Caveat: I just wanted to state that this was written under the influence of Tylenol with Codine and less sleep than any normal human being should be allowed. Please forgive any rambling, mistakes, tense changes, or other such nonsense.
Also, I know this post is long. Long long. But it can't be helped - I feel the need to capture everything. I tried to make it as entertaining as possible, but I don't expect everyone to read all of it. Just know that this story includes such awesome things as pain, babies, ice cream shortages, and tornadoes, so it has the possibility of being pretty exciting. Or not. Whatever.
Let me start by admitting that a few days before Tess was born I was starting to get nervous. I like to think that anybody in their right mind would be nervous at the thought of having major surgery, even if it did end in having a baby. The actual surgery doesn't hurt, but it's by no means comfortable. And recovery is no piece of cake, either. So although I tried not to, I couldn't help by stew a little about all that was going to take place.
The night before, after our pre-Easter dinner (since I wouldn't be up to making it on Easter), I asked Lance and my Dad to give me a blessing of comfort. The kids were WIRED and running around like the little hooligans that they are. And who can blame them? Grandpa and Grandma were here, we had just had a yummy dinner, and their baby sister was coming the next day. But I wanted them to be there for the blessing because I thought it would be a good experience for them. And then something amazing happened: right before and right after the blessing they continued with their banshee ways, but during the actual blessing they were still and quiet. Miracles still happen, people.
Anyway, I felt much calmer after the blessing and was even able to sleep that night - which is good because we had to be at the hospital at the unheard of hour of 6am. I mean, there are plenty of other much more reasonable hours to have a baby, but I'm not a doctor so what do I know? Lance and I drug ourselves out of bed and even got there a little early.
Just as a side note, I was having a pretty good hair day that morning. Hey, I wasn't allowed to wear jewelry or make-up, so yes, I took particular care with my hair that morning. A girl's gotta have
some standards.
It was a dark and stormy morning. I really wanted to start the post with that line, but just couldn't figure out how to do it without lots of weird and pointless back tracking. So here we are.
Check-in was quick and painless and we were soon led down to our room. On the long walk down all of the nurses were so friendly and nice. Someone made a comment about how large my tummy was, but my having a good hair day allowed me to just smile and let it go rather than bring out the fists of death. (Also, these women would be in charge of my care for the next few days - better to stay on their good side!)
I have to say, this was definitely the nicest hospital room I've ever had. I'm not saying it was 5-star hotel nice, but it was still way better than the tiny closet they put me in in Salt Lake when I had Spencer. Or the room I had to share when I had Josh.
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| As you can see, this was taken a few days into my stay, so the room wasn't as tidy as when I checked in. |
As per usual, I was told to strip down, put on one of those oh-so-modest hospital gowns, and then get into bed. They started with my vitals, and noted that my heart rate was a little high, around 120. I promised them I didn't feel nervous; maybe it was the long walk down? Or the fact that my fanny was exposed for all to see should I get out of bed? No matter, they weren't too concerned; just curious.
Then I had to get my IV started. I loathe IVs. They hurt and are always in the way, no matter what. And the nurse had to put it in my right hand, so for the next 24 hours I was always knocking it into things and tugging at it and the tape was falling off. Necessary evil, I guess.
A nurse put a monitor on my ginormous belly to listen to the baby's heartbeat. I loathe fetal heart rate monitors. Apparently so does Tess, because she kept moving around and making it very difficult to get the 20 minutes of data they needed. The monitors are so uncomfortable and the babies never cooperate and it reminds me of when I was in labor with Spencer and how all of a sudden we couldn't hear his heart beat anymore and then all heck broke loose and a flock of nurses came in and got to work and it was all rather unnerving for a first-time mom.
Anyways. Back to Tess.
They took my medical history for the 29th time and then I met my anesthesiologist. When having a baby you want the best anesthesiologist available. This person can make your whole experience easy-breezy or just awful. When I had Spencer it took the anesthesiologist 3 tries to get the epidural right. I guess he got the job done, but it wasn't exactly confidence boosting, you know? When I had Josh I had two anesthesiologists because I was in labor for so long. The first one looked like a very young Michael J. Fox, but he knew what he was doing and did a great job. The second one was in the OR and I didn't like him from the get-go. He had a rather large and bushy beard, he insisted on listening to country music while he worked (even though it was
my delivery!), and he completely ignored me the entire time, even when I said I was having a hard time breathing and then threw up. Jerk. My anesthesiologist with Cole was this awesome woman who was so great and attentive and did everything she could to help me, and even wiped the tears off my cheeks when I started to cry. (Crazy hormones.)
Ahem, once again, back to Tess. My anesthesiologist for this birth was also awesome! He was excited and knowledgeable and really listened to my concerns. He even made it his goal to make sure I didn't throw up during this delivery, which I loved. Oh, I didn't believe him, of course, but I admired his gumption.
Soon it was time to get down to the OR. As I walked down the long hallway I couldn't help but note that this was all so strange. I was
walking down to the OR, about to have a baby. These were the last few moments I would be pregnant. Ever. We left a decked-out-in-scrubs Lance outside the door and went in.
Now it was time to get my spinal block. (
Side note: spinal blocks are generally used for c-sections because they work better than epidurals and provide better after-surgery pain relief. In case you were wondering.) ((
Side note part 2: I've had both, and I agree with the prevailing medical opinion, also in case you were wondering.)) I wasn't looking forward to that because although it's pretty great once you get it, putting it in is kind of a pain. First, you have to sit on the bed and then bend over your belly as much as possible, which isn't very much because you have a humungous belly in the way. Second, you have to stay in this position and make sure your head is perfectly straight or things could go wrong. Very wrong. Third, you have to keep holding still even though very painful things are being done to your poor back.
You would think the worst part would be getting the actual tube inserted into your back. You would be wrong. No, the worst part for me was when the anesthesiologist kept digging his thumb into the spaces inbetween my spine to find the perfect spot for the block.
I loathe that part. It HURTS. And I still have the bruises to prove it.
So he finally found the right spot, poked me a few more times for good measure, and then gave me a shot to numb the area. The shot is no picnic either, especially when he moved it around in my back. Ouch. But pretty soon everything was numb and then I could only feel the pressure of the spinal block tube going in. It's a rather odd, unsettling feeling to say the least.
Even more odd and unsettling is that seconds later everything below my arm pits is numb. I can't feel or move a thing, no matter how hard I try. (Of course I tried!) It's very hard to describe unless you've been through it. See, even though you're numb, you can still feel your body being moved around. I could feel the nurses moving my legs around on the table and I could feel the pressure of the catheter being put in, but I couldn't feel any pain. (TMI? Sorry. Oh, and I suggest you move on to the next post.)
Soon the doctor comes in and we chat for a few seconds as they start to drape my body and prepare everything.
At this point I feel it's important to mention the fact that when you're having a baby all modesty is thrown out the window. I don't mean this in any sordid sort of way. I just mean that all 10+ people who are coming in and out of the room at any time are going to see your business, which is displayed in all it's round-pregnancy-glory for the world to see. This was a little weird for me the first time around. By the fourth it didn't even phase me.
Anywho, I'm getting draped and prepped and they put up a rather large and very blue curtain right in front of my face - so close that I have to turn my head side ways. This is fine by me because I do NOT want to see any of the action going on down there. Neither does Lance, who has come in and taken a seat on my left side.
During this whole time the anesthesiologist was just great. He kept checking in on me, making sure I was doing okay and telling me about the drugs he's using. (Especially the anti-nausea one, which, oddly, is actually working.) At this point I notice that everyone is telling me that I'm doing such a great job - and they sound sincere. This is strange to me, as I'm just lying there and there's little else I could be doing. I mean, I guess I could be freaking out or something. Does that happen a lot? Hmmm...
The surgery begins and every once in a while I hear snippets of Dr. Sunkel's conversation with the nurses, such phrases as "scar tissue" and "bladder" and such. I don't really want to to hear these, which is good because the anesthesiologist keeps talking to me. So does Lance. We do a good job of distracting each other with mundane topics such as the kiddos and how much we think this baby is going to weigh.
It takes around 10-15 minutes for the doctor to get to the point where it's time to pull the baby out, at which point he says kind of loudly, so I know he's talking to me, "All right, here we go... you'll feel some pressure".
Which is true. This is my least favorite part of the actual c-section. (Do I loathe it? No. But I really don't like it!) There is A LOT of pressure, which is made even weirder by the fact that I can't feel anything else. All I know is it feels like he's trying to pull me inside out and I don't like it. They tell Lance he can look over to see her, which he reluctantly does. (Lance is not much of a fan of the blood and guts of his wife.)
And then all of sudden there was a baby crying in the OR. Everyone collectively says something along the lines of "Awwww!" She's out, and although I can't see her I can certainly hear her.
Tess is MAD.
Which is always a good sign with brand new babies. They take her over to the little area where they weigh and check her, which is off to my left. Lance starts taking pictures. She's covered in goop and blood and I'm once again thankful that they don't just stick her on my chest like that, because that's gross.
I'm surprised by her appearance because all three boys looked so much alike, but she doesn't really look like them. Plus, she has really dark hair and lots of it - the boys were all born pretty much bald.
They ask what her name is and I can't answer because I'm kinda breathless from everything that's going on beyond the curtain. (Lots more pressure and other unnatural sensations.) Lance tells them Tess. Any middle name? Nope, just Tess. You know, like Cher or Madonna, hahaha. I roll my eyes because I know that Lance will probably use that on the blog. (And I'm right!)
They clean her up a little more, do her
APGAR score, and then finally weigh her. I'm a little surprised that she's only 8 pounds 7 ounces; I swear that at some points in the pregnancy she felt at least 12! Lance and I talk about how small she looks, even though she is certainly no light weight in the grand scheme of things. They bring her over to my side and I get to touch her and look at her close up, but I don't get to hold her and this always bums me out. For half a second I feel disappointed in myself and wish I could just have my babies normally.
From beyond the curtain I hear my doctor ask me if my biggest baby was the one I tried to do the VBAC with. I answer yes and he chuckles and says something to the effect that that's how it always seems to happen. (I'm just surprised he remembers Josh's birth, considering how many babies the man must deliver in a year. Apparently it was traumatic for
everyone involved.)
Everyone mentions how pretty Tess is.
They're right.
She's so nice and round and turning a lovely shade of pink. I'm sure they tell all new moms that their babies are cute, but I'm pretty sure they're sincere about Tess. They wouldn't lie to me, right? :)
This whole time Tess is not so happy about anything that is going on and is making her thoughts known. Loudly. Pretty soon Lance, Tess, and a couple of nurses leave to go give her a bath and do whatever it is that they do to babies that are just born.
I'm left with the world's friendliest anesthesiologist, my doctor, and several other nurses. It takes a good 20-30 minutes to sew me back up. I'm not exactly sure on the time because I wasn't really paying attention. To be honest, I kinda napped a little. After Tess left I realized just how
exhausted I was! I don't think my anesthesiologist was too keen on me napping (which makes sense), so he kept talking to me every few minutes or so.
After what feels like forever the drapes come off and the curtain comes down. I am oddly surprised when I see the size of my belly - what used to be a mountain is now only a rather large hill. They have to move me to my bed, which is no easy task since I can't move at all. The term "beached whale" runs through my head as they pick me up and move me over.
As they wheel me out of the OR the anesthesiologist tells me one more time that I did great and that he'll see me later. I realize that this is the first delivery I've had where I haven't thrown up. He did it. The man has earned the title Best. Anesthesiologist. Ever.
I'm then rolled into recovery, which is always pretty boring. A nurse has to stay by my side the entire time to make sure I don't die or something. A lactation nurse comes over and tries to help me to get Tess to nurse, but Tess will have none of it. She's just not interested. That's okay by me, since nursing while lying on my back is not so easy or fun.
The blood pressure cuff takes my blood pressure every five minutes and the thingies (yes, that's the technical term) on my legs that prevent blood clots squeeze the life out of them every other minute. It's pretty fun. The nurse and I start to chat because what else is there to do? She's pretty nice and she's impressed that I now have four kids; she has one.
About an hour goes by and I can finally start wiggling my toes and lifting my legs a little. These are good signs, but my pulse is a little low. Remember before when they were worried that it was so high? Well now it's down to 50 and the nurse is worried. She keeps asking me if I feel light-headed or sick or anything, but I don't - just sleepy. But since my blood pressure is fine and I look and act fine, she decides I must be fine and I get finally go back to my room.
I finally get to hold Tess, and once again I'm shocked at just how tiny she seems. I think it's because her head is so much small than the boys' heads were. We get her to nurse, and this time she's voracious. In fact, she has the strongest rooting reflex of any baby I've ever seen - the nurses find it hilarious and just love it.
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| Dang. My good hair day is not so good anymore. All because of that cap they made me wear while in surgery. And please notice the lovely/huge IV in my arm. |
For the next couple of hours we just rest in the dark room. I'm so tired, but I'm also chock full of adrenaline and narcotics. Plus, the nurse has to come in and check my vitals every 20 minutes or so, so it's really hard to get any real sleep.
Side note: Guess which part of getting my vitals taken is my least favorite part. It's not getting my blood pressure or temp taken, and it's not the incision check. Nope, it's when they massage my abdomen to make sure my uterus is behaving itself. Excuse my French, but that hurts like a motha. Seriously, I LOATHE it. Out of all the pain and discomfort, I really, really hate those massages. You'd think the pain meds would help with it, but they don't. I actually mentioned this to one of the nurses, and she laughed and said I'd be surprised at how many moms mention this very same thing, so at least I know I'm not alone.
Around noon I suggest that Lance should go home and eat lunch. There's not much for him to do at the hospital with me and the boys will be anxious to see him. Plus, he snores when he naps.
I spent the rest of the day trying sleep and failing. It's IMPOSSIBLE to sleep in the hospital. Someone's always coming in to bug you, or the baby wants to eat, or you just feel too loopy from the drugs. In my case, it's really the drugs that do me in - they give me CRAZY dreams, so I would drift off for a few minutes, only to be startled awake by some wild and unsettling dream. I hated every minute of it.
I also had to deal with the itching. Apparently a lot of the drugs they give you during a c-section can make your face and neck itch. I'm so lucky - I usually itch all over! They gave me Benedryl for it, but it wasn't strong enough; it only made me more drowsy. So they gave me some really strong stuff, but I still itched a bit. It was maddening.
I also had issues with managing my pain. See, I learned the hard way with Josh that if you don't keep the pain under control in the first place, then it can get out of control and be really hard to stop later on. (Translation: I was in so much pain after Josh was born I just wanted to die.) So I was kinda paranoid about it all, as you can imagine. Luckily, I had a really great nurse who listened to my drug-induced ramblings and made sure I was comfortable at all times.
A quick side note about nurses: nurses can either make your stay at the hospital heavenly or a living hell. Obviously I've experienced both. (And obviously, the worst ones were with Josh's birth. Poor Josh; it's not really his fault it was all so awful; it was just a perfect storm of bad luck and misery all around.) Anyway, in all seriousness, nurses do all the work around there and if they're good then you're good. But if they're bad, you're really in trouble. Fortunately, all of my nurses this time were good. Especially Emily, my night nurse. You could really tell she just loved her job and enjoyed doing it. I loved Emily. I should send her a thank you card, but I don't know her last name. Do you think if I addressed it to "Wonderful Night Nurse Emily in Labor and Delivery" it would get to her?
So, back to the pain. I guess when you've had multiple c-sections pain management becomes a bit harder because of all the scar tissue and such. The plan was to start me off with the 'lighter' drugs and then work my way up from there. Unfortunately, the lighter drugs weren't really working, so we had to move on to the hard stuff. The harder stuff included me pressing a button every 20 minutes to give me another dose. I have no idea why they couldn't just put a timer on it to automatically give it to me; no one could give me a straight answer. Or maybe I just didn't understand what they said through the morphine haze. Hmm. Anyway, I had to use the timer on my phone so that I wouldn't forget to press the button. As you can imagine, this made resting even more impossible.
As an added bonus with this drug, I also had to be monitored by someone from cardiology, which meant monitors stuck to me and this weird tube in my nose. It kinda looked like those oxygen breathing tubes, but it had a rather large and uncomfortable piece of plastic hanging down from the nose and kind of covering my mouth. (It monitored my CO2 levels.)
I don't remember much about that afternoon, but I do remember that they had me standing and even walking a little only 6 hours after my surgery. (The sooner you're up and about the better.) The first time getting up is the worst. You'd be surprised by how jell-o-ey your legs get after being anesthetized. Right at the moment I was standing up some 89 year old volunteer came in, without knocking, to see if I needed anything. Nurse Emily curtly sent her on her way, which I'm pretty sure is about the same time I decided I loved Emily.
Soon after my triumphant first lap around the bed a nurse brought in a bouquet of flowers. They were from Lance's company, and they were so pretty! Seriously, everyone who came into the room commented on them, and I figure they must see a lot of gift flowers so they know what they're talking about.
As you can imagine, the morphine, the itching, the monitors, the IV, and the CO2 monitor all combined to make me look pretty awesome that evening. It's no wonder poor little Cole nearly cried when he saw me! Poor poor Cole. He woke up to no beloved mommy that morning, found her looking not her best that evening, and then wasn't allowed to climb on her or press all of the buttons in the room. On top of that some little baby had usurped his position! His whole world had been rocked. Poor Cole.
Cole pretty much ignored Tess, but everyone else had fun holding her. (I wish I had more pictures - Dad, did you get some of Spencer and Josh holding her?)
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| Grandma Susie |
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| I love that Lance is holding the stuffed lamb in the same position as Tess. |
It was a rather wild visit, to say the least. Spencer and Josh were excited; not so much because of Tess but because they were going to Chuck-E-Cheese afterwards. Cole kept trying to kill me by turning off the monitors and IVs and such. And I was totally out of it; I probably freaked everyone out. (Sorry, family.) But I'm really glad they came to visit. It gets pretty boring in the hospital pretty quickly.
That evening I was able to get up and move around again, even go to the bathroom and brush my teeth by myself. This might not sound like a big deal, but it really is after any sort of abdominal surgery. And even though it hurt it also felt really good to get up and around.
Soon it was time for bed. And by 'time for bed' I mean just that - I laid in bed but didn't sleep. At all. All night. It was a long night. In fact, the only good thing was that I was finally able to start eating solid food again and take my pain meds by mouth, which meant no more button pressing and no more crazy nose tubes.
The next day was pretty much the same thing as the night: get up and walk around a bit, try to sleep, fail at sleeping, feed Tess, and repeat. I rediscovered that daytime TV in the hospital is just as boring and bad as daytime TV at home. I couldn't really read anything because I was too tired and too drugged up to focus on anything heavier than a Dr. Seuss book. It was rough. I did get to have a shower, though, so that was fun. Even better - I got to get my IV out. Did I mention how much I love my IV?
But by the early afternoon the effects of the narcotics were starting to wear off and I was able to get an hour or two of sleep and felt a lot better. I even took a few pictures of Tess, because she was so darling and how could I resist?
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| I have no idea what LDRP stands for. All I know is that the sleep sack kept coming up to Tess' mouth and she kept trying to eat it. |
That evening my good friend Misty came to visit. She's awesome. (And I'm not just saying that because she brought me Dove Chocolate!) I get so bored in the hospital and it was so nice to be able to have someone to talk to. She of course oohed and awwed the appropriate amount over how cute Miss Tess was.
That night my wild family came back again. I must have looked a lot more normal this time because Cole wasn't frightened of me. In fact, he kind of ignored me and got down to the business of being Cole: pressing buttons he shouldn't press, climbing things he shouldn't climb, trying to escape, etc. The hospital offers a special sibling birthday party, complete with cake and ice cream. Spencer and Josh remembered this from when Cole was born, so of course we had to have it again. (I'm pretty sure that's the only reason they came to visit me.)
Unfortunately, we had to wait quite a while for our cake and ice cream. Apparently everyone in Lafayette decided to have their babies at the same time and so there was a shortage on the ice cream and it was taking a while to round some up. We waited and waited and my dinner, which was late, came in and I was starving and the boys helped me by eating most of my french fries. It got a little wild and I was just about to suggest we give up when the ice cream came. Hurrah! The boys were completely happy and (almost) forgave me for not sharing the chocolate chip cookies that came with my meal.
After my family left all I wanted to do was have a calm evening full of rest and perhaps a little
Glee. Well, I got to watch
Glee, but there was no rest after that. Apparently Mother Nature decided that that night would be a good time for a few tornadoes in our area. Really? A tornado? After the tornado that was my three kids had already been through my room? Right.
A tornado watch was issued and nurses were soon moving all of us new mothers out of our cozy rooms and into the hallway. Fun. Actually, it wasn't all that bad; they moved our rocking chairs out so we could sit on them and then gave us all warmed blankets and juice. I spent the hour nursing Tess, dozing, and wondering what my family was up to. (I wasn't too worried about them with our awesomely safe basement and all.)
We were finally allowed to go back into my rooms, but by then I was already pretty sore from the chair; apparently it sat me in a funny angle that my incision did not like. My nurse and I spent the rest of the evening trying to control the pain.
But it wasn't all bad - I was actually able to get a few hours of sleep that evening. I guess the tornadoes were more exciting and exhausting than I realized.
The next day I felt so well that I wore my own clothes - way better than those hospital gowns. I felt like a real person again. Not much went on. I slept, read, fed the baby, and packed up my stuff. My doctor said I could leave a day early, which I was only too willing to do.
Lance came to pick me up at 5pm. I was supposed to be discharged shortly thereafter. We didn't leave until 6:15pm. Why in the world does it take so long to get out of the hospital? Seriously, with every baby it's taken way longer than it should have to get out. Apparently my babies and I are so awesome that they never want us to go. Who can blame them? Look how cute Miss Tess was while waiting to leave:
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| I can't help but think it looks like she's about to flip the camera off in this pose. |
But we finally escaped, picked up some prescriptions for me, and finally made it home. Tornado-less, ice cream included, slightly more sleep-allowing home.
