I woke up in an utter fog laying on my back with various lines and tubes coming out of me. My eyelids felt extremely heavy. I slowly blinked and tried to orient myself to my surroundings. I can't even remember all the details of that first 24 hours looking back now. I know T was near me, and I asked where I was. In the recovery room apparently. I asked where the baby was and if it was a girl. He told me she was in the NICU and showed me pictures on the camera.
A nurse talked to me and then the Ob-GYN did. She told me something about thinking the baby was face up but finding she was forehead up. The neonatalogist came to talk to me and told me how the baby's blood was shunted to her heart and brain during delivery so they were monitoring her breathing and digestive systems to make sure they were OK. As she was explaining this, I felt a pang of panic that sliced through my drowsy fog. What was she telling me? Was something permanently wrong with Lena? Was she brain-damaged? She explained that Lena was doing OK, but couldn't eat for 24 hours while they monitored her digestive systems.
I was still confused and exhausted. I would fall asleep during conversations. I didn't understand why they kept explaining things to me when I clearly was out of it. We moved into the room we would stay in for a few days, and as I cleared my head a bit, I examined all the things strapped to me. I had an IV for fluids with Oxycodone attached. I could punch a button every ten minutes to give myself a dose. I regularly did that of course, which added to my fogginess. I had a catheter in still and a bag of pee hanging off the side of the bed. I had these odd compression things strapped to my lower legs squeezing every few seconds to prevent blood clots.
After a long wait, I finally got to be wheeled down to the NICU to peer at my daughter inside her isolette. What a pair we made with our wires sticking out everywhere. I looked forward to the day we would both be wireless and heading home. I couldn't even hold her.
I was wheeled back, my vitals were taken, my pee measured, my bed cleaned up. Again I mostly drifted in and out of sleep for hours. When I woke up, I was alarmed by how much my throat hurt. A nurse explained that was from the tube put down my throat during surgery for I could breathe. My lower belly hurt from the incision, but in those first 24 hours, the worst pain was just an utter soreness in nearly every muscle in my body. My shoulders, lower arms, neck, calves, and thighs ached. The intense hours of labor and pushing before the actual c-section took a toll.
The doctors finally told me a bit more about what happened before birth and during the C-section. Lena was in a brow presentation which only happens in about one in 1500 births. It means she descended into the birth canal forehead first with her neck partially extended. It was impossible for me to push her out since that area of her head (from her chin to the crown of her head) was so large. So, I was pushing and pushing and pushing the poor thing and basically just smashing her head into my pelvis. Eventually it was too much for her and her heart rate slowed and she wasn't breathing at birth. They described it as "extremely depressed." It was a sickening thought.
It is apparently hard to know if a baby is in that presentation until you are actually doing the C-section, but I wish we would have moved to that step a lot sooner. I knew something wasn't working correctly.
A nurse also said my leg was hanging off the side during the surgery and they didn't realize it. They spent some time examining my leg and taking notes. It was a bit odd, but I never noticed any issues. One doctor said it was hard to remove the placenta. Another doctor said they actually completely remove your uterus during the surgery and then put it back in and that air is trapped in your abdomen. They told me to expect to be gassy. Great.
I wish I had a video of what happened throughout the birth. Neither T nor I got to witness it, which was pretty surreal. It's strange to just have hours of your life missing. I could feel the aftermath, but couldn't remember it.
I was desperate to get out of bed and get all the wires off of me so I could hold my daughter. Eventually, I got to shed my IV, compression stocking things, and catheter. T pushed me to the NICU in a giant wheelchair. We lifted Lena out of her isolette and though she was still tangled in an IV and various monitors, it was wonderful to hold her.
I nursed her for awhile, which went extremely well, and when she was limp and drowsy, I put her in her bed. The nurse came and told me to feed her a small portion of formula. I was reluctant, but I did.
In the NICU they feed the babies every three hours and are very strict about the exact number of milliliters they get. That is completely understandable for tiny one-pound babies, but for my full-term daughter, I wanted to skip the formula if at all possible.
The next time we came to the NICU for a feeding, I nursed Lena for half an hour. The nurse told me to then feed her an ounce of formula. If I didn't she said she would.
"But she's satisfied and sleeping," I said. "I don't understand why I have to wake her up and force her to drink formula."
She kept arguing with me. I told her how our first son had been premature and how the nurses and lactation consultants had worked with us, weighing him before and after feedings to determine just how much he got.
She seemed reluctant and said she would have the doctor talk to me. When he came over and basically said the same thing, I started to cry. I felt like I had no say in the NICU. I didn't feel like I was the mother. I wasn't asking to do some crazy thing to my baby. I just wanted to breastfeed her and not give her formula unless absolutely necessary. I didn't want to have her get used to a bottle and then struggle needlessly with nursing. I was emotional and frustrated. I didn't like how they were treating me, and I didn't know if I actually had any power to make decisions.
Of course the NICU has extremely tight quarters, so as I was blubbering away and arguing with the doctor, another mom was about two feet away with her baby. Everything I hated about Q's birth had returned. I am so glad NICUs exist, and I have now relied on them for two of my children, but I really, really hate being in them.
The nurse finally relented, and for the next feeding, a new much nicer nurse weighed Lena before she ate. She got 30 mL or just over an ounce so no formula necessary. The next time I saw the mean nurse, I wanted to say, "I told you so!"
My muscle soreness began to abate, but now my belly hurt quite a bit. I switched from Vicodin to Percocet, which helped. Every three hours day and night I would painfully walk across the hospital floor to be buzzed into the NICU. I would scrub my hands and then feed Lena. They would scoot screens around me for a small measure of privacy. I am much less self-conscious now than I ever was before. One dad was clearly within view, but I couldn't have cared less.
Lena was doing well. Her fluids were reduced and soon she was in a crib instead of an isolette. On Sunday morning, the nurse told me she was ready to be transferred to the regular nursery. Yes! I practically skipped back to the room.
Lena was now wireless, and we wheeled her to the nursery. She was checked over, given a Hepatitis B shot, a hearing screening, and then a test to make sure she could sit in her car seat for an hour an maintain her breathing.
After a rough weekend, things were back on track, and we were ready to go home the next day. On Monday, both of us got a final check, I got a prescription for painkillers, and then we were ready to check out.
It felt wonderful to be home with her. We settled her into her nursery and waited for my parents to bring the boys home. They arrived in new jack-o-lantern shirts full of curiosity. They gently patted her head and Q examined my still-swollen belly. They took turns holding her and kissing her. "That's my sisser!" R repeatedly declared.
And now we are a family of five. I can't wrap my mind around being a mother of three. It is wonderful though. I am not sure how I got so lucky, but I look forward to watching them all grow and change.
--MM
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