Wedding season twenty fourteen is winding down, and with colder temperatures comes time for reflection. And rueful laughter.

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I'm not here to shit on weddings. Weddings can be great. Some of my best friends have had weddings. And when a wedding goes smoothly, months or years of near-insanity culminate in a memorable good time for the couple and the couple's guests.

But when it does not, legends are born.

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Before we get to your tales of the worst wedding you've attended (as a guest or as a person getting married), let's revisit the winner of last week's Pissing Contest, birth horror stories edition. It was LasEstrellas, by a landslide. You'll understand why.

I have an autoimmune illness. It needed to be watched carefully in case of problems. My Ob/gyn and other doctors agreed that I would be induced at 40 weeks since a major concern was rapid deterioration of the placenta at that point.

The pregnancy was pretty uneventful. I ended up making it to 40 weeks. I was so happy to make it to the hospital.

I was given a cervical ripener and then pitocin. I couldn't sleep. Nothing was really happening.

The second dose of pitocin started working, but way too well. I had contractions every few minutes, but no dilation. Pitocin was stopped.

After 12 hours and a long morning the doctors decided to break my waters. At that point I needed pain meds. But again, no progress.

The nex step? A bulb catheter was inserted. This is very unpleasant. A catheter tube is placed in the cervix and then inflated. The external potion of the catheter is then secured to your leg. This is a means of traction used to manually dilate the cervix. IT HURTS! I had mine in for about 2 hours and that was basically a 2 hour long contraction. I was relieved when they gave up on it.

When my doctor suggested an epidural to move things along I was just happy someone in a position of authority made the decision for me! I got much more relief, and was so happy to not have to lumber to the toilet anymore. But, it was obvious that my left side was number than my right.

Another night passed, no progress. My doctor checked me at 7 am and said "it would be generous to say you are at 4cm. I am going to wrap up my rounds, go to the office and come back. If you aren't fully dilated by then, we need to do a c-section."

I was so tired by that point, 36 hours in, that I didn't care! The nurses came in after my doctor and said "you aren't going to get dilated in time, we are just going to start prep right now."

The anesthesiologist popped in and gave me some extra meds and just before I was wheeled in to the OR for prep I started shivering uncontrollably, this on top of the crazy barfs I had.

I laid on the operating table as everyt was getting prepped, I actually enjoyed listening to all the stuff going on, but as we got closer to starting I was feeling really vulnerable because of the shivering, and I still felt like I was going to barf again. I was on my back at this point, my arms immobilized, and they just had tiny emesis basins. I was told if I needed to bard to just roll my head to the side. I really felt completely helpless. I am nothing if not a forceful vomiter.

My husband is a blood fainter, and luckily I was allowed my doula in the OR. The c-section began fine. I had sworn to my doctor that I felt something when she pricked me before opening, but I chalked it up to nerves.

My daughter was born and I remember it took s loooooong minute or two before she cried. My husband brought her to me before they took her for her exam. So darling.

Then, suddenly, I realized that something wasn't right. I had started hemorrhaging. The survival team seemed sort of frantic. I was really feeling them pounding hard at my gut and before I knew it, the shit hit the fan.

Not only was I hemorrhaging, suddenly the anesthesia failed. There is no way to explain what it felt like, it was indescribable. My doula was having her hand crushed in mine.

The anesthesthologist was yelling orders for emergency meds. He loaded me up with something, but it didn't help. I was cursing loudly and gripping my doula's fingers as if for life.

Another set of orders went out. When the meds came in the anesthesthologist said "I'm crossing my fingers here, let's hope it works." Still, the searing, bone crushing pain as the doctors seemed to be macerating my belly.

Somehow, it ended, I believe they had to load me up with a local anesthetic to close up. In recovery I spoke to the anesthesiologist and he was shaking his head "I don't know what happened in there." My bp was at dangerous levels due to the shock and blood loss.

The next few days had more dicey moments. I had lost a lot of blood and my hematocrit was at about 6, but even though they knew a blood transfusion would make me feel better, they held off. I was so busy with the baby that I didn't think much about what had happened.

After a week I went home and the next day it was obvious that my baby had developed jaundice. The 2nd week of her life was spent swaddling her in a bili blanket, which made her look like a glo-worm, taking her in for blood tests and trying to just deal.

My first well check was at 2 weeks. I arrived at the doctor and hit on the exam table. She lifted my shirt to examine my incision and discovers that my waistband is wet. My incision had become infected and opened, I hadn't even noticed.

Right then and there, no warning, she reopened my incision and manually drained it. It was fucking NASTY.

She then asked my husband to come look so she could show him how to pack the wound. He started to say "I don't think I can do this..." and then nearly hit his head as he fainted. The staff made fun of him afterward each time we showed up.

Luckily fir me, my lovely friend agreed to come to my home to change my packing and dressings on an alternating schedule with the home care nurses. It ended up taking 5 entire months before the wound healed back over.

I never got pregnant again.

Now, recover from your vaginal wince and ready your typing fingers for stories of weddings that did not go well.

Image via screengrab