Originally posted 3/10/13: While I was Sleeping
The next thing I remember following the anesthesia (that actually did its job and completely knocked me out for my c-section) was hearing several voices calling my name and asking me if I could hear them. Obviously, I could, but what was more important was that I knew I needed to let them know how much everything hurt. Whether or not that was actually important is beside the point; in my head, it was of primary significance that they know my head and abdomen were splitting open (one figuratively and one literally). The first things I remember crossing my mind were:
1. My stomach hurts. so. badly.
2. My head aches. so. badly.
3. I bet they won't let me hold my daughter (assuming she is a daughter and didn't come out as a boy...I need to find out!) if I can't get my eyes open.
4. Where is Brad?
The days following Claire's birth were full of my questioning Brad and my parents about what happened during the hour + that I was unconscious. I found out that my doctor had gone out of the OR while I was being prepped to break the news to Brad that, because they were using general anesthesia, he wouldn't be able to come in after all. That made me so sad. I'm glad he had my parents to wait with, but I was very sad when thinking about him all decked out in his scrubs, waiting to come in to witness the birth of his daughter, and finding out that he had to wait outside. I think I cried about it (but let's be real: I've been crying about all kinds of things while post-partum. They tell you that will happen, but gee whiz. How frustrating.).
I found out that Laura (she was seriously the greatest) took pictures of Brad while he was seeing Claire for the first time so that it would be documented.
My dad (who is a pediatrician, for those of you don't know him) was able to do a "ceremonial" baby going-over, like he does with his patients in the hospital. I got so tickled at Brad and his commentary on watching that process; he said that, if he hadn't known that Dad was a doctor who knew what he was doing, he (Brad) would have had to say something about the "manhandling" of his daughter. Amiee and I have always felt sorry for the babies as they get prodded and poked. I know Daddy is as gentle as he can be, but he is checking to make sure everything works correctly; I guess that's not innately a gentle process. Someone snapped a few pictures of Daddy checking Claire out, which I'm really grateful for.
Mom stayed with me throughout all of this, waiting for me to come around from the medicine. Mom had had a c-section with me, so she was aware of a lot of the repercussions I would soon be dealing with. Apparently, I talked quite a bit about being in pain and asked about where Brad was. Seriously, so much aggravation could have been avoided if they'd just let him stay with me, right?
The next thing I really remember is craving the ice chips that someone started spooning into my mouth. I'd been so thirsty and hungry all day, I couldn't get enough of those ice chips. I also finally got to see my baby and hold her for a second, but I'm sad to say that I have no memory of it. Someone got a picture, although it wasn't any of my family; I had made it very clear that NO pictures were to be taken of me without my permission, and absolutely nothing was to be posted to social media without my approval (approval given while I was in full possession of my faculties). I've seen too many unflattering pictures of folks who had just had babies to trust myself not to look wretched. So, Mom and the guys followed the rules, but a nurse, apparently, thought that it was a shame not to snap a quick picture.
Brad Face Timed with his family so that they could see our little Claire Bear. I missed that part, too. I think I was awake, but I wasn't very aware. Thankfully, Brad snapped a few pictures of their reactions.
I also remember having the thought that Claire was so pretty and did NOT look like the newborns who resemble gum that has been chewed up (i.e. pink and wrinkly). I realize it's a little weird that I had that thought... It seemed surreal that she was actually born and outside of me. I truly wish I could remember more, but I genuinely cannot even remember when I saw her face for the first time, other than thinking she was pretty. It's rather sad for me, actually. I had these images in my head of being fully cognizant when my baby was born, getting to hold her as soon as they released her, and getting that family photo of the three of us together. That's just not how it played out at all.
The good news is that on top of being a pretty baby (which I realize is not THE most important thing, despite the frequency with which I mention it), she's the sweetest baby I've ever met. One of our friends described her as "peaceful," and I think that's such an apt description of her. I just love her to pieces.
Other than those snippets, I don't remember much of the events that took place after Claire's birth. Oh, I got a popsicle. That was exciting. Honestly, the primary focus of my attentions (other than seeing Claire and finding Brad) was the headache that still raged. I had no idea that the worst part of my recovery would actually be that headache and not the fact that I'd just had surgery. The next few days ended up being more traumatic for me than the events leading up to Claire's birth...crazy as that sounds. :)
An "approved" shot of me...the kind where you can't see how tired and worn out I am.
Time of birth: 10:16 pm (30 hours of labor and one c-section later...)
Weight: 6 pounds, 11 ounces (she was smaller than we anticipated)
Length: 20 inches
Laura remained our nurse throughout the night, which was a great comfort to me. She was with us through the baby's first feeding and getting me through my first few rounds of pain medication. I woke up a little after 7 am the next morning and was very sad at the thought that Laura's shift had ended at 7:00. I know she can't work indefinitely, but I was really sad and smidge worried about what kind of care I might end up with next.
I had no need to worry. My next nurse was Kathy, and she knew what she was up to. My doctor came by that morning to check on me (and let me know with a wink that she'd done an excellent job with my sutures; always good to know that your scar is going to be as tidy as possible). After she left, Kathy did a wonderful job of staying on top of my needs, including contacting Anesthesiology (at the encouragement of my OBGYN) about my horrible headache. I was discovering that I wasn't able to move well, because when I did, I felt as though the top of my head was being pounded with a sledge hammer.
Brad and I spent the day getting to know our little Claire. She was just too cute for words, and I kept thinking how crazy it was that we get to keep her. Like, take her home with us and keep her forever. We just kept looking at her over and over. We were rather cheesy, but apparently, that gene kicks in as soon as the baby is born.
That afternoon, the attending anesthesiologist who had put in my epidural the day before, stopped by to talk to me about my wet tap. A very simplified explanation of a wet tap is that it's a puncture (when inserting an epidural) that causes fluid from the spine to leak. What the anesthesiologist guessed was happening as a result of my wet tap was a spinal or positional headache. My mom had had a spinal headache after I was born and had told me about it previously; she opted at the time to have a procedure called a blood patch, which instantaneously cured her headache. This was exactly the same recommendation that the anesthesiologist offered to me the day after my epidural.
The way a blood patch works makes me a little queasy to think about, but simply stated, the anesthesiologists take some of the patient's blood (like, from the arm) and use it to block or patch up the puncture/wet tap in the spine. It stops the fluid from leaking and causing the headache.
Maybe this makes me a whiny little baby, but I was extremely wary of having yet another massive needle stuck in my back (or in my arm, for that matter; basically, I was a little gun-shy of needles in general). My track marks from the day before (3 from the epidural, 3 from the spinal...6 total) were aching and reminding me of how stressful it had been to be stuck repeatedly while hearing discussions of how it wasn't working. Part of my nerves stemmed from the fact that it was fairly obvious to me that the anesthesiologists didn't know why they were having so much trouble getting my procedures done. No one was rude, difficult, or offensive, but I did lose a lot of confidence throughout the various punctures.
I told her I'd think about it, and she said just to let my nurse know when I wanted her to contact the pain center about getting a blood patch. After she left, Brad and I did talk about it, and I told him about my hesitations/reservations/general fearfulness. He told me that he wouldn't pressure me into anything I didn't want to do, but he did think I should give it some thought.
Because I get migraines and have "normal" headaches on a regular basis, my basic idea was just to wait it out (I have a really high tolerance for head pain), continue taking the pain medication (for my surgery and my headache), and deal with the fact that I was back on the mag (for an additional 24 hours). Oi. I still wasn't feeling that great, what with having been in labor for so long, having surgery, and being put back on that wretched mag. Because of the extra 24 hours of mag, I was confined to my bed (meaning I was still hooked up to the catheter and was having my blood pressure taken every half hour or so) and was hooked up to these leg devices that periodically squeezed and released my legs, apparently to keep me from getting blood clots and dying. I always like to avoid death when possible.
My head was getting steadily more pressure-filled and painful, but at least I had my sweet baby to snuggle with and Brad at my beck and call. Unfortunately, the head situation was only beginning to get started.
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.
1. My stomach hurts. so. badly.
2. My head aches. so. badly.
3. I bet they won't let me hold my daughter (assuming she is a daughter and didn't come out as a boy...I need to find out!) if I can't get my eyes open.
4. Where is Brad?
The days following Claire's birth were full of my questioning Brad and my parents about what happened during the hour + that I was unconscious. I found out that my doctor had gone out of the OR while I was being prepped to break the news to Brad that, because they were using general anesthesia, he wouldn't be able to come in after all. That made me so sad. I'm glad he had my parents to wait with, but I was very sad when thinking about him all decked out in his scrubs, waiting to come in to witness the birth of his daughter, and finding out that he had to wait outside. I think I cried about it (but let's be real: I've been crying about all kinds of things while post-partum. They tell you that will happen, but gee whiz. How frustrating.).
I found out that Laura (she was seriously the greatest) took pictures of Brad while he was seeing Claire for the first time so that it would be documented.
My dad (who is a pediatrician, for those of you don't know him) was able to do a "ceremonial" baby going-over, like he does with his patients in the hospital. I got so tickled at Brad and his commentary on watching that process; he said that, if he hadn't known that Dad was a doctor who knew what he was doing, he (Brad) would have had to say something about the "manhandling" of his daughter. Amiee and I have always felt sorry for the babies as they get prodded and poked. I know Daddy is as gentle as he can be, but he is checking to make sure everything works correctly; I guess that's not innately a gentle process. Someone snapped a few pictures of Daddy checking Claire out, which I'm really grateful for.
A reenactment of checking out Claire Bear.
Mom stayed with me throughout all of this, waiting for me to come around from the medicine. Mom had had a c-section with me, so she was aware of a lot of the repercussions I would soon be dealing with. Apparently, I talked quite a bit about being in pain and asked about where Brad was. Seriously, so much aggravation could have been avoided if they'd just let him stay with me, right?
The next thing I really remember is craving the ice chips that someone started spooning into my mouth. I'd been so thirsty and hungry all day, I couldn't get enough of those ice chips. I also finally got to see my baby and hold her for a second, but I'm sad to say that I have no memory of it. Someone got a picture, although it wasn't any of my family; I had made it very clear that NO pictures were to be taken of me without my permission, and absolutely nothing was to be posted to social media without my approval (approval given while I was in full possession of my faculties). I've seen too many unflattering pictures of folks who had just had babies to trust myself not to look wretched. So, Mom and the guys followed the rules, but a nurse, apparently, thought that it was a shame not to snap a quick picture.
Brad Face Timed with his family so that they could see our little Claire Bear. I missed that part, too. I think I was awake, but I wasn't very aware. Thankfully, Brad snapped a few pictures of their reactions.
I also remember having the thought that Claire was so pretty and did NOT look like the newborns who resemble gum that has been chewed up (i.e. pink and wrinkly). I realize it's a little weird that I had that thought... It seemed surreal that she was actually born and outside of me. I truly wish I could remember more, but I genuinely cannot even remember when I saw her face for the first time, other than thinking she was pretty. It's rather sad for me, actually. I had these images in my head of being fully cognizant when my baby was born, getting to hold her as soon as they released her, and getting that family photo of the three of us together. That's just not how it played out at all.
The good news is that on top of being a pretty baby (which I realize is not THE most important thing, despite the frequency with which I mention it), she's the sweetest baby I've ever met. One of our friends described her as "peaceful," and I think that's such an apt description of her. I just love her to pieces.
Look how pretty she is.
I love the little bow hat that the nursery made for her.
So, the baby arrived, and there was much rejoicing (mostly done by those who were awake). The next several days were full of fun Claire moments...and a lot of interaction with anesthesiologists.
Originally posted 3/11/13: The Morning After
By the way, I forgot to mention some important stats with yesterday's post!Time of birth: 10:16 pm (30 hours of labor and one c-section later...)
Weight: 6 pounds, 11 ounces (she was smaller than we anticipated)
Length: 20 inches
Laura remained our nurse throughout the night, which was a great comfort to me. She was with us through the baby's first feeding and getting me through my first few rounds of pain medication. I woke up a little after 7 am the next morning and was very sad at the thought that Laura's shift had ended at 7:00. I know she can't work indefinitely, but I was really sad and smidge worried about what kind of care I might end up with next.
I had no need to worry. My next nurse was Kathy, and she knew what she was up to. My doctor came by that morning to check on me (and let me know with a wink that she'd done an excellent job with my sutures; always good to know that your scar is going to be as tidy as possible). After she left, Kathy did a wonderful job of staying on top of my needs, including contacting Anesthesiology (at the encouragement of my OBGYN) about my horrible headache. I was discovering that I wasn't able to move well, because when I did, I felt as though the top of my head was being pounded with a sledge hammer.
Brad and I spent the day getting to know our little Claire. She was just too cute for words, and I kept thinking how crazy it was that we get to keep her. Like, take her home with us and keep her forever. We just kept looking at her over and over. We were rather cheesy, but apparently, that gene kicks in as soon as the baby is born.
That afternoon, the attending anesthesiologist who had put in my epidural the day before, stopped by to talk to me about my wet tap. A very simplified explanation of a wet tap is that it's a puncture (when inserting an epidural) that causes fluid from the spine to leak. What the anesthesiologist guessed was happening as a result of my wet tap was a spinal or positional headache. My mom had had a spinal headache after I was born and had told me about it previously; she opted at the time to have a procedure called a blood patch, which instantaneously cured her headache. This was exactly the same recommendation that the anesthesiologist offered to me the day after my epidural.
The way a blood patch works makes me a little queasy to think about, but simply stated, the anesthesiologists take some of the patient's blood (like, from the arm) and use it to block or patch up the puncture/wet tap in the spine. It stops the fluid from leaking and causing the headache.
Maybe this makes me a whiny little baby, but I was extremely wary of having yet another massive needle stuck in my back (or in my arm, for that matter; basically, I was a little gun-shy of needles in general). My track marks from the day before (3 from the epidural, 3 from the spinal...6 total) were aching and reminding me of how stressful it had been to be stuck repeatedly while hearing discussions of how it wasn't working. Part of my nerves stemmed from the fact that it was fairly obvious to me that the anesthesiologists didn't know why they were having so much trouble getting my procedures done. No one was rude, difficult, or offensive, but I did lose a lot of confidence throughout the various punctures.
I told her I'd think about it, and she said just to let my nurse know when I wanted her to contact the pain center about getting a blood patch. After she left, Brad and I did talk about it, and I told him about my hesitations/reservations/general fearfulness. He told me that he wouldn't pressure me into anything I didn't want to do, but he did think I should give it some thought.
Because I get migraines and have "normal" headaches on a regular basis, my basic idea was just to wait it out (I have a really high tolerance for head pain), continue taking the pain medication (for my surgery and my headache), and deal with the fact that I was back on the mag (for an additional 24 hours). Oi. I still wasn't feeling that great, what with having been in labor for so long, having surgery, and being put back on that wretched mag. Because of the extra 24 hours of mag, I was confined to my bed (meaning I was still hooked up to the catheter and was having my blood pressure taken every half hour or so) and was hooked up to these leg devices that periodically squeezed and released my legs, apparently to keep me from getting blood clots and dying. I always like to avoid death when possible.
Originally posted 3/12/13: 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.
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