I was beat up by a nun!

What you are about to read is a true story. It happened in 1979. August. On Wednesday, the 22nd, around 2:00 pm. It obviously scarred me for life. Why I didn't leave the Catholic Church after this incident is beyond me.

My sister, Linda, and I were pregnant at the same time, but five months apart. We both saw the same doctor. We were going to have our babies at the same hospital. Linda thought she was helping me by describing everything possible involved in having a baby. Every detail including things about a c-section, how I'd feel afterward, anything you could think of, but she left out one major detail.

The crazy nun.


Yes. You see, there was a retired, senile nun that lived on the maternity ward. (It was a Catholic hospital.) She buzzed around in her motorized wheel chair. She spoke with a soft voice and prattled on and on about various things. It was hard to get her to leave once she came to visit you. My sister learned quick enough to pretend that she was sleeping when she heard the wheelchair approach her door. And back in those days, if you had a c-section, you were kept in the hospital for a full 7 days. So Linda did a lot of pretending.

Let me set up the scene of the crime. The night before I went into labor, my husband and I visited my parents. When I walked out the back door, I stubbed my baby toe on the railing running along the back porch. I broke my toe. Have you ever broken a toe? I'm talking extreme pain.

Anytoe, early the next morning I went into labor. Fourteen hours later I had only dilated to 4 (should be 10), the baby was in distress, and they opted to yank my son out via c-section. This is when they split ya belly button to pubes.

This particular hospital recommended that new moms of c-sections wear "binders", a long piece of material with velcro that you pull and fold around your middle section. It felt tight like a girdle and helped hold the stomach muscles in. It felt pretty good, actually. I was able to move around right away with that sucker on.

Two days after giving birth, I was lying in bed, minding my own "bidness", honestly. I remember that my hands were behind my head, so my belly was all exposed (not literally) but you'll see what I mean.

In buzzes old crazy nun. Remember, I knew NOTHING about her.

"Hello," I said, ever the friendly, Catholic girl.

Wham! The nun slapped my stomach with all her might and said, "Look at that flat stomach for just having a baby!" She packed quite a punch for being all senile and in a wheel chair and shit. I should have just slugged her right then and there. Either that or just puked on her.

Jesus, Mary, and bald-headed Joseph! I yelled, "I just had a cesarean!" Thank the LORD I had on that binder because she could have ripped open my cut OR pushed my staples through to my spine.

But she wasn't through. Oh no she wasn't.

My eyeballs went back into their sockets and I managed to wipe the tears away. For some unknown reason Senile Sista started talking about her feet. She described the problems she was having with them, and how her toes were all bunched up together. (DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE???) My eyes must have glazed over a minute because she felt the need to demonstrate what her toes looked like in case I couldn't get a clear picture. So she grabbed MY foot. Stop the film right here. Do I need to rewind to the previous night when I BROKE MY TOE? Yeah. You know where I'm going with this. Oh yes she did. She grabbed my broken toe, along with the rest of them on my left foot, and crushed them together to give me a "clearer" picture of what her effing foot looked like!

Not only was this nun obviously deaf to my screams of, "My toe! My toe! It's broken!", but she must also have been blind since she didn't see the baby toe sticking out SIDEWAYS and the nice blue and green color it had turned.

I don't remember too much of the conversation after that. I just lay in my bed whimpering and promising God that I would go to church every Sunday if he would just get SATAN out of my room. A few minutes later she left.

After I collected myself, I limped up to the nurse's station and said, "I just got beat up by a nun!"

I relayed the story to them, and after they picked themselves up off the floor from laughing hysterically, they said, "You'd better behave yourself or we'll send her in there to express your milk!"

I was the best patient they ever had.