Just to warn you… reading this you’ll either feel slightly peckish or damn right nauseous.
At our 12 week scan, my partner and I chuckled over the idea of ‘eastern countries’ eating the placenta. Never did I actually believe we would.
It was all calm and relaxed, the operating lamp towered above me, the blue paper curtain was drawn and pinned up. The masked surgeon peered over the top with his smiling eyes and told me they were ready. My partner was gripping my hand so tight, I could hear beeps and feel tugging, then a cry. Well, a cough actually… the pre-term team joked from the other side of the curtain that my baby had just coughed up a chicken bone. I was in complete ecstacy. Before I knew it, I had been transfered to another bed cradling my beautiful new son and was being wheeled to recovery.
After a good 30 mins on the boob, lots of silent beaming smiles and a few random questions.. the midwife stated that my surgery was as text book as they can get. She revealed I only lost 100ml of blood, no complications, my vitals throughout where perfect, blah blah blah. Then she mentioned the placenta…….. ”oooo” my partner said. ” We forgot to ask”……
Yes we had. In the bliss of delivering our child we totally forgot to ask about the placenta. We agreed when I was 30 weeks pregnant and hours of searching the internet that we could keep and cook my placenta.
”Is it too late to have the placenta”? he asked shyly. ”Well she said. Its possible, why would you like it?”. My partner joked, ” I really fancy lasagne”. After she stopped giggling, she stated that she needed to fetch it out of the bin. YES, the BIN! Later she did explain it was my own bin, with only my waste etc.. She left, returning with a white sealed tub. I had to have a peak. It was the most alien thing I have ever seen. For all you ladies who have ever laid eyes upon there own placenta, it doesn’t exactly scream out ‘Thursday night dinner’.
That evening my partner took it home and it stood in our fridge till I returned home two days later.
”Pate”… my partner bellowed. It was 8am and I was feeding the bambino in bed. . . . ”Pate” I replied!. I clicked. ”Okay… yumm”!
That evening he got to work on the alien. It laid on the kitchen chopping board like a bag of mince. I just had to watch what he had planned for it (thankfully he is a chef). I was more amazed of what I had grown inside me then anything else. I didn’t watch the whole process, however I did notice it marinating in the fridge with garlic and rosemary while I hunted for the chocolate that evening.
We planned on eating half and burying half next to a willow tree. A tradition dating back thousand of years. However after reading more into it, we were told that we had to own the land/property as burying human tissues anywhere else is forbidden. It needed to be recorded on the property deeds incase of any forensic activity in the future. We don’t own a blimen willow tree, so planned to scoff it the whole thing. It is meant to heal after all.
The next morning, we enjoyed a nice cuppa followed by placenta pate on toasted crostini. Hands down, it was the most amazing pate I have ever eaten.
I have to say when the mum sent me this post for the blog I was enjoying a ham sandwich, I never ate much of it! Is this something you would have done?