Watching them slice my missus from hip-bone to hip-bone (pretty much)
as told in this tale (the birth obviously not the mastectomy), wasn't half as scary as the (probably) 30 sec. or so it took them to drag my daughter out of her innards, shuggle her in a towel to clean her and make sure she was awake, do a couple of quick tests (hearing & responsiveness I think) and then finally hand her to me.
EDIT: They had made it very clear that because I had refused to leave and it was against SOP, if I fainted they weren't going to deal with me until after the baby and my wife were ok.
By that time they were starting to put the missus back together again, and had assured me thru my tears of fear, frustration and relief that altho my daughter was absolutely fine I couldn't keep hold of her to move around the hospital and had to put her in the mobile, clear, crib thingy.
At that stage I lost all "fight".
EDIT: They don't fuck around when they do emergency caesarians - no slow, precise surgeons cuts. Slice, rummage, drag it out. Quickly.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 15 Jul 2013, 8:01, Reply)