Little Crosses
Being confined to a hospital bed I suppose one could come up with 100 different crosses to talk about a day! I hope to take at least more than half of them and offer them up as a sacrifice. I would love to say I offer them all up, but sometimes I just feel too darn sorry for myself to let them go.
This is my third hospital stay since mid December. The first week I was here I stayed in labor and delivery for most of the week. The L&D room was so nice; big and spacious with a big shower stall and nurses who come into your room in an instant. But towards the end of the week I stabilized and they moved me to antepartum. I was put in a room after dinner at some point. I had no roommate, thankfully, but then at around 11 pm my nurse tells me, "you'll be getting a roommate in a few minutes." I had this sense of dread. This woman was in the early stages of labor and she had her husband with her and several visitors come and go. I suppose it wasn't too, too bad, but after two days I was released home.
The second stay at the hospital was only for two days, but this last one when they admitted me for the duration was the one I worried most about. I was put in an antepartum room in the middle of the night on the first night. I had a roommate. The floor was completely full and with only four private rooms on the floor, my chance at having my own room was dismal. This whole roommate thing was a big cross, besides knowing that I would be in the hospital for four more weeks. She kept the TV on all night long and as most trad moms do NOT watch MTV or VH1, this was a very big cross to endure.
I suppose the only other cross that I am whiny about and not completely letting go of is the lack of a hot shower. Even a warm shower would be nice; one that doesn't make all the hair on your arms stand up. Yes, I realize there is a lot I take for granted at home.
This is my third hospital stay since mid December. The first week I was here I stayed in labor and delivery for most of the week. The L&D room was so nice; big and spacious with a big shower stall and nurses who come into your room in an instant. But towards the end of the week I stabilized and they moved me to antepartum. I was put in a room after dinner at some point. I had no roommate, thankfully, but then at around 11 pm my nurse tells me, "you'll be getting a roommate in a few minutes." I had this sense of dread. This woman was in the early stages of labor and she had her husband with her and several visitors come and go. I suppose it wasn't too, too bad, but after two days I was released home.
The second stay at the hospital was only for two days, but this last one when they admitted me for the duration was the one I worried most about. I was put in an antepartum room in the middle of the night on the first night. I had a roommate. The floor was completely full and with only four private rooms on the floor, my chance at having my own room was dismal. This whole roommate thing was a big cross, besides knowing that I would be in the hospital for four more weeks. She kept the TV on all night long and as most trad moms do NOT watch MTV or VH1, this was a very big cross to endure.
I suppose the only other cross that I am whiny about and not completely letting go of is the lack of a hot shower. Even a warm shower would be nice; one that doesn't make all the hair on your arms stand up. Yes, I realize there is a lot I take for granted at home.
Little Blessings
But it seems as if my Saints in heaven are watching out for me and the Lord has blessed me with little blessings for my measly efforts to offer up some of the big ones to Him. I sleep with a fan at home. I always have since I was little. I love the sound of the white noise and I prefer the temperature to be cooler than warmer when I sleep. Anyone who is addicted to fan-sleeping (you know who you are!) knows that going somewhere and trying to sleep without that soothing background noise can make for a long night. My MTV roommate was discharged and I had a semi-private room to myself. My nurse informs me that one of the private rooms may be opening up and I was first on the list to get it! I was thrilled!!! And if that wasn't a blessing, she goes on to say, "Would you like a fan for your room?" ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YES! I was curious as to why she would ask me that out of the blue. She said she was a "fan-sleeper" so she always makes sure to ask her patients if they want a fan knowing how hard it is to sleep without one. Sounds silly, but I considered that a humongous blessing!
Another little blessing that came along was my first warm shower. This happened for the first time last night. I started running the water about 10 minutes before I got into the shower because the nurses on this floor tell me the heater that heats the water for the floor is way on the other side and I would have to run the shower for a bit. It never helped before. But I gave it a shot. Yesterday was not a good day for me but when I reached in to feel the frigid temperature, to my surprise it was very warm. It was a good night.
Another little blessing that came along was my first warm shower. This happened for the first time last night. I started running the water about 10 minutes before I got into the shower because the nurses on this floor tell me the heater that heats the water for the floor is way on the other side and I would have to run the shower for a bit. It never helped before. But I gave it a shot. Yesterday was not a good day for me but when I reached in to feel the frigid temperature, to my surprise it was very warm. It was a good night.
NOW...
There's not much by way of update. I have heard from my OB this morning. She has a call in to my previous OB. She wants to talk to her about all that she saw with the last surgery. Apparently after her "face to face" call on the phone, my OB will be over here to have a "long talk" with me about a delivery date. As I think I mentioned in my first post we don't all agree on a date for the surgery. I am leaning towards the 35 week mark. My gut and my instinct say to prolong this pregnancy past 35 could be a potential danger to me and Philomena. I sure hope we get a date soon so that I have some kind of idea when all this will take place.
THEN...
THEN...
This is the birth story of my third child - my first son, John Paul. Bella was only 6 months old when we discovered that we were expecting baby number three. It was a little surprising because it was so soon after the birth of our second. My pregnancy was fairly uneventful with John Paul with the exception of being sick for four months. His due date was at the end of December 2002. When December rolled around I was very busy with holiday preparations and the time seemed to go by pretty quick. I had switched OB's after the birth of Bella and we were fortunate to find a pro-life OB only 10 minutes away. He had been in practice for 35 years or so. It was December 22nd and I was 39 weeks. I woke up that day with a check list of things I still needed to get done before Christmas. I was out shopping and remember feeling very crampy and basically just not right. I still walked all over the department store determined to get everything done. Later that night I decided to rest and get off my feet. The crampiness was still there but only off and on. Earlier in the week my husband and I had purchased our first really "nice" box-spring and mattress set. It was so wonderful to sleep atop a double pillow-top mattress. Anyway, we turned in for the night and at around 1 am or so I woke up suddenly and found my water broke....all over the brand new mattress. I wasn't feeling any contractions, but we called the OB who told us to head over to the hospital. We got there within a half hour and as we are walking up to Labor and Delivery I had my first real whopper of a contraction. It was like someone punched me square in the belly. Once I was through that first one we made it to the L&D room. They made me change into the beautiful hospital gown that makes any woman feel just radiant inside. After getting settled and having another big contraction, the resident OB came up to check me. I will never forget these words he said to me during the exam. First, "Wow, you are fully dilated!" And then, "Is this an elbow I feel? A foot? Two feet?" I proceeded to tell them in a not-so-calm fashion that that was impossible. He had been head down for the entire last trimester practically. No, they insisted - he was breech, a double footling breech. The next unforgettable thing the resident said to me was, "Well, you have two options; we can try to manipulate the baby into place manually and this will be done with no drugs because it's too late for anesthesia or you can opt for an emergency C-section." Manipulate? Manually? NO DRUGS? My mind was spinning and I would have rather plucked my eyeballs out with a dull butter knife than go through the pain of "manually manipulating" my unborn son! I told my husband I couldn't make that decision. So he suggested the C-section seemed to be the safest option. At that moment, my OB comes rushing in and a whirlwind of activity begins. I remember watching my husband standing behind as I am swiftly wheeled out of the room. He had this hollow, empty look on his face.
The next thing I remember, and I remember this so clearly was the doctor being handed the iodine and him pouring it on my belly as the anesthesiologist was asking me incessant questions about what I was allergic to and if I had heart problems and a plethora of other questions which I had a difficult time answering. I just wanted to know where my husband was and why he wasn't there by my side. At the same time, a nurse is trying to insert a catheter and she was getting visibly frustrated because I was squirming too much. Imagine that? A pregnant woman, fully dilated and going through contractions, watching iodine being poured all over her belly...not sitting still. The nerve of me. She finally said in a very stern voice, "Kelly, you are going to HAVE to sit still." Now, I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable, although Irish-tempered woman, but I am telling you if they hadn't strapped my arms and legs down I would have belted her in her face.
The next thing I clearly remember like something out of a movie was my OB gowned up and gloved and a scalpel in his hand and I begged them, "please, please put me out." The mask came over my face and I was out.
My poor husband is watching various medical personnel running in and out of the OR. The anesthesiologist, apparently came out to talk to him and ask him if I was allergic to any medications. This poor guy, my husband couldn't even answer the questions! All he wanted to know is if me and my son were all right. He tells me much later how terrifying those moments were to him.
I woke up in a recovery room and everything was foggy. They leave me in there for another two hours or so and then I remember being in what I thought was the baby nursery, but was actually the neonatal intensive care unit and they wheeled me up to a little isolette where I saw my son for the first time through very groggy eyes. I remember the tubes and lights and everything looked very medical to me.
They took me to my room and as they were trying to transfer me to my hospital bed I got sick. Now, I can tell you that when you have had abdominal surgery and you have to throw up - well the two just do NOT mix very well. I felt like one of those circus girls who stands at the bullseye with an apple on my head, only the sword thrower misses the apple and nails my stomach several times over.
Apparently the OB couldn't get my son out so he had to do extended cuts on both sides of the abdomen to extract him. When they did pull him out he was not breathing. His APGAR score was a 2/4. His lung had collapsed at birth and they needed to put him on a ventilator. Still, surprisingly, John Paul Francis was my biggest baby weighing in at 7 pounds and 3 ounces. We both spent a very long week in the hospital. He came off the ventilator and did very well, quickly bouncing back. He did have some issues with apnea so we were sent home with an apnea monitor.
My OB finally came into my room and explained what had happened during the surgery and he said, "You can never, ever have another vaginal birth again." I was happy to be going home and kept his consultation with me tucked in the back of my head for the future. The nurses later tell me that my OB had been considering retiring for some time and after my son's birth announced that this could be the surgery that sends him into retirement!
The next thing I remember, and I remember this so clearly was the doctor being handed the iodine and him pouring it on my belly as the anesthesiologist was asking me incessant questions about what I was allergic to and if I had heart problems and a plethora of other questions which I had a difficult time answering. I just wanted to know where my husband was and why he wasn't there by my side. At the same time, a nurse is trying to insert a catheter and she was getting visibly frustrated because I was squirming too much. Imagine that? A pregnant woman, fully dilated and going through contractions, watching iodine being poured all over her belly...not sitting still. The nerve of me. She finally said in a very stern voice, "Kelly, you are going to HAVE to sit still." Now, I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable, although Irish-tempered woman, but I am telling you if they hadn't strapped my arms and legs down I would have belted her in her face.
The next thing I clearly remember like something out of a movie was my OB gowned up and gloved and a scalpel in his hand and I begged them, "please, please put me out." The mask came over my face and I was out.
My poor husband is watching various medical personnel running in and out of the OR. The anesthesiologist, apparently came out to talk to him and ask him if I was allergic to any medications. This poor guy, my husband couldn't even answer the questions! All he wanted to know is if me and my son were all right. He tells me much later how terrifying those moments were to him.
I woke up in a recovery room and everything was foggy. They leave me in there for another two hours or so and then I remember being in what I thought was the baby nursery, but was actually the neonatal intensive care unit and they wheeled me up to a little isolette where I saw my son for the first time through very groggy eyes. I remember the tubes and lights and everything looked very medical to me.
They took me to my room and as they were trying to transfer me to my hospital bed I got sick. Now, I can tell you that when you have had abdominal surgery and you have to throw up - well the two just do NOT mix very well. I felt like one of those circus girls who stands at the bullseye with an apple on my head, only the sword thrower misses the apple and nails my stomach several times over.
Apparently the OB couldn't get my son out so he had to do extended cuts on both sides of the abdomen to extract him. When they did pull him out he was not breathing. His APGAR score was a 2/4. His lung had collapsed at birth and they needed to put him on a ventilator. Still, surprisingly, John Paul Francis was my biggest baby weighing in at 7 pounds and 3 ounces. We both spent a very long week in the hospital. He came off the ventilator and did very well, quickly bouncing back. He did have some issues with apnea so we were sent home with an apnea monitor.
My OB finally came into my room and explained what had happened during the surgery and he said, "You can never, ever have another vaginal birth again." I was happy to be going home and kept his consultation with me tucked in the back of my head for the future. The nurses later tell me that my OB had been considering retiring for some time and after my son's birth announced that this could be the surgery that sends him into retirement!
2 comments:
Aidan fell out.
I have a cat.
Post a Comment