While most posts are tweaked versions of reality, this one is true. As true as true is. Really.
Once upon time in mallu land, Dr Mary Magdaline was less heavily pregnant than her heavily pregnant patients. She was in the theatre performing the third C Section for the day.
The thing about an overcrowded, under resourced developing country is that safety takes a back seat and casualty is the driver. The anesthetic gases developed a leak. Unaware, Dr Mary continued her day. She remembers feeling euphoric and giggly.
Eventually word did get around about the gas leak. It was time for the pregnant doctor to turn into an emergency patient. She took her stethoscope and listen to her own belly.
She waited a while and still nothing.
N o t h i n g.
She went home, lay on her bed with the stethoscope still dangling from her ears, a part perched on her belly.
N o t h i n g .
With nothing better to do, she went to sleep.
Next day morning she was woke up late. That’s when the baby kicked.
Alive…but NORMAL??” was her next thought. Side effects of the anesthetic gases she inhaled ranged from Death to Down’s syndrome to well ... nothing.
A month and a half later I was born. Mom recollects counting my fingers and toes. Ten. Ten. (check)
She then groped to feel my head. My head was extra tiny. (uncheck) “Like that of a rat’s” she thought. She frowned, sighed swaddled her retard and slipped into sleep.
While the debate on my retardation rages, there is one unmistakable effect off the day of the anesthetic gas leak. I often feel euphoric and giggly.