that no one single chance, no flux of chaos, no unexpected misfortune, will ever have power enough to harm us all. For men to be civilized, they must be unlike each other, so that when chaos comes to claim them, no two will use what strategy the other does, and thus, even in the middle of blind chaos, some men, by sheer blind chance, if nothing else, will conquer. “ ‘The way to conquer the chaos which underlies all the illusionary stable things in life, is to be so free, and tolerant, and so much in love with liberty, that chaos itself becomes our ally; we shall become what no one can foresee; and courage and inventiveness will be the names we call our fearless unpredictability…’ “And you vowed to support Phaethon’s effort, and you died in order that his dream might live.

American gynecology was built by torturing Black women and experimenting on their bodies to test procedures. J. Marion Sims, known as the father of American gynecology, developed his techniques by slicing open the vaginal tissues of enslaved women as they were held down by force. He refused to provide them with anesthesia. François Marie Prevost, who is credited with introducing C-sections in the United States, perfected his procedure by cutting into the abdomens of laboring women who were slaves. These women were treated like animals and their pain was ignored.

We had planned to spend Christmas morning with my family, and then head over to Phil and Kay’s for Christmas night. The whole family was there, including all the grandkids. Bella, Willie and Korie’s daughter, was the youngest and still an infant. We opened presents, ate dinner, and the whole evening felt surreal. Tomorrow morning I’ll have a baby in this world, I thought. When Jep and I left that night, I said, “I’m gonna go have a baby. See you all later!” For all the worry and concern and tears and prayers we’d spent on our unborn baby, when it came to her birth, she was no trouble at all. I went to the hospital, got prepped for the C-section, and within thirty minutes she was out. Lily was beautiful and healthy. I was overwhelmed with happiness and joy. I felt God had blessed me. He’d created life inside of me--a real, beautiful, breathing little human being--and brought her into this world through me. It was an unbelievable miracle. And the best part? Jep was in the delivery room. Unlike his dad, he wanted to be there, and he shared it all with me. I’ll never forget the sight of Jep decked out in blue scrubs, with the blue head cover, holding his baby girl for the first time. I’ll never forget how she nestled down in the crook of his arm, his hand wrapped up and around, gently holding her. He stared down at her, and I could see a smile behind his white surgical mask. He was already in love--I knew that look. After we admired the baby together, I fell asleep, and Jep took his newborn daughter out to meet the family. He told me later he bawled like a baby. Later, when she went to the hospital nursery, Jep kept going over there to stare at her. I think he was in shock and overwhelmed and excited. Lily had a light creamy complexion and little pink rosebud lips, and she was born December 26, 2002. Despite the rough pregnancy, she was perfect. God answered our prayers, and now we were a family of three. We’d been married just a little over a year.

These studies compare women who choose hospital birth with those who try to deliver at home (regardless of whether they have their babies there or end up transferring to hospital for pain relief or medical intervention). It turns out that simply by choosing home birth, women are less likely to require drugs to induce or speed up labor or relieve pain; less likely to be cut open or to tear; and less likely to need a C-section or instrumental delivery. Their babies are born in better shape and are more likely to breastfeed.

I was In a relationship with a guy I met on campus for 2 years and my journey into uncovering the truth about my ex's deceit began innocuously enough, with a simple statement about spending time with his cousin. However, suspicions gnawed at me like relentless pests, prompting me to dig deeper. Upon confronting him, his confession revealed a twisted web of lies. His supposed cousin was, in fact, just a friend—a revelation that did little to assuage my concerns. Skepticism lingered like a dark cloud, urging me to delve into realms I had never ventured before. It was during a late-night conversation with my best friend about everything that was happening and my insecurities that she gave me a beacon of hope in the sight of betrayal. She recounted her journey of discovery, sharing tales of a technological  entity known as "TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY." Intrigued, I embarked on my quest, determined to unearth the truth. TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY proved to be very helpful and insightful in my pursuit of clarity. With its arcane powers, it peeled back the layers of deception, revealing a trail of breadcrumbs meticulously scattered across the digital landscape. But it was in the comment sections of his cousin's posts where the true extent of his infidelity was laid bare. There, amidst innocuous emojis and superficial pleasantries, lay the damning evidence of his transgressions. Like a predator stalking its prey, he had left a trail of flirtatious remarks and suggestive innuendos, each one a dagger to my already wounded heart. The pain was unbearable, yet strangely empowering—a reminder of the strength that lay dormant within me, waiting to be unleashed. Armed with irrefutable proof, I confronted him once more, this time with a steely resolve born from the depths of betrayal. His feeble attempts at denial crumbled like sandcastles before the relentless tide of truth, leaving nothing but the cold, hard reality of his betrayal. In the aftermath of the storm, I found solace in the embrace of my loved ones, their unwavering support a beacon of hope in the darkest of hours. And though the scars may linger, they serve as a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit—a testament to the fact that even in the face of heartache, we have the power to rise above and reclaim our dignity. So, to anyone who finds themselves walking the treacherous path of betrayal, I offer this humble recommendation: trust in the wisdom of TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY, For it holds the key to unlocking the truth that lies hidden beneath the surface. And remember, no matter how dark the night may seem, the dawn of redemption awaits those brave enough to seek it. EMAIL:  t e c hnocratrecovery@ contractor. net WEB:  w w w.technocr aterecovery. site TELEGRAM:  @TECHNOCRATE_RECOVERY

HIRE TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY TO REVEAL ALL HIDEN SECRETES ON SMARTPHONE I was In a relationship with a guy I met on campus for 2 years and my journey into uncovering the truth about my ex's deceit began innocuously enough, with a simple statement about spending time with his cousin. However, suspicions gnawed at me like relentless pests, prompting me to dig deeper. Upon confronting him, his confession revealed a twisted web of lies. His supposed cousin was, in fact, just a friend—a revelation that did little to assuage my concerns. Skepticism lingered like a dark cloud, urging me to delve into realms I had never ventured before. It was during a late-night conversation with my best friend about everything that was happening and my insecurities that she gave me a beacon of hope in the sight of betrayal. She recounted her journey of discovery, sharing tales of a technological  entity known as "TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY." Intrigued, I embarked on my quest, determined to unearth the truth. TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY proved to be very helpful and insightful in my pursuit of clarity. With its arcane powers, it peeled back the layers of deception, revealing a trail of breadcrumbs meticulously scattered across the digital landscape. But it was in the comment sections of his cousin's posts where the true extent of his infidelity was laid bare. There, amidst innocuous emojis and superficial pleasantries, lay the damning evidence of his transgressions. Like a predator stalking its prey, he had left a trail of flirtatious remarks and suggestive innuendos, each one a dagger to my already wounded heart. The pain was unbearable, yet strangely empowering—a reminder of the strength that lay dormant within me, waiting to be unleashed. Armed with irrefutable proof, I confronted him once more, this time with a steely resolve born from the depths of betrayal. His feeble attempts at denial crumbled like sandcastles before the relentless tide of truth, leaving nothing but the cold, hard reality of his betrayal. In the aftermath of the storm, I found solace in the embrace of my loved ones, their unwavering support a beacon of hope in the darkest of hours. And though the scars may linger, they serve as a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit—a testament to the fact that even in the face of heartache, we have the power to rise above and reclaim our dignity. So, to anyone who finds themselves walking the treacherous path of betrayal, I offer this humble recommendation: trust in the wisdom of TECHNOCRATE RECOVERY, For it holds the key to unlocking the truth that lies hidden beneath the surface. And remember, no matter how dark the night may seem, the dawn of redemption awaits those brave enough to seek it. EMAIL:  t e c hnocratrecovery@ contractor. net WEB:  w w w.technocr aterecovery. site TELEGRAM:  @TECHNOCRATE_RECOVERY

Citizen Courtney Hall of the yulp caste, in the name of the Compassionate Society, you are under arrest for a Category Eight PainCrime violation; namely that you did, at or about twenty-thirty of the previous day, unlawfully gain access to, and utilize, a restricted security code, and through use of same, did with full cognizance and malice aforethought cause the general publication of Material Detrimental to the General Populace as specified under Section 29C, Paragraph 12, subsection 6, of the Social Responsibility (Publications and Mass Media) Act: Satire, Irony, and Associated Nonconstructive Criticism. Have you anything to say for yourself?

Citizen Courtney Hall of the yulp caste, in the name of the Compassionate Society, you are under arrest for a Category Eight PainCrime violation; namely that you did, at or about twenty-thirty of the previous day, unlawfully gain access to, and utilize, a restricted security code, and through use of same, did with full cognizance and malice aforethought cause the general publication of Material Detrimental to the General Populace as specified under Section 29C, Paragraph 12, subsection 6, of the Social Responsibility (Publications and Mass Media) Act: Satire, Irony, and Associated Nonconstructive Criticism.