A Baby Story, Part 10: Can't Even Describe It

Following that first day, the condition of my head got increasingly worse. I discovered that I was no longer able to sit up in my bed (with or without the aid of the automatic lift function) without significant pain. My head pounded like it was being beaten with a huge hammer, making it almost impossible to focus my vision and causing pretty intense nausea. The anesthesiologists had ordered three rounds of hydrocortisone for my i.v. that day, hoping it would bring some relief. I couldn't find that relief, but I hoped it would be a delayed-reaction thing and would kick in soon.

My parents had been to the hospital to spend the day with us and Claire, which had been a great distraction and encouragement. That night, though, long after my parents left and as we were trying to sleep, I had no distractions, and I could think of nothing but how I never wanted to move my body again. This was unfortunate, because at 1:00 am (as in the middle of the night), the nurses got orders to transfer us to a different branch of Labor and Delivery the next floor down. They finally unhooked me from the mag and the catheter, which I'd been looking forward to all day (although, I had the difficult realization that being unhooked from the catheter meant I had to walk to the bathroom- a task I was no longer sure I could accomplish without throwing up because of my headache), and they brought in a wheelchair to wheel me downstairs. 

I tried to sit up slowly, using the automatic lift function on the bed, and I immediately wanted to cry. Not that I know what it would actually feel like to have someone run a drill through the top of my head but that's the best parallel I could come up with in the moment. My nurse saw the pain on my face and asked me how my head was (she'd been paying attention to my chart, thank goodness). I didn't want to be dramatic or cry in front of the nurse (goodness knows I'd already done a lot of that), so I tried to be cool and just said, "Well, it's...(grimace)...pretty bad. Could I...(mini groan)...take something before you move me?" 

She checked my medication screen on the computer and made an I'm-so-sorry-but-no face. "You're not due for more drugs for a few more hours...wait a second...are you ok if you lie flat?"

"It's better if I'm flat (whimper)."

"Ok (turns to Brad, who's sitting on the edge of his sleeping gurney). We're going to need that gurney."

She called in reinforcements, and with a group effort, they got me transferred from the bed to Brad's gurney. Just the short amount of time that I had to sit up a bit to move from one lying position to the next was enough to make me bite my lip to keep from crying. I better understood why spinal headaches are also called positional headaches: my position was crucial to keeping my pain in check.

Someone put a towel over my eyes so that the lights in the hallway wouldn't make the situation even worse. They were fantastic about doing whatever they could to keep me from excruciating pain. When we got downstairs, I felt super nervous again about changing nursing staff; the upstairs ladies had taken such good care of me. I begged the Lord for kindness downstairs as well.

My anxiety increased quite a bit when we got downstairs and they unhooked my legs from the keep-you-from-getting-blood-clots contraptions; the downstairs nurses joked with my upstairs nurse about how they'd get me up and moving so I wouldn't need those things anymore. I started mildly panicking about the fact that they seemed serious about getting me up and moving- I couldn't even sit up, for goodness sake. Thankfully, my upstairs nurse came to my rescue and told them that I had a spinal headache and would need to be dealt with carefully. One of the downstairs gals even went to fetch me some caffeine (another strong recommendation from Anesthesiology), even if it was Diet Coke. Ew. I'm a Coca-Cola purist, but in cases of necessity, I can come down off my soap(Coke)box.

We sort of slept that night; Brad actually slept better than he had thus far because he had an actual bed, rather than a gurney. Our new room was one of those that can be partitioned off for more than one patient at a time, so Brad had a bed. I tossed and turned all night and downed my Diet Coke at the speed of light. 

The next morning brought a renewed bout of rather extreme emotion on my part, thanks to two new nursing students and a nurse's aide who had most definitely not familiarized herself with my chart. Worst interpersonal interaction of the entire experience.