The hospital experience was just as I'd expected. Clinical and cold. I got to the room and was immediately handed a hospital gown. I pulled it on, with Jim Gaffigan's voice running through my head, wondering if anyone had died in this particular gown. I got in bed and was immediately strapped to the monitor. It wasn't lost on me that my freedom to move about was now stripped away and I'd be stuck on that bed until baby arrived. Next came the IV in my arm, with the nurse trying three times to stick me and finally having to call in another nurse to try. Four painful pokes in my arm later and I was getting further and further from my original birth plan.
The nurse and midwife checked things out, and all looked good except I was still at 5cm. They suggested an epidural to try and help me relax and get some sleep. I hesitantly agreed. The anesthesiologist arrived and was rather gruff, even shoving me one time when the nurse thought it was okay for me to lie back down. If I'd gotten his name, I'd write a letter of complaint. Still might if I get around to obtaining my hospital records.
With legs numb and my body relaxed, the midwife suggest pitocin, a measure that I knew she didn't offer unless necessary. My labor had stalled and unless I wanted to labor for days, putting me past the 42 week threshold, we needed to get things going. So the pitocin began to pump through my body and I began to think about all of the drugs that were now being introduced to my baby, but I tried not to think about it too much.
And then I slept. It felt like days, but it was only a few hours. My husband and in-laws went in search of breakfast and showers. A new midwife came on at 8am and because she has privileges at the hospital, she stayed by my side for the rest of the day. I occasionally woke to look at the monitor and see the contractions on screen that I could no longer feel. I felt so detached from my body and the whole experience, but tried not to think about it too much.
They did periodic checks and I was still at 5cm. The pitocin wasn't doing anything to help things along. By 11am, the C word was brought up. I resisted, but gave in, seeing the look in my midwife's eyes. She and I both knew this was the best course of action. Three doctors came in to explain the procedure, and I listened as tears streamed down my face.
We had to wait for an OR to open up and then it was our turn. Donning the requisite scrubs, my husband walked alongside until we reached the OR doors and he was told to wait in the hall. Spouses aren't allowed during the prep part, but my midwife was able to stay with me and keep me calm.
I'll spare you the play-by-play and opt for the bullet points of what I remember from the surgery:
- While prepping me for surgery, the surgical team talked about a new bar that was opening in the neighborhood
- The lights overhead were uncomfortably bright
- My arms were placed on boards that extended from my bed, making me feel like I was being nailed to a cross
- The midwife at my side was the most comforting presence I've felt in a long time
- As the doctor cut into me, I couldn't help but think about the woman in Longmont who responded to a Craigslist add and was met by a very sick woman who cut her baby out of her. My grief for her in that moment outweighed my grief for myself
- I got a little weirded out knowing my internal organs were now sitting on the table next to me and I hoped they'd put them all back where they belong
- I could feel tremendous pressure as they started to pull baby out
- I was shivering uncontrollably the whole time thanks to hormones and the anesthesia
- The first time I saw my baby was when they stuck a huge tube down her throat to suction the blood that she swallowed
- The first time I held my baby, I could barely hang on to her because I was shaking so badly and I couldn't see her through the tears in my eyes
- At one point the doctor poked her head around the curtain and asked if she could take a picture of my fibroid tumor
- Soon after, my husband was being rushed out of the OR with our baby, and I knew something was wrong, having been a chaplain escorting people out of rooms in similar situations
- I became super nauseous and on the verge of passing out as the anesthesiologist offered more drugs to "take the edge off"
- When I woke up again, the anesthesiologist was wiping blood off my face and I noticed blood had spattered the curtain and the overhead light
- The doctor let me know they were stitching me back up and I was lucky, though I didn't know what she meant just then
- They rolled me to a recovery room where my husband and baby got to join me. I was trying my hardest to stay awake, but had never felt so weak and tired in my life
 |
| Pretty accurate. |
Needless to say, this is not how I'd hoped things would go. I recognize that there are women out there who have much more painful experiences, but as a chaplain, I know better than to compare my experience to theirs. Mine was traumatic for me and I had to grieve the birth I didn't get to have.
Baby was born at 8lbs 9oz, not over 10 lbs as the doctor predicted. It turns out the problem was the fibroid tumor which they thought was out of the way, but was actually preventing baby from descending. It had grown to 8 cm and was causing the sharp pain in my side that I felt with every contraction. I named the tumor Adolf the Asshole. He was part of the reason the doctor called me lucky. During her post-op rounds, she said it's pretty amazing I was able to get pregnant and that baby wasn't' affected by the tumor. She also said I was lucky I came in with a high blood count because I lost 2 liters when I hemorrhaged during the surgery. That's what all of the spattered blood was about and the reason I could barely stay awake in the recovery room. I asked her if I could see the pictures she took of the tumor and then asked if I could keep a copy as a souvenir. She gladly handed me a few prints of it, which I now keep in my journal.
The worst part of this whole experience were the hours and days following surgery. I was so loopy from the pain medications, and in pain when they wore off before the nurse could come give me another dose. We had techs and nurses and doctors in our room at all hours of the day and night, and never at the same time to give me and baby a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. I had one of those beds that inflates and deflates to help avoid bedsores, which was terribly difficult to sleep on. I hated the experience and at one point I wanted to hand the baby over to the staff and tell them to take care of her and maybe I'd take her back when she's ready for college. I very seriously wanted a re-do, thinking I'd messed up this child from the start with all of the drugs and the swallowed blood. Who knows what kind of mistakes I'd make as mother from here on out. Clearly I wasn't fit to care for her and she'd be better off in someone else's hands.
Those first few days were very dark.
The turning point was when the doctors discharged us after 3 nights and I was able to go home to my familiar surroundings. Everyone said things would get harder once the 24/7 nursing care was gone, but I found being at home significantly easier and more comfortable than being in the hospital. Had I given birth at the birthing center, I would have gone home a few hours after giving birth, so for me, being home meant the jump start I needed to refocus and figure out this motherhood gig.
There were challenges during those first few weeks, especially when it came to breastfeeding, but things began to improve daily and the dark days of my hospital stay were becoming a distant memory, rather than suffocating reality.
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