A Baby Story, Part 7: Got Anesthesia? I Sort of Do...

Following my whirlwind c-section prep and surprising anesthesia consult, I found myself being wheeled from my room and down the hall. There were about 5 or 6 folks getting me from point A to point B (I'm telling ya, it was a slow night, and I was the most interesting thing going on). 

Around this point in the evening, I started a gosh awful headache, which I chalked up to stress and exhaustion. It didn't really feel like my usual exhaustion/stress headaches, but it seemed logical to me that I'd be stressed and tired. All I knew was that I felt like the top of my head was being separated from the rest of me, which was exacerbated as they moved me from my dimly-lit room into the extremely well-lit operating room. I get migraines, so I completely understand head pain. However, this was unlike any headache I'd ever experienced. Such a different kind of pain and in a very different location than my "normal" migraines (if you can call migraines normal).

Small Ew: On top of this, my catheter was killing me. How strange is it that my catheter discomfort was at the forefront of my mind, as I was heading toward major surgery?

Once we arrived in the OR, I didn't know how (on top of that dratted catheter) I was going to handle the headache; the lights of the OR were so bright, I couldn't open my eyes all the way and ended up just clutching my head, wishing I had some kind of vice to continue applying pressure to it. I kept thinking that I would ask Brad to hold my head during the surgery...once they finally let him in. He had to wait in the hallway until they got my spinal block/anesthesia set up.

Getting the spinal had me nervous; I knew I was going to have to go through the same routine as the epidural insertions, and I was not looking forward to it. And, of course, Brad wasn't in there with me. Again. 

I had to move from my hospital bed onto an operating table, and I had the hardest time because of my catheter. A couple of nurses were helping me move, and I had to ask them to slow down and pause a couple of times. One of them asked, "Oh, are you having a contraction?" I said, "No, it's my catheter." The other nurse said, "The catheter from your epidural?" And I had to say, "No...the...uh...other kind. It's hurting me." Thankfully, they seemed to understand and helped me move very slowly. They also passed along the message to anyone else who tried to hurry me along. Helpful...and a taddy bit humiliating.

Once I finally got moved over to the other table, I had to get into the same sitting/bending/bowed-back position as they had me in for the epidural(s) several hours earlier. My head was pounding and aching, so while they had me bending over the table beside the edge of operating table, I held my head in my hands to keep the aching at bay. Unfortunately, the anesthesiologist (the one I had just spoken to in my room) needed me to drop my arms and "relax" (yeah, right) to get things set up. Laura came to my rescue; she came and stood in front of me (like Peggy had earlier when she held my hands during my epidural) and told me to rest my head in her hands (she knew I had a headache). What an angel- she literally held my head in her hands. It was such a blessing in the midst of a very chaotic and unnerving process. 

I had a lot of the same warnings for a "big pinch" and a "big sting" that I'd had earlier in the day. Someone explained to me that the spinals are a little different, in the sense that they penetrate a different depth. Or something. Follow the wiki link a few paragraphs up, if you really want to know. :) I discovered quickly that, whatever the difference, it still hurt. And, much like my epidural attempts, the spinals didn't go that well, either. The first one was extremely reminiscent of earlier in the day; I heard the doctors muttering to one another and was then told that the first attempt didn't work. I could stretch my back and relax for a moment before they made another attempt. 

Wow. That was way too familiar.

We went at it again; Laura held my head, I tried to keep from crying so that I could hold still, and the anesthesiologists tried again.

There wasn't as much talking about what was going on, but I also didn't hear anyone saying happy things like, "Got it" or "There we go." Next thing I knew, I was being told I could stretch again. Far too familiar. 

Another anesthesiologist came over to do the third attempt. I'll spare you a lengthy retelling and just let you know that the third spinal finally went in.

I had to move to yet another table, but this time, at least everyone was well-versed in my catheter pain and achy head. I had lots of support and help, which made me love the staff. 

They strapped me down to the operating table (let's take a moment and reflect on how being strapped down does not provide comfort and calm) and gave me about 5 minutes before one of the anesthesiologists explained that he was going to test my reflexes to see how the medication was spreading.

I felt every poke. I was able to push my legs against the resistance. And, I could completely bend my legs at the knees. They decided to give me a few more minutes to let the medicine take effect. I caught a glimpse of my doctor's face, and she looked rather annoyed with the pain management folks. 

After the hiatus, the anesthesiologist returned for another reflex test. Guess who could STILL feel everything and move extremities. If you guessed me, you win! I tried not to panic, but it's rather frightening to realize that you're about to have surgery performed on you and everything is still feel-able.

The doctors muttered with one another for a minute or two and then explained that they were going to have to put me under general anesthesia. 

I'd had a feeling. Good news: I wouldn't feel the catheter or my head anymore.

After that decision was made, the scurrying and flurrying started up again. Someone had me breathing through an oxygen mask while one of the doctors pumped medicine into my i.v. It buuuuuuurned. And stung. And hurt. That's probably why they strapped me down. They knew what they were doing. 

They last few thoughts I remember having before going under were:
1. I hope she is actually a she and not secretly a boy that I'm not prepared for.
2. Brad isn't here again. 

Then, I drifted off into oblivion. Whew. What a relief.