A Baby Story, Part 11: A Dark Day

I slept fitfully after the middle of the night move. My head still ached, and I was working on my caffeine intake. I tried desperately to sleep, but it was rather elusive. I was really glad that Brad was able to sleep; he'd been pretty worn out himself.

We'd attempted a trip to the bathroom once during the night, and it was horrible. Standing up was absolute agony on my head. I sobbed and sobbed. Brad, hero that he is, held my head in a vice-like grip as I shuffled to the bathroom with my i.v. stand. I cried the entire time I was in the bathroom (and was back to having to collect urine again; they seemed determined not to let me regain my dignity) and the whole way back to my bed, which felt like the length of a football field, rather than the few yards that it actually was. Brad helped me back to bed and got me lowered back into my flat-on-back position asap, letting me bawl my eyes out and hunting down a box of tissues for me. It was an excruciating 10 minutes of my life. Thankfully, returning to my flat position granted a great deal of relief.

7:00 am rolled around and with it two new nursing students: another gal and another guy. Remember, I really have no problem with students observing and practicing. I really don't. However, I am not crazy about being in those rather revealing hospital gowns and having male students in and out. Call me old school. They came in (after their instructor came and got my permission) and began taking vitals. Y'all. After my week in the hospital, I'm a pro at offering my bicep (for blood pressure cuff), index finger (for oxygen level monitor), and opening my mouth (for thermometer) all at the same time, without being asked. I dare ya to try and prove yourself more adept at those skills. Between the two students, they checked my vitals about twice. They also inspected my incision and poked around my stomach (not my favorite, as I'd just had surgery on my abdomen), all while talking each step over with one another. It's just so strange to listen to people talk about you right in front of you...and it had been a daily occurrence for me so far. I definitely wasn't going back to sleep after my thorough going-over.

The students had barely left the room before Meagan the Resident (from my first night of labor) came in to check on me. She asked about my headache, having read my chart, and encouraged me to get the blood patch. She also checked my incision and poked my stomach. I realized that I just needed to get used to that part. She was sympathetic to my plight and wished me luck.

She'd been gone for about 5 minutes- long enough for me to notice that the sun was coming up and realize I'd only slept about 3 hours. Next thing I knew, another somebody came in. She introduced herself as the nurse's aide on duty and then said a bunch of things that- between her strong Massachusetts accent and my overly tired brain- I didn't understand the first time through. Before I knew what was happening, she was using the automatic lift function on the bed to raise me to a full sitting position. I was too disoriented to tell her, "No! Stop! My head!" By the time I could get my mouth and brain on the same page, I was already fully upright and in agony again. 

I told her I had a spinal headache and needed to be lower, which she didn't seem to love; I'm guessing she had a plan, and I was not playing along nicely. She also told me she would be helping me go to the bathroom during the day. I mentioned that Brad had helped me during the night, and she told me, in no uncertain terms, that helping me to the bathroom was not his job and that he shouldn't be trying to do the nurses' job. She also scolded me for not consistently collecting urine specimens. I tried to tell her that I'd done so during the night for the night nurses, and they told me I could stop. She cut me off to tell me that the night nurses didn't understand the day nurses' procedures, and they had no business telling me I could stop. (I should interject that the night nurses also took away my specimen collection device, so I really couldn't collect anything else).

I didn't know what I should say. I felt as though everything I said was getting a scolding, and my brain wasn't working fast enough to process anything. So, I just sat there. 

She took my vitals- for the third time in 30 minutes, reminded me that I was not to go to the bathroom without calling her, and said breakfast would be arriving shortly.

As soon as she left, my hormones took over, and I just started crying. Couldn't stop. I tried to be quiet so Brad could stay asleep (he'd been asleep the whole time), but he woke up nonetheless. It took me a while to stutter out everything that had happened (nursing students, resident visit, nurses' aide) and how overwhelmed and tired I was feeling. And how my head was torturing me from the abrupt bed raising. And how I had just gotten scolded and wasn't awake enough to be a big girl and take care of the situation. AND, how I was going to have to hold the urge to go to the bathroom all day...until that nurse's aide went off duty, because I was NOT calling her to take me...

Brad was such a hero yet again. He apologized for sleeping (as if that's a crime...I wanted him to sleep) and promised to be the gatekeeper from then on out. 

That's exactly what he did. Fell in love with him just a little bit more. (You can gag at that line, if you need to. I get that it's a little over-the-top. But, it's my blog, so I can write the gag-worthy on occasion.)

Next up: visit from yet another anesthesiologist. Oh boy.