Greetings from the gurney. I’m the woman you’re about to cut open, and I’d like to start by saying that I’m supremely grateful for this scheduled c-section. As I lounge around in your hospital’s finest full-body napkin dress with a peekaboo butt, it’s nice to know that my ten-pound breech baby and I won’t end up like a couple of dead extras on Clive Owen’s operating table in The Knick.
Rest assured, I’m not one of these high-maintenance patients who arrives with lace-bound, scented copies of an 85-page birthing plan; I do find it quite chilly and bright in this operating room, but I am more than happy to sacrifice ambiance so that you can all see which organs you’re shuffling around down there.