I get terrible cramps. So bad that they wake me up in the middle of the night, leaving me panting and clutching for 45 long minutes until the drugs can take effect. It's not a sudden, shocking pain; rather it creeps up, slowly mounting, until I'm finally forced to shake myself awake from a supposed nightmare, only to realize that the pain remains.

I have discovered that pain can really spark the imagination. Once a month, every month I dream that I am in labor. I never used to be afraid of childbirth. Now I am.

The dreams started out pretty normal: I was in my college infirmary, in a room with six other women. We were all on tables in a row, in various stages of labor. Because I had always been a proponent of natural childbirth, I was a little surprised to find myself screaming over and over, 'GIVE ME DRUGS! PLEASE! PLEASE! SOMEBODY GIVE ME SOME DRUGS!!" The kind familiar faces of the college nurses just smiled and quietly admonished me, "Sorry honey, you're a college girl...much too young and healthy to need any drugs...you'll be fine..." So I woke myself up, and took some drugs.

The next month was a little more adventurous. The labor pains were the same, but this time I managed to withstand them and succeeded in actually giving birth...to kittens. It was a beautiful litter of about five fuzzy little creatures. I was relieved to find that my parents were really very proud. Apparently they saw it as good practice for the real thing. The moral dilemma was that I couldn't just give them away--l mean, they were MY babies. But what the hell was I gonna do with five cats in my apartment?

Despite the crippling pain, the dreams had become a point of amusement to me and I began looking forward to them. That was until last month. Last month I gave birth to a beautiful human baby. It was perfect and healthy and my parents were prouder than ever. The only catch was--the baby was born in a turkey. Not a live turkey, but a glistening, juicy, roasted, Butterball turkey. You just flipped the turkey over and there was the baby, halfway lodged in, partially attached to the turkey's bones and tissues. It took the precision of a surgeon to separate the two. This was normal. This was how babies were born. I was intensely proud and relieved at my success.

After waking up my maternal joy quickly turned into feelings of grave discomfort. It wasn't just the process of giving birth to a turkey that bothered me, but the realization that my mind had created the idea of giving birth to a Butterball baby. Whatever the hell that might mean about my subconscious I don't even want to know.

I think this month I might take my drugs before I go to bed.

SOURCE: First Person: True Stories by Real People, zine by Tracey West, (the Dream Issue, 1995), p.22

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