I'd been watching Father Ted all morning before going into labour with my first DD. At the hospital, whilst high on gas and air, plus pethidine, I started ranting on about crack cocaine in a really bad Irish accent. The midwife actually took my husband to one side and asked him if I was a drug addict. I, in the meantime, had started doing a Mrs Doyle: "Have a nice cup of tea, go on, y'will, y'will."
Hours later, following an emergency caesarean, I came round as they were wheeling me out of theatre. All I could see was a big clear plastic thing with pockets filled with what I was convinced were foetuses. Following a major freak out, one of the nurses calmed me down and kindly pointed out that they were, in fact, the swabs used during the ops, and that they have to count them in and out again to ensure nothing gets left behind inside the patient. I felt very, very stupid.
Even stupider than my above mistake: DD2 was also a caesarean, but under epidural so I was awake for the procedure and got to see her very briefly before the anaesthetist told me that I was haemorrhaging and they were going to have to put me under. I can remember coming to briefly afterwards and a doctor talking to me, and then I zonked out again. When I woke up, I was convinced that said doctor had told me that I had lost a lot of blood, and that they had packed my lady parts and my bottom up with surgical towels to help stop the bleeding. I spent a whole 24 hours with this information stored in my head, until I was told that they were going to remove my catheter and that I could get up and try to walk to the toilet when I felt ready. I asked a nurse when they would be removing the towels from my various holes, and she could only look at me aghast whilst I explained what I thought I was stuffed with. I was mortified when she very kindly told me that I must have had a post-op hallucination, and that under no circumstances had anything of a kind happened. I still feel so utterly stupid every time I think of it...