Anxious is one thing that comes to mind when I try to describe my emotions right now.
We have a Dr.s appointment on Monday, and we're hoping Little Foot and I are measuring back to normal. We're also hoping that they'll run some tests without being prompted, since they informed us that they were worried about low fluids. (Which I did some research on and had a panic attack when I realized almost everyone else got induced when they had low fluids.) The part about all of this that's making most anxious though, is that this is our 37 week mark (this monday is) and we've had a really rough pregnancy, and I haven't been able to work, or really do anything, and we've made it past the expected 'end date'. I say 'end date', because it wasn't a due date, but they really only expected us to make it to 34 weeks, that was our goal anyways. After that I was showered with compliments at every appointment. I've only gotten sicker, and Little Foot has actually started to get SMALLER and we're growing very, very anxious about asking for an induction. Our hospitals policy doesn't allow them until 39 wks without a medical reason, but with all the hoopla in this pregnancy, we're hoping just ONE of the complications we've had/are having, is enough to get us a 38 week induction.
Now. I know what you're thinking. "How selfish and inconsiderate!", "Those last weeks count!", or "First time/young mothers ALWAYS do this crap.". But stop. Please know, that my partner and I, considered these very things when we were offered her removal during my 35 wk appendectomy. I said no. Just no. Why? Because if through all of this chaos, my Little Foot wanted to stay nestled in my womb for just a few more days, safely tucked away from all this mess, no matter how uncomfortable for me, that was fine. And no one was going to stop her. I still feel really strongly that the last weeks matter in a pregnancy and I detest the idea of induction. I really do. A lot of other htings went into consideration when I decided that at this upcoming appointment I would make it as clear as possible that this had to happen soon.
1. The last weeks DO matter, but when the baby isn't getting the right nutrients or growing properly, and is under stress, I think it'd be best for her to be out here where I can help her and feed her and MAKE SURE she gets what she needs.
2. I have made it past the expected 'end date', and have had all in all, a horrible pregnancy. For the both of us. She hasn't had ONE dr.'s appt where we left thinking she was in perfect health, or that things were improving.
3. The sooner she is out, the less chances there are for something to go horribly wrong. By horribly wrong, I mean leaving the hospital with out this baby.
I really fought myself on this one, because so far everything that has been 'good' for her, meant discomfort or pain for me. So the fact that getting her out of me, thus relieving me, was going to also benefit her, was too much. I kept trying to figure out if it REALLY was the best option for her, or if I was doing it for myself. In the end, I decided I just caught a break on this one, because it's whats best for us both.
I also fought the idea in general. I still wanted that natural birth, and with an induction, it's already over. It's already augmented. I could still shoot for a pain killer-free birth, but with induction my chances of that would go down dramatically. Not because I'm pessimistic, but because I know myself, and what I'm willing to do. I'm not willing to be miserable. Uncomfortable, or even in pain, is something I can handle, but the minute it becomes miserable, I'm out. I won't let myself be miserable during the birth of my child just for my pride. I'd rather be loopier than a goddamn box of fruit loops on pain killers, than to look back and shudder on my birth experience. At the same time, I'd be pretty proud of myself if I could make it without anything.
All in all, an induction, and soon, is what's best. And even though I'm particularly shy about asking for specific things when it comes to health care, this is one thing I think I want badly enough to eclipse that shyness.
My game plan is just to start with q's, like, "what's the hospital's policy on induction?", then work my way to, "Do you think we could have an induction date? Even if it's a little ways away, I'd like to know."
Wish me luck! We're hoping for an induction for the week of the 10th!!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Peach Of My Life
We got free lunch so we never packed lunch, but I had always wanted to pack my lunch, with a PB&J, a fresh peach, applesauce, and a little napkin. Don't ask why, but I remember a few times when I did pack my lunch, and I used an apple, I tried to pretend it was a peach. Maybe it's the same way I used to want a certain kind of pencil, because your pencil says some things about you. A yellow pencil, meant you got whatever was cheap and worked. A black one (if anyone even remembers the black ones we used for map testing) meant you wanted high quality pencils, and payed slightly more for them. And though, only a few dollars more, a mechanical pencil was the Rolex of pencils. And the peach was my Rolex of lunch fruits.
Well, I remember one day we got a big pay check after my dad started working on the road and my stepmom went out and bought all of the small things she knew we'd wanted, but hadn't been able to afford in the past. Like fruit roll-ups, push pops, ice cream, and PEACHES. She brought a bag of peaches home, four of them. I looked at them the whole night, wondering if they were just for eating, or a pie, or something else. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but definitly wanted to know if one of those precious little golden globes would be gracing my lunch box with it's presence. I tested the waters several times. I began immediatly that night, by taking them out of the bag. If I was allowed to take them out of the bag, this meant they were probably going to be used seperatly. So now, I just needed to find out if each of the four little peaches already had pre-destined fates, aside from my lunch box, that is. I waited until my step mom was in the room and began touching the peach I liked best. I swear it was a picture perfect peach. It had the crease right were they're supposed to, the perfect hues of peachiness, and of course, just a tiny bit of stem poking out of the top. I made sure she was looking and began casually talking about my day at school and rolling the peach around. She told me to quite playing with the food, that I was going to bruise it. So I set it over by my things, on the counter of course. She didn't say anything, and this is what sealed the deal for me.
This peach was going to be in my lunch tommorow. I pre-packed my lunch, despite my step mom's warnings about my PB&J getting 'weird' if I make it and leave it overnight. The next morning I woke up extra early, you know, to make sure I get my peach, and no one else does. I went into the kitchen and placed it right above the sandwich, beside the apple sauce, with the stem facing right up at me. Then I delicately placed a folded napkin on top and close the lid, and went to wait on my bus. Why wait on my bus so early, you say? Well, I don't want anyone asking about the peach, that's why.
I finally get on the bus and settle down. Then, it occurs to me, peaches BRUISE. So now everytime we take a turn, I check on my peach, and at every light, stop sign, bus stop, and of course when we park. Lunch time finally rolls around, but I have to find somewhere good to sit, because I have my peach, and this is such a good day. So after I've found my spot, I have to decide what i'm going to eat first. After an insane amount of anxiety over what's best for the peach, I decide to save it for last.
So all I have left in my box is the peach. I'm trying to decide where to bite into it, but I just can't. It's too perfect, too pretty. I'll save it for later.
This same deal goes down for about a week, until my peach is turning...into something else not quite peachy anymore. Now I can't eat it.
So where am I taking this? Why the ridiculously long stroll down memory lane?
Because I'm expecting a daughter any day now, and I feel like I did about this peach. I want her here so badly it hurts, and I imagine how everything will be with her here and cannot wait until she is, but once I get her, she'll start growing up. I just hope she doesn't rot before I enjoy her like my peach did. Or rather I hope she doesn't rot at all, and that I enjoy her before she's all grown up and I've missed out!
Monday, July 23, 2012
More Bad News
Today was supposed to be the begining of the appointments that would lead up to the finale. I'd get checked for dilation, measured, weighed, and they'd tell me what they thought about the impending arrival of our baby. I wasn't feeling good, but was pretty excited to not only share some of the discomforts and have them either fixed, or be told that it is normal, but to find out if I was in fact a 1cm dilated and where we were in terms of getting this baby out of me! Unfortunatly I left holding back tears and feeling like a POS mom, a failure, and like I just wanted my baby out and safe.
I went in to check in, and right off the bat I was told I'd be seeing a high risk specialist instead of my doctor. I didn't know that this was the plan and was pretty dissapointed, because while there's nothing wrong with a HRS, they aren't interested in helping me find natural remedies for my gas, they want to know about the serious, big issues. I had a whole list of Q's for my regular doctor that were now going to have to wait until later. I saw this as a bump in the road, but nothing horrible, I figured we'd see my regular doctor next week and then we'd discuss it.
We waited until the nurse came back, and as routine dictated, I was handed the lovely little cup and shown to a bathroom. I struggled peeing because I'd been really nauseous and pukey lately, on top of having the appetite of a gnat, which meant I didn't have much on my belly. My pee was practically orange and very little came. I immediately explained myself when I came in the exam room, because I knew the nurse would lecture me about drinking enough water. The nurse seemed very sympathetic and worried, because I didn't realize it yet, but about the third time she weighed me, I realized I'd lost about 15 lbs. In one week. My heart started racing like I'd just realized I'd done something terrible. I had been nauseous and pukey, and I hadn't had an appetite, but I'd had this very similar feeling in the 2nd trimester, and still gained weight, and the baby didn't pay at all for it. I was only given Zofran as a comfort measure, not a health one. However, right now, the nurse looked at me like a puppy with a broke leg and rubbed my arm sympathetically and said she'd go see if the doctor could come in now, and showed me where I could throw up, if needed.
A few moments later, the doctor entered and I was prying to see what her face would tell me. She weighed me again, took my blood pressure, and measured my fundal height (the length between your pubic bone, and top of your womb.). She did these things a few times, acutally. Each time looking at the computer screen in disbelief. I started trying to ask what was wrong and why I lost so much weight, and was cut off by her saying she had to go call my regular doctor. She solemnly stepped out for what felt like a century. Me and Lev met eyes and I held back tears of regret. Just two days ago, I had realized I fit into a pair of pants I previously couldn't, and thought nothing of it. I had been only eating maybe a plate of food, if that, at the three mealtimes a day. So many things that I didn't think mattered, now felt so monumental. How could I have not known. How could I have done this to Little Foot?
The doctor returned and explained that I had also tested positive for strep b. Strep B is a fairly common bacterial infection of the vagina. It's usually no big deal, but with the high risk pregnancy and low fluid levels, this means serious business. I cannot labor the first part at home, as most would probably prefer, and when I do show up, I'll be started on antibiotics, which I can hopefully get all the way through (it's done through IV) before I am 9cm, or Little Foots first moments will be spent trying to get her to breathe, and then in a box in NICU. This crushed me. No matter how many elements I got denied out of my birth plan, I comforted myself with the fact that no matter what, I'd get to hold my darling baby afterwards. I just didn't realize it could be DAYS afterwards. I held my breath and tried to eep out responses to what she had to say.
Little Foot is also not growing, or she is loosing amnio fluids, either way it's bad. BAD bad. I imagined a tiny hand grasping at the umbilical cord in discomfort, and a pint sized face scrunching up to cry, only to be comforted by no one. Was she starving? Was she crying? What had I done....or not done? How could she deserve this? It wasn't fair. At all. I felt like after the surgery I had made it past the BIG obstacle and all I had to get through was a little labor/delivery pain, little did I know just a week later I'd be left in tears wondering if my baby was as upset as I was.
Towards the end of the appt, I wondered when I would be checked. No one had even handed me a gown yet, much less mentioned it. i brought it up, and the doctor replied with something along the lines of, they can't check with my "infections". If you noticed as soon as I did, you're probably curious. Plural? InfectionS? Yes. Infections. Because she could have low amnio levels, they fear I could have a tear or infection other than the strep b. So when/who do I get checked by? I get checked when I am in active labor, and only by my doctor.
Needless to say, this appointment turned out to be nothing like I expected. I was prescribed zofran for the vomiting after a lengthy guilt trip about 'deciding' to not feed my baby becuase I'm uncomfortable. I went home after picking up my prescription, feeling broken, embarrassed, and scared. I began to move some stuff around to clean up so I can focus on other things, when I ran across a set of burp cloths and clothes my mom and grandma had bought me for her. They were still tagged and not yet washed, so I immediatly started walking towards the washer, but when I got there, I had a terrible thought that was almost as bad as saying it out loud.
"Maybe I should leave them in the bag, in case we don't get to bring her home."
The minute I'd finished the train of thought, I realized Levi was looking at me and he said, "Heyyyy. Don't. Everything's okay. She's just fine, we just gotta eat a little more.". It took me a moment to realize I was crying. My face felt red-hot and sticky and I wanted to strangle myself for even thinking about it, and so blandly. As if it would really matter to me whether her clothes were bagged or not if it came to that. My hands got really shaky and I held the burp rags in my hands, they were white with little hearts all over them. I imagined wiping her mouth with it after I burped her, or her hands after she'd sucked on them. I turned away and held them to my face and they smelled like cotton. I looked around the room and at her bassinet and some clothes I had out. I picked up a sleeper and imagined zipping it up after her night time bath, and cuddling her up. It was white with some outlines of pink sheep all over it. It was so tiny.
I thought of all of her clothes and toys and furniture, and what I'd do if we didn't come home with her. Ever. And the pit of my stomach turned into a knotted, gnarled, mass. All the zofran in the world couldn't keep me from feeling my food come back up. I let out the first of a long line of sobs and my heart raced like I was dying. It wasn't fair. These were her things. No one else deserved them. SHE would look adorable in this sleeper. SHE would lay in that bassinet. I became irate. A box of things of hers I'd packed to move to another room was sitting out and I threw it. It busted open and tiny newborn onsies were everywhere. I wanted to hold her now. I wanted to dress her in these things, lay her down in that bassinet, and make her smile. I tore the tags off of all of the things in the bag and sobbed while I folded and re folded them, trying to forget that I'd ever thought that thought, but I couldn't so I layed down with them and curled up in the pile of her things and cried into them. I held my belly and longed for her to kick me in the ribs, for her to push on my cervix until I cried like so many other nights. I wanted her to roll around and make me uncomfortable, I wanted to know she was still moving at all. I felt a box with my foot when I extended my legs, and when I looked down it was the box I'd thrown earlier. I sat up and began to put her clothes back in it, folding them delicately. I moved them to the our room and laid down in bed.
I couldn't seem to pull it together for about an hour. I wish I had a happy ending or saying for this blog post, but I just don't right now. And until I hear she's doing better, there won't be one. She's my sunshine, my responsibility, my girl, my daughter, my baby, my life, my everything. If she isn't okay, nothing is okay. Yes, it could be worse, but that won't matter in a million years to any parent, when his/her baby isn't doing fantastic, nothing is okay. When his/her baby isn't happy, nothing is alright. When his/her baby isn't healthy, (s)he's not okay. And that's that.
I went in to check in, and right off the bat I was told I'd be seeing a high risk specialist instead of my doctor. I didn't know that this was the plan and was pretty dissapointed, because while there's nothing wrong with a HRS, they aren't interested in helping me find natural remedies for my gas, they want to know about the serious, big issues. I had a whole list of Q's for my regular doctor that were now going to have to wait until later. I saw this as a bump in the road, but nothing horrible, I figured we'd see my regular doctor next week and then we'd discuss it.
We waited until the nurse came back, and as routine dictated, I was handed the lovely little cup and shown to a bathroom. I struggled peeing because I'd been really nauseous and pukey lately, on top of having the appetite of a gnat, which meant I didn't have much on my belly. My pee was practically orange and very little came. I immediately explained myself when I came in the exam room, because I knew the nurse would lecture me about drinking enough water. The nurse seemed very sympathetic and worried, because I didn't realize it yet, but about the third time she weighed me, I realized I'd lost about 15 lbs. In one week. My heart started racing like I'd just realized I'd done something terrible. I had been nauseous and pukey, and I hadn't had an appetite, but I'd had this very similar feeling in the 2nd trimester, and still gained weight, and the baby didn't pay at all for it. I was only given Zofran as a comfort measure, not a health one. However, right now, the nurse looked at me like a puppy with a broke leg and rubbed my arm sympathetically and said she'd go see if the doctor could come in now, and showed me where I could throw up, if needed.
A few moments later, the doctor entered and I was prying to see what her face would tell me. She weighed me again, took my blood pressure, and measured my fundal height (the length between your pubic bone, and top of your womb.). She did these things a few times, acutally. Each time looking at the computer screen in disbelief. I started trying to ask what was wrong and why I lost so much weight, and was cut off by her saying she had to go call my regular doctor. She solemnly stepped out for what felt like a century. Me and Lev met eyes and I held back tears of regret. Just two days ago, I had realized I fit into a pair of pants I previously couldn't, and thought nothing of it. I had been only eating maybe a plate of food, if that, at the three mealtimes a day. So many things that I didn't think mattered, now felt so monumental. How could I have not known. How could I have done this to Little Foot?
The doctor returned and explained that I had also tested positive for strep b. Strep B is a fairly common bacterial infection of the vagina. It's usually no big deal, but with the high risk pregnancy and low fluid levels, this means serious business. I cannot labor the first part at home, as most would probably prefer, and when I do show up, I'll be started on antibiotics, which I can hopefully get all the way through (it's done through IV) before I am 9cm, or Little Foots first moments will be spent trying to get her to breathe, and then in a box in NICU. This crushed me. No matter how many elements I got denied out of my birth plan, I comforted myself with the fact that no matter what, I'd get to hold my darling baby afterwards. I just didn't realize it could be DAYS afterwards. I held my breath and tried to eep out responses to what she had to say.
Little Foot is also not growing, or she is loosing amnio fluids, either way it's bad. BAD bad. I imagined a tiny hand grasping at the umbilical cord in discomfort, and a pint sized face scrunching up to cry, only to be comforted by no one. Was she starving? Was she crying? What had I done....or not done? How could she deserve this? It wasn't fair. At all. I felt like after the surgery I had made it past the BIG obstacle and all I had to get through was a little labor/delivery pain, little did I know just a week later I'd be left in tears wondering if my baby was as upset as I was.
Towards the end of the appt, I wondered when I would be checked. No one had even handed me a gown yet, much less mentioned it. i brought it up, and the doctor replied with something along the lines of, they can't check with my "infections". If you noticed as soon as I did, you're probably curious. Plural? InfectionS? Yes. Infections. Because she could have low amnio levels, they fear I could have a tear or infection other than the strep b. So when/who do I get checked by? I get checked when I am in active labor, and only by my doctor.
Needless to say, this appointment turned out to be nothing like I expected. I was prescribed zofran for the vomiting after a lengthy guilt trip about 'deciding' to not feed my baby becuase I'm uncomfortable. I went home after picking up my prescription, feeling broken, embarrassed, and scared. I began to move some stuff around to clean up so I can focus on other things, when I ran across a set of burp cloths and clothes my mom and grandma had bought me for her. They were still tagged and not yet washed, so I immediatly started walking towards the washer, but when I got there, I had a terrible thought that was almost as bad as saying it out loud.
"Maybe I should leave them in the bag, in case we don't get to bring her home."
The minute I'd finished the train of thought, I realized Levi was looking at me and he said, "Heyyyy. Don't. Everything's okay. She's just fine, we just gotta eat a little more.". It took me a moment to realize I was crying. My face felt red-hot and sticky and I wanted to strangle myself for even thinking about it, and so blandly. As if it would really matter to me whether her clothes were bagged or not if it came to that. My hands got really shaky and I held the burp rags in my hands, they were white with little hearts all over them. I imagined wiping her mouth with it after I burped her, or her hands after she'd sucked on them. I turned away and held them to my face and they smelled like cotton. I looked around the room and at her bassinet and some clothes I had out. I picked up a sleeper and imagined zipping it up after her night time bath, and cuddling her up. It was white with some outlines of pink sheep all over it. It was so tiny.
I thought of all of her clothes and toys and furniture, and what I'd do if we didn't come home with her. Ever. And the pit of my stomach turned into a knotted, gnarled, mass. All the zofran in the world couldn't keep me from feeling my food come back up. I let out the first of a long line of sobs and my heart raced like I was dying. It wasn't fair. These were her things. No one else deserved them. SHE would look adorable in this sleeper. SHE would lay in that bassinet. I became irate. A box of things of hers I'd packed to move to another room was sitting out and I threw it. It busted open and tiny newborn onsies were everywhere. I wanted to hold her now. I wanted to dress her in these things, lay her down in that bassinet, and make her smile. I tore the tags off of all of the things in the bag and sobbed while I folded and re folded them, trying to forget that I'd ever thought that thought, but I couldn't so I layed down with them and curled up in the pile of her things and cried into them. I held my belly and longed for her to kick me in the ribs, for her to push on my cervix until I cried like so many other nights. I wanted her to roll around and make me uncomfortable, I wanted to know she was still moving at all. I felt a box with my foot when I extended my legs, and when I looked down it was the box I'd thrown earlier. I sat up and began to put her clothes back in it, folding them delicately. I moved them to the our room and laid down in bed.
I couldn't seem to pull it together for about an hour. I wish I had a happy ending or saying for this blog post, but I just don't right now. And until I hear she's doing better, there won't be one. She's my sunshine, my responsibility, my girl, my daughter, my baby, my life, my everything. If she isn't okay, nothing is okay. Yes, it could be worse, but that won't matter in a million years to any parent, when his/her baby isn't doing fantastic, nothing is okay. When his/her baby isn't happy, nothing is alright. When his/her baby isn't healthy, (s)he's not okay. And that's that.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Recovery Update: Week 1
[For those of you just starting to read- you can read the super-extended, emotional version of my surgery with details here. In a nutshell, I'm 34 weeks pregnant and had to have an emergency open appendectomy, open meaning a five inch incision instead of the standard laproscopic two two-inch incisions.]
The recovery for this surgery has been a lot easier than expected. I had never under gone a surgery and didn't know what to expect and how long things would take. I assumed it would take around two weeks atleast to feel okay again, and that I'd be absalutly miserable in the days following the procedure. However, it was a slice of cake.
I'll start with medications and equipment that was on/in me in the hours following my surgery, and days after. My hospital stay was just two days, which was just fine, even though my family thought it was a little early, I was more than ready. Right after the surgery, I had the standard fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor straps on my belly, a finger clamp for my pulse, and leg massagers, for equipment. For medications, I had an epidural for the surgery itself that wore off prematurely, morphine, an IV drip (of course), percoset (a mixture of acetaminophen and oxycodone), and antibiotics to ward off infection of the incision. If you are wondering what the hell a leg massager is, so was I when they strapped 'em to my legs. Essentially, when you undergo any surgery it puts you at risk for blood clots, if you don't use your limbs actively they assign some device to stimulate blood flow for you. In this case, it was my legs, because they didn't expect me to be walking quite as soon as I did. It's basically a blood pressure cuff-style, two foot long, velcro-ed stretch of fabric that inflates at set time intervals. It's just as weird as it sounds, especially when you're trying to sleep. After I was released from the hospital, I was left with a prescription of percoset and some reccomendations for other medications non-prescription. Such as, Milk of Magnesia to help me with a bowel movement and pepcid to keep the acid in my belly down.
Physically after the surgery, I felt relief. I felt so much better. I sat up instantly, walked to the bathroom 30 minutes post-surgery and my incision DID hurt, but in comparison to the pain I'd been walking around with for two days prior, it was a breeze. Most of the pain was soreness when the baby kicked the inner stitches. On the inside, I was stitched up with dissolvable stitched for my muscles, and on the outside I was glued shut. They couldn't risk stitching the outside since I was so pregnant, if they for some reason couldn't handle me stretching, they would rip open and cause so many problems, and if I were to gain very much weight before I had the baby, it could stretch it open in between stitches. All in all, I was dissapointed to not have a more gruesome battle wound, but they say it scars less, so that's something nice about it.
My incision has actually healed very quickly and about four days after the procedure i went in for an appt I made because I was concerned about the contractions I was having, they were making my belly intensely sore and the baby had gotten very fussy during contractions in comparison to when she just sat still during them, and the doctor took some of my tape off of the incision, and it had healed shut already! I am allowed to remove the tapes whenever I like now, but my allergy to the tape has made it a little painful to do so, and I really just would rather wait for them to fall off. I get to start taking baths again and enjoy a pool once more at two weeks recovery.
I'm hoping that Little Foot will wait at least that long to make an appearance. It would be perfect timing. At two weeks into my recovery, not only do they expect the muscle to be mostly healed up, (which will make pushing during delivery a little less straining), but we'll have made it to 37 weeks. For those of you without children and not familiar with pregnancy terms and important dates- 37 weeks is full term!! Any baby born after 37 weeks, is no longer premature. We have had a hard pregnancy, and weren't confident in the beginning that we'd make it full term. We'd had a lot of pre-term labor scares and even a car accident. We didn't think we'd make it to 34 weeks and our OB shared the same concern. We had no idea we'd make it this far, and through a surgery!!! It feels like a huge acheivment on my part and I've never felt so proud.
This recovery has been pretty easy and I really have had the best support team. My partner has been there every step of the way, even when it meant crying through a night of contractions, or a midnight shower. He's gotten up at ridiculous times to make me something to eat or to get my meds, and I can't count how often he got up to help me out of bed or the tub when I was feeling really tired or sore. Anyone facing a surgery, or a hard pregnancy, or both, just know you can do it! Just stay positive and never stop thinking of the reward at the end, whether it's just improved health, or a precious new addition to your family, you really can!
The recovery for this surgery has been a lot easier than expected. I had never under gone a surgery and didn't know what to expect and how long things would take. I assumed it would take around two weeks atleast to feel okay again, and that I'd be absalutly miserable in the days following the procedure. However, it was a slice of cake.
I'll start with medications and equipment that was on/in me in the hours following my surgery, and days after. My hospital stay was just two days, which was just fine, even though my family thought it was a little early, I was more than ready. Right after the surgery, I had the standard fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor straps on my belly, a finger clamp for my pulse, and leg massagers, for equipment. For medications, I had an epidural for the surgery itself that wore off prematurely, morphine, an IV drip (of course), percoset (a mixture of acetaminophen and oxycodone), and antibiotics to ward off infection of the incision. If you are wondering what the hell a leg massager is, so was I when they strapped 'em to my legs. Essentially, when you undergo any surgery it puts you at risk for blood clots, if you don't use your limbs actively they assign some device to stimulate blood flow for you. In this case, it was my legs, because they didn't expect me to be walking quite as soon as I did. It's basically a blood pressure cuff-style, two foot long, velcro-ed stretch of fabric that inflates at set time intervals. It's just as weird as it sounds, especially when you're trying to sleep. After I was released from the hospital, I was left with a prescription of percoset and some reccomendations for other medications non-prescription. Such as, Milk of Magnesia to help me with a bowel movement and pepcid to keep the acid in my belly down.
Physically after the surgery, I felt relief. I felt so much better. I sat up instantly, walked to the bathroom 30 minutes post-surgery and my incision DID hurt, but in comparison to the pain I'd been walking around with for two days prior, it was a breeze. Most of the pain was soreness when the baby kicked the inner stitches. On the inside, I was stitched up with dissolvable stitched for my muscles, and on the outside I was glued shut. They couldn't risk stitching the outside since I was so pregnant, if they for some reason couldn't handle me stretching, they would rip open and cause so many problems, and if I were to gain very much weight before I had the baby, it could stretch it open in between stitches. All in all, I was dissapointed to not have a more gruesome battle wound, but they say it scars less, so that's something nice about it.
My incision has actually healed very quickly and about four days after the procedure i went in for an appt I made because I was concerned about the contractions I was having, they were making my belly intensely sore and the baby had gotten very fussy during contractions in comparison to when she just sat still during them, and the doctor took some of my tape off of the incision, and it had healed shut already! I am allowed to remove the tapes whenever I like now, but my allergy to the tape has made it a little painful to do so, and I really just would rather wait for them to fall off. I get to start taking baths again and enjoy a pool once more at two weeks recovery.
I'm hoping that Little Foot will wait at least that long to make an appearance. It would be perfect timing. At two weeks into my recovery, not only do they expect the muscle to be mostly healed up, (which will make pushing during delivery a little less straining), but we'll have made it to 37 weeks. For those of you without children and not familiar with pregnancy terms and important dates- 37 weeks is full term!! Any baby born after 37 weeks, is no longer premature. We have had a hard pregnancy, and weren't confident in the beginning that we'd make it full term. We'd had a lot of pre-term labor scares and even a car accident. We didn't think we'd make it to 34 weeks and our OB shared the same concern. We had no idea we'd make it this far, and through a surgery!!! It feels like a huge acheivment on my part and I've never felt so proud.
This recovery has been pretty easy and I really have had the best support team. My partner has been there every step of the way, even when it meant crying through a night of contractions, or a midnight shower. He's gotten up at ridiculous times to make me something to eat or to get my meds, and I can't count how often he got up to help me out of bed or the tub when I was feeling really tired or sore. Anyone facing a surgery, or a hard pregnancy, or both, just know you can do it! Just stay positive and never stop thinking of the reward at the end, whether it's just improved health, or a precious new addition to your family, you really can!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
My Pregnant Surgery
When I was about 34 weeks along with Miss Little Foot, our daughter, I started having horrible pains. HORRIBLE. I had already had a complicated and uncomfortable pregnancy and was pretty used to having to calm myself and drink a water, or other soothing techniques to keep myself managed. Suddenly, though, I just started having sharp, intense, soreness on my right side. I felt like I couldn't walk, stand, or even sit down on my own. Moving hurt, I couldn't roll over without assistance. I knew something wasn't quite right. Little Foots heart rate was a fantastic 123-130 and she was moving okay, so when I called the nurses hotline and they told me I was being 'dramatic', I took a while and tried to think, "maybe I am, maybe I just need to man-up." So I spent the next few hours taking bath after bath, getting back rub after back rub, none making the pain more bearable, I finally went to Labor and Delivery Triage to see what could be done and what was wrong. I was monitored for a few hours because as it turns out, Little Foots heart rate was NOT okay, it had sky rocketed to a devastating 213!
The nurse immediately forgot my pain and started focusing on the baby. (rightly so!) She called in my OB and she arrived before I could even unhook my stuff to use the restroom so that my bladder would be empty when she came in to inevitably check me. She burst in and told me that she was sorry she was "late" and felt my belly and looked at my charts. She left to call the high risk specialist and returned with sad- but somewhat comforting news. Our tiny baby was having an anxiety attack. I bawled. How could she be so upset and uncomfortable inside me (supposedly the safest place in the world for her!) that she was having an anxiety attack?! (the good news is that an anxiety attack, while VERY sad and upsetting, is NOT going to affect her long term, as long as she could calm back down in under a day.) I wanted to hold her. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her to my chest and stroke her cheek and tell her I love her. To say sweet calm things to her so she doesn't need to cry. To fix her problems like moms should and make her happy.I imagined her face crying and my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt like dying. The pain I was feeling physically would never measure up to the emotional hurt I was feeling as Lev laid his hands softly on my belly where she had a foot sticking out and I could see the hurt in his face, too. The doctor left and Lev gently pulled down the blanket and scooted the monitor over that laid on top her to record her heart beat, and told her he loved her and asked her rhetorical questions like, "why are you so upset in there?". I stifled sobs that hurt my ribs and buried my face in his chest.
A few hours later, I was still miserably in pain and sweating off what felt like an Olympic pool. But Little Foots heart rate slowed to a manageable 160. And stayed that way for about an hour. We took a sigh of relief and I felt like walking on egg shells. I swore inside my head I wouldn't walk too fast, eat spicy foods, or get upset until she was born, so she'd never have another anxiety attack, ever. (Until she's about 13, anyways!) The nursing staff forgot completely about my pain and when I tried to bring it up, they categorized it as round ligament pain. Which I knew was bullshit, but I hate complaining, and since Little Foot was doing alright, I accepted the forms that sent me home and Lev dressed me and took me to home, and then bed.
The night eased up and I felt good about my decision to come home. The next morning, however, was living hell. We checked Little Foots heart beat religiously every hour and listened for any hitches, pauses, or skips. ANYTHING. We only heard a perfect heart beat, and so I continued to try to bathe my pain away. I tried breathing through the pains, and Lev sat next to the bath tub with a cup of water and wiped the hair out of my face and said everything he could to coax me out of the tub and into some clothes to take me to labor and delivery. He insisted that this just wasn't me, it wasn't healthy, and something was terribly wrong. He got the labor and delivery bag and my clothes and waited anxiously around the house while I tried to convince him with the phrases the nurses had used, "Some people just have rough pregnancies.", "You just have to breath through it.", etc.
Finally around 2pm, I had had enough and called my drs office for advice on what I should say in Labor and Delivery to help them understand the pain I was in. I got transferred to an exasperated and annoyed "Cindy". I started to explain my pain starting with the fact that the pain I had trying to use the restroom in any fashion, was so horrible, I often avoided going until it was just as painful holding it in, and then fluidly sobbed trying to release anything. She stopped me, assuring me that I had an UTI. I told her I was tested just the day before, (and every week before that) for one, and had been VERY negative. Also that the pain was NOT a burning sensation during urination, but an extreme pressure that made it painful to sit on the toilette and release the muscle. She sighed loudly, and repeated that I DO have a UTI and that it's not "that bad". I let out a whimper because I was feeling so defeated and upset I didn't know where to take it from there. I decided to move on to my other pains. I told her that I had an intense pain on my side that made my eyes water when I tried to roll over or walk, and she again, sighed loudly, and said, "it's round ligament pain. It happens to a lot of pregnant people and everyone else gets over it. Other people work 40 hour weeks with it. So you're just going to have to grin and bear it. If you'd like, you can can come in again if you have to for another UTI testing. Anything else?".
I was so pissed and upset, that in order to keep my dignity and not sob uncontrollably over the phone, I had to respond to everything with, "mhm. Okay. I see." In a very monotone (and hopefully obviously pissed) tone. It's not my style to get angry when things don't go my way, but after I hit end on that phone call, my phone SAILED to the next room and I bawled and screamed about how unfair and bitchy she was. I was so angry I got nauseous. I bawled and cried and ran another bath. Lev followed me in with a cup and a bendy straw, and kept rubbing my back and telling me it was time to leave, that this isn't normal and whether it's normal for everyone else or not, I needed help. I caved in about 3, but not to go to Labor and Delivery, because I refused to go in, get fisted, get an IV and be sent home because apparently, even though after 24 wks, you are supposed to take ALL of your medical emergencies to Labor and Delivery, they send you home the minute they can confirm you aren't in labor.
I got smart. I decided, I'd go to the adult urgent care, like everyone else, and when they tried to tell me "labor and Delivery is down the hall, though....", I'd say that I would like to be seen by these doctors and actually get help. The receptionist stared at my globous belly and reluctantly put my wrist band on. She went and got a dr and they glanced at the paperwork I'd filled out and at me several times. It was clear they weren't sure what to do.
The doctor called me back, and took my temperature. She helped me sit down and asked why I wouldn't go to L&D and what was wrong. I started with my pains and discomforts first, she agreed that these sounded like an internal infection, rupture, or other serious issue. I then told her I would really rather stay in this part of the hospital and be seen by these doctors. She asked why and I simply told her that L&D had already sent me home once with the pains and I couldn't take it another night, that it WAS something serious and I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or help me. She said it was policy that she was to inform L&D that a pregnant female was in the hospital and ill, and that they had the right to come collect me from her. She said that if they did not help me though, if they did not keep me, she would. If L&D discharged me in this state, that they had given up their right to collect me and were no longer offering me treatment.
L&D arrived shortly thereafter with a wheel chair and another know-it-all nurse. She asked me pointless questions that are meant to make you think they care about you personally, like what's the baby's gender, what do we plan to name her, etc. I answered shortly and crankily because honestly, I felt like I was being carted off to hell. The nurse that checked me into the back asked me what my discomforts were, and replied to EVERY GODDAMN ONE with, "well that's just pregnancy, deary!". Which made me want to rip her face off and scream at her. They put me in a room and suddenly I felt like the contractions were going to snap me in half. My side felt like it was going to rip open and I was just going to die. I started running a pretty high fever, yet Little Foots heart beat remained a healthy rate. I like to think it's because she knew I was getting us help. I started bawling and sweating like no tommorow. I felt like things were going down hill, and fast. We got a new nurse, and this is how I knew it was getting late. She was very kind and very attentative. Even when she thought it might be a common side effect, she would prod more to see, instead of stating her opinion. Eventually, I started to loose my vision and began to feel very weak.
I really did think it was the end. I started asking Lev to call a nurse so they could save Little Foot and I wanted them to take her out of me. I knew if I died, so would Little Foot, if she were still inside me. I told him to tell her i love her and that I didn't want to leave her. I started apologizing for everything I'd ever done from showing up late on our anniversary, to not liking his favorite band's album. His eyes glazed over and he kept saying, "You have nothing to be sorry for, this is all going to be over soon." He held my head to his chest and I felt a single sob. I knew I had to look bad, because Lev is the optimist of optimists. If he was doubting it, I was either not going to make it, or I was going to make it, barely. He kept whispering I love you, and I lost the feeling in my hands. I watched as my hand fell away from his and I was so tired I couldn't even cry. He picked my hand up and held it, and tried to curl my fingers around his in a frivolous effort. He looked at me, and I told him I couldn't feel them anymore, and a tiny part of me died inside. I wanted to hold his hand. What if I never held his hands again?
The nurse came back from her frantic search for a surgeon that would accept my special case and had found the Surgeon General, our last hope. He informed us that he would move us to a better room and they'd give us some time alone. He tried to roll me over but I screamed and cried, and he decided I would be booked for surgery in about an hour. I was moved to a different room, and the nurse explained that they would be removing my appendix. That they suspected it had ruptured. Initially, they told us they had no choice but to remove the baby. I begged for them to let me be awake to see her when she was born. They said no, that with the pain I was in, it just would be better to put me under general anesthesia.
About 30 minutes later the nurse returned with a smile on her face, she told me that they would leave the baby in and see if she can make it through the surgery. This pleased me, to know that she still had a chance of being born vaginally, and that Lev might still get to see her birth and hold her soon afterwards! They told me I had about 3 hours left to go, and if the surgery didn't work, it would be a slow, painful one, from there out. The realization that this surgery meant life or death was much harder on Lev than I. The nurse dimmed the lights and told me we had 30 min to go until surgery. Lev sat on the side of the bed and held my face and hands in his. He kissed me and told me everything would be okay. A little bit after that, the nurse came in and handed me a phone, she said I had 10 min until surgery and if I wanted to make a few phone calls, I should start now. I decided to call some family members and tell them what was going on, and that loved them.
They came for me and Lev squeezed my shoulder and let go, he looked at all of the wires and he looked like he didnt know if he was allowed any further. The nurse told him to tell me good bye and he kissed me and pinned a piece of stray hair back, and said, "I'll see you when they're done, okay? Don't be scared. I love you.". The guy taking me to the OR looked at Lev and said, "you know, when they have major surgeries, they allow 2 people into the prep room with you, he could come.". Lev nervously navigated himself to the side of the bed and said alright, and the tech began our what felt like, eternity-long ride to OR. Half way there, I heard some one yell, "I'm her stepmom! Please let me say good bye! Is she asleep yet?!" The tech stopped and said she could be my #2, and an out of breath step mom appeared at the side of my bed, she held my wrist and hand tightly and kept repeating, "your going to be just fine, okay?". The tech said we were running a little late and I announced I couldn't feel patches of skin on my belly, and the patches I could burnt like fire. Things started moving a little faster. We got ot prep and the anesthesiologist sympathetically looked at my belly and said, "You must be it.". Lev and me talked about how even if we weren't there when she was born, we'd show her we love her the minute we get her. She pulled the papers out and had me drink some undesirable fluids and looked like she was having trouble making a big decision.
"Do you want to be awake?"
"Yes."
"I can do that."
I'd never felt so relieved. She explained that I would be the first person to undergo this particular surgery, fully conscious, and that she didn't really know what to expect, other than she was positive I wouldn't feel the cutting and what not. Lev and my step mother had to leave and they both walked away slowly stealing what I think was glances my way (couldn't see well). And I was wheeled down to my actual surgery room. They hooked me up to more machines and administered the epidural. This part was the worst pain during the entire surgery. The small shot mean to numb you before the large spinal, did not work. We did not have time to wait, or to try something else. Four people approached me and one held me in a hug-fashion, and the other two pulled at my arms. She inserted the rod and everyone held breaths while I screamed hoping I wouldn't move and paralyze myself. They laid me down and washed my belly. My arms got strapped to the sides and a man was assigned just for moral support.
The surgeon entered the room livid. I was not supposed to be awake. They hadn't asked him, and it was too late to change it. He began the surgery. Surgery was calm and smooth until he realized three things.
1. My baby had ceased movement and they couldn't get vitals on her
2. My anasthesia was wearing off at a dangerous and very early rate.
3. We had gone an hour over the estimated surgery time and he didn't have time to start the second incison. (it was supposed to be laproscopic, meaning two very small incisions, however, if that wasn't gong to work the preferred alternative was to make a large incision on my upper belly. The laproscopic had failed and he just didnt have time to start another.)
He grabbed the big scissors and I heard the big cut. He stuck his hand in the incision and some one else palpitated my uterus from the other side. A panic set in when I accidentally moved my leg, meaning in a matter of minutes, I would be able to feel my belly. He finally found it, and pulled it out. He began sewing me up and glueing the incision and I asked to see my appendix. Since I'm the first to be awake during this procedure, I imagine this was the first time anyone had asked. They reluctantly showed me and I said it looked funny. Everyone looked relieved that I didn't vomit or do anything of that sort. Finally, the surgery was over and I was taken back to my room.
I immediately felt better, and even after my anesthesia wore off, I felt like walking to the bathroom. My family came in and everyone looked happy. Lev was at my side the second he could be, and holding my hands and talking to Little Foot about how things were going to be okay now. I told them how it went and of course the baby turned out to be just fine. Infact, she was sleeping. Imagine that.
The nurse immediately forgot my pain and started focusing on the baby. (rightly so!) She called in my OB and she arrived before I could even unhook my stuff to use the restroom so that my bladder would be empty when she came in to inevitably check me. She burst in and told me that she was sorry she was "late" and felt my belly and looked at my charts. She left to call the high risk specialist and returned with sad- but somewhat comforting news. Our tiny baby was having an anxiety attack. I bawled. How could she be so upset and uncomfortable inside me (supposedly the safest place in the world for her!) that she was having an anxiety attack?! (the good news is that an anxiety attack, while VERY sad and upsetting, is NOT going to affect her long term, as long as she could calm back down in under a day.) I wanted to hold her. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her to my chest and stroke her cheek and tell her I love her. To say sweet calm things to her so she doesn't need to cry. To fix her problems like moms should and make her happy.I imagined her face crying and my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt like dying. The pain I was feeling physically would never measure up to the emotional hurt I was feeling as Lev laid his hands softly on my belly where she had a foot sticking out and I could see the hurt in his face, too. The doctor left and Lev gently pulled down the blanket and scooted the monitor over that laid on top her to record her heart beat, and told her he loved her and asked her rhetorical questions like, "why are you so upset in there?". I stifled sobs that hurt my ribs and buried my face in his chest.
A few hours later, I was still miserably in pain and sweating off what felt like an Olympic pool. But Little Foots heart rate slowed to a manageable 160. And stayed that way for about an hour. We took a sigh of relief and I felt like walking on egg shells. I swore inside my head I wouldn't walk too fast, eat spicy foods, or get upset until she was born, so she'd never have another anxiety attack, ever. (Until she's about 13, anyways!) The nursing staff forgot completely about my pain and when I tried to bring it up, they categorized it as round ligament pain. Which I knew was bullshit, but I hate complaining, and since Little Foot was doing alright, I accepted the forms that sent me home and Lev dressed me and took me to home, and then bed.
The night eased up and I felt good about my decision to come home. The next morning, however, was living hell. We checked Little Foots heart beat religiously every hour and listened for any hitches, pauses, or skips. ANYTHING. We only heard a perfect heart beat, and so I continued to try to bathe my pain away. I tried breathing through the pains, and Lev sat next to the bath tub with a cup of water and wiped the hair out of my face and said everything he could to coax me out of the tub and into some clothes to take me to labor and delivery. He insisted that this just wasn't me, it wasn't healthy, and something was terribly wrong. He got the labor and delivery bag and my clothes and waited anxiously around the house while I tried to convince him with the phrases the nurses had used, "Some people just have rough pregnancies.", "You just have to breath through it.", etc.
Finally around 2pm, I had had enough and called my drs office for advice on what I should say in Labor and Delivery to help them understand the pain I was in. I got transferred to an exasperated and annoyed "Cindy". I started to explain my pain starting with the fact that the pain I had trying to use the restroom in any fashion, was so horrible, I often avoided going until it was just as painful holding it in, and then fluidly sobbed trying to release anything. She stopped me, assuring me that I had an UTI. I told her I was tested just the day before, (and every week before that) for one, and had been VERY negative. Also that the pain was NOT a burning sensation during urination, but an extreme pressure that made it painful to sit on the toilette and release the muscle. She sighed loudly, and repeated that I DO have a UTI and that it's not "that bad". I let out a whimper because I was feeling so defeated and upset I didn't know where to take it from there. I decided to move on to my other pains. I told her that I had an intense pain on my side that made my eyes water when I tried to roll over or walk, and she again, sighed loudly, and said, "it's round ligament pain. It happens to a lot of pregnant people and everyone else gets over it. Other people work 40 hour weeks with it. So you're just going to have to grin and bear it. If you'd like, you can can come in again if you have to for another UTI testing. Anything else?".
I was so pissed and upset, that in order to keep my dignity and not sob uncontrollably over the phone, I had to respond to everything with, "mhm. Okay. I see." In a very monotone (and hopefully obviously pissed) tone. It's not my style to get angry when things don't go my way, but after I hit end on that phone call, my phone SAILED to the next room and I bawled and screamed about how unfair and bitchy she was. I was so angry I got nauseous. I bawled and cried and ran another bath. Lev followed me in with a cup and a bendy straw, and kept rubbing my back and telling me it was time to leave, that this isn't normal and whether it's normal for everyone else or not, I needed help. I caved in about 3, but not to go to Labor and Delivery, because I refused to go in, get fisted, get an IV and be sent home because apparently, even though after 24 wks, you are supposed to take ALL of your medical emergencies to Labor and Delivery, they send you home the minute they can confirm you aren't in labor.
I got smart. I decided, I'd go to the adult urgent care, like everyone else, and when they tried to tell me "labor and Delivery is down the hall, though....", I'd say that I would like to be seen by these doctors and actually get help. The receptionist stared at my globous belly and reluctantly put my wrist band on. She went and got a dr and they glanced at the paperwork I'd filled out and at me several times. It was clear they weren't sure what to do.
The doctor called me back, and took my temperature. She helped me sit down and asked why I wouldn't go to L&D and what was wrong. I started with my pains and discomforts first, she agreed that these sounded like an internal infection, rupture, or other serious issue. I then told her I would really rather stay in this part of the hospital and be seen by these doctors. She asked why and I simply told her that L&D had already sent me home once with the pains and I couldn't take it another night, that it WAS something serious and I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or help me. She said it was policy that she was to inform L&D that a pregnant female was in the hospital and ill, and that they had the right to come collect me from her. She said that if they did not help me though, if they did not keep me, she would. If L&D discharged me in this state, that they had given up their right to collect me and were no longer offering me treatment.
L&D arrived shortly thereafter with a wheel chair and another know-it-all nurse. She asked me pointless questions that are meant to make you think they care about you personally, like what's the baby's gender, what do we plan to name her, etc. I answered shortly and crankily because honestly, I felt like I was being carted off to hell. The nurse that checked me into the back asked me what my discomforts were, and replied to EVERY GODDAMN ONE with, "well that's just pregnancy, deary!". Which made me want to rip her face off and scream at her. They put me in a room and suddenly I felt like the contractions were going to snap me in half. My side felt like it was going to rip open and I was just going to die. I started running a pretty high fever, yet Little Foots heart beat remained a healthy rate. I like to think it's because she knew I was getting us help. I started bawling and sweating like no tommorow. I felt like things were going down hill, and fast. We got a new nurse, and this is how I knew it was getting late. She was very kind and very attentative. Even when she thought it might be a common side effect, she would prod more to see, instead of stating her opinion. Eventually, I started to loose my vision and began to feel very weak.
I really did think it was the end. I started asking Lev to call a nurse so they could save Little Foot and I wanted them to take her out of me. I knew if I died, so would Little Foot, if she were still inside me. I told him to tell her i love her and that I didn't want to leave her. I started apologizing for everything I'd ever done from showing up late on our anniversary, to not liking his favorite band's album. His eyes glazed over and he kept saying, "You have nothing to be sorry for, this is all going to be over soon." He held my head to his chest and I felt a single sob. I knew I had to look bad, because Lev is the optimist of optimists. If he was doubting it, I was either not going to make it, or I was going to make it, barely. He kept whispering I love you, and I lost the feeling in my hands. I watched as my hand fell away from his and I was so tired I couldn't even cry. He picked my hand up and held it, and tried to curl my fingers around his in a frivolous effort. He looked at me, and I told him I couldn't feel them anymore, and a tiny part of me died inside. I wanted to hold his hand. What if I never held his hands again?
The nurse came back from her frantic search for a surgeon that would accept my special case and had found the Surgeon General, our last hope. He informed us that he would move us to a better room and they'd give us some time alone. He tried to roll me over but I screamed and cried, and he decided I would be booked for surgery in about an hour. I was moved to a different room, and the nurse explained that they would be removing my appendix. That they suspected it had ruptured. Initially, they told us they had no choice but to remove the baby. I begged for them to let me be awake to see her when she was born. They said no, that with the pain I was in, it just would be better to put me under general anesthesia.
About 30 minutes later the nurse returned with a smile on her face, she told me that they would leave the baby in and see if she can make it through the surgery. This pleased me, to know that she still had a chance of being born vaginally, and that Lev might still get to see her birth and hold her soon afterwards! They told me I had about 3 hours left to go, and if the surgery didn't work, it would be a slow, painful one, from there out. The realization that this surgery meant life or death was much harder on Lev than I. The nurse dimmed the lights and told me we had 30 min to go until surgery. Lev sat on the side of the bed and held my face and hands in his. He kissed me and told me everything would be okay. A little bit after that, the nurse came in and handed me a phone, she said I had 10 min until surgery and if I wanted to make a few phone calls, I should start now. I decided to call some family members and tell them what was going on, and that loved them.
They came for me and Lev squeezed my shoulder and let go, he looked at all of the wires and he looked like he didnt know if he was allowed any further. The nurse told him to tell me good bye and he kissed me and pinned a piece of stray hair back, and said, "I'll see you when they're done, okay? Don't be scared. I love you.". The guy taking me to the OR looked at Lev and said, "you know, when they have major surgeries, they allow 2 people into the prep room with you, he could come.". Lev nervously navigated himself to the side of the bed and said alright, and the tech began our what felt like, eternity-long ride to OR. Half way there, I heard some one yell, "I'm her stepmom! Please let me say good bye! Is she asleep yet?!" The tech stopped and said she could be my #2, and an out of breath step mom appeared at the side of my bed, she held my wrist and hand tightly and kept repeating, "your going to be just fine, okay?". The tech said we were running a little late and I announced I couldn't feel patches of skin on my belly, and the patches I could burnt like fire. Things started moving a little faster. We got ot prep and the anesthesiologist sympathetically looked at my belly and said, "You must be it.". Lev and me talked about how even if we weren't there when she was born, we'd show her we love her the minute we get her. She pulled the papers out and had me drink some undesirable fluids and looked like she was having trouble making a big decision.
"Do you want to be awake?"
"Yes."
"I can do that."
I'd never felt so relieved. She explained that I would be the first person to undergo this particular surgery, fully conscious, and that she didn't really know what to expect, other than she was positive I wouldn't feel the cutting and what not. Lev and my step mother had to leave and they both walked away slowly stealing what I think was glances my way (couldn't see well). And I was wheeled down to my actual surgery room. They hooked me up to more machines and administered the epidural. This part was the worst pain during the entire surgery. The small shot mean to numb you before the large spinal, did not work. We did not have time to wait, or to try something else. Four people approached me and one held me in a hug-fashion, and the other two pulled at my arms. She inserted the rod and everyone held breaths while I screamed hoping I wouldn't move and paralyze myself. They laid me down and washed my belly. My arms got strapped to the sides and a man was assigned just for moral support.
The surgeon entered the room livid. I was not supposed to be awake. They hadn't asked him, and it was too late to change it. He began the surgery. Surgery was calm and smooth until he realized three things.
1. My baby had ceased movement and they couldn't get vitals on her
2. My anasthesia was wearing off at a dangerous and very early rate.
3. We had gone an hour over the estimated surgery time and he didn't have time to start the second incison. (it was supposed to be laproscopic, meaning two very small incisions, however, if that wasn't gong to work the preferred alternative was to make a large incision on my upper belly. The laproscopic had failed and he just didnt have time to start another.)
He grabbed the big scissors and I heard the big cut. He stuck his hand in the incision and some one else palpitated my uterus from the other side. A panic set in when I accidentally moved my leg, meaning in a matter of minutes, I would be able to feel my belly. He finally found it, and pulled it out. He began sewing me up and glueing the incision and I asked to see my appendix. Since I'm the first to be awake during this procedure, I imagine this was the first time anyone had asked. They reluctantly showed me and I said it looked funny. Everyone looked relieved that I didn't vomit or do anything of that sort. Finally, the surgery was over and I was taken back to my room.
I immediately felt better, and even after my anesthesia wore off, I felt like walking to the bathroom. My family came in and everyone looked happy. Lev was at my side the second he could be, and holding my hands and talking to Little Foot about how things were going to be okay now. I told them how it went and of course the baby turned out to be just fine. Infact, she was sleeping. Imagine that.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Letters to Little Foot #2
Dear Little Foot,
I have never been more excited in my whole life to meet someone. Every time you kick, I wonder exactly what your foot looked like just then. Everytime you have the hiccups, I wonder what faces you are making, and if you're making little hiccups noises that I just can't hear. I've washed all of your clothes and folded them, and tried to fit them all in their designated drawers. We had your baby shower just this past weekend, and everyone poked you, and fed me good food that eventually you got. Daddy spends everyday talking to you, I don't know if you can hear him well, but he tries so hard to tell you little stories and how much he loves you. He folds your clothes and straightens up your wall of things, and he picks out clothes every chance he gets, feeling how soft they are inside and out, and trying to decide how comfortable you'll be in them. He loves you so much already.
Everytime I hear a good song, I imagine the way I'll give birth to you. All the strange noises and faces I'll make, and how Daddy will hold me and talk sweet to me. How our doula, Janna, will try to make sure I am happy and okay. How peaceful and exciting it will be. And most of all, how you'll look when Daddy holds you up to me to show me your beautiful face. A lot of the time it makes me cry thnking about how special it'll be, but daddy says he understands- and he thinks he won't be able to hold back tears either. Sometimes I just lay for a while and think about these things. I was so scared to have you in the beginning, but right now, I feel like I could do it any time, any place. I feel like this is what I was meant to do, and that you need me to. I feel like I can do this, and I will.
I cannot wait to see you. I just want you to know, that even though you weren't planned, and the circumstances weren't perfect when you sprouted inside me, right now we've never wanted anything/anyone more, loved anything/anyone more, or been so exhilarated to meet some one more, in our entire lives. You weren't planned and things have never been perfect for us as a couple, but we plan to love, teach, and be there for you, today, and every day after. Know that you are the best surprise we could have never anticipated, Little Foot.
Love,
Mom and Dad
I have never been more excited in my whole life to meet someone. Every time you kick, I wonder exactly what your foot looked like just then. Everytime you have the hiccups, I wonder what faces you are making, and if you're making little hiccups noises that I just can't hear. I've washed all of your clothes and folded them, and tried to fit them all in their designated drawers. We had your baby shower just this past weekend, and everyone poked you, and fed me good food that eventually you got. Daddy spends everyday talking to you, I don't know if you can hear him well, but he tries so hard to tell you little stories and how much he loves you. He folds your clothes and straightens up your wall of things, and he picks out clothes every chance he gets, feeling how soft they are inside and out, and trying to decide how comfortable you'll be in them. He loves you so much already.Everytime I hear a good song, I imagine the way I'll give birth to you. All the strange noises and faces I'll make, and how Daddy will hold me and talk sweet to me. How our doula, Janna, will try to make sure I am happy and okay. How peaceful and exciting it will be. And most of all, how you'll look when Daddy holds you up to me to show me your beautiful face. A lot of the time it makes me cry thnking about how special it'll be, but daddy says he understands- and he thinks he won't be able to hold back tears either. Sometimes I just lay for a while and think about these things. I was so scared to have you in the beginning, but right now, I feel like I could do it any time, any place. I feel like this is what I was meant to do, and that you need me to. I feel like I can do this, and I will.
I cannot wait to see you. I just want you to know, that even though you weren't planned, and the circumstances weren't perfect when you sprouted inside me, right now we've never wanted anything/anyone more, loved anything/anyone more, or been so exhilarated to meet some one more, in our entire lives. You weren't planned and things have never been perfect for us as a couple, but we plan to love, teach, and be there for you, today, and every day after. Know that you are the best surprise we could have never anticipated, Little Foot.
Love,
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)