We had just moved back to Florida when I found out I was pregnant again (we conceived THE day we moved back). I had to find a new OB and I knew I wanted a female doctor this time. My mother made some calls and helped me select the very best OB in my area. I sat down with her for a long time filling her in on all the details of Ben's birth and my recovery. With eyes wide with compassion, she held my hand and promised me I would never go through anything like that ever again. She said women in third world countries that gave birth in dirty fields didn't suffer as much as I had. She also told me that I was an ideal candidate for an elective Cesarean. I don't know why I was so afraid of having a c-section. Even after my birth gone wrong, I still feared the unknown more. Throughout my entire pregnancy I told my new OB that I felt more comfortable going through with a vaginal birth because at least I knew what to expect. My exact words were, "I'd rather take the chance that I might tear again then have you filet me like a fish."
Towards the end of my pregnancy my doctor re-examined me and told me that I was VERY lucky to have healed so perfectly without any lifelong issues. She was very uncomfortable delivering Jonathan vaginally when my body didn't have all that long of a period to heal and I was smaller now than I was before I had Ben. Two weeks before my due date the Ultrasound determined that the baby weighed between 7.5 and 8 lbs and since I tore with Ben at 7 lbs 11oz there was no way I wasn't going to tear with an even bigger baby. She explained that she couldn't guarentee me that this time I might not heal perfectly and I might have lifelong problems that could be completely avoided by doing a Cesarean delivery. I trusted her and agreed to have a c-section.
The week before Jonathan was born I ate a very high fiber diet and eliminated all dairy. I had learned after 9 weeks of an extremely high colicky baby that the protein found in dairy is different than the protein in human milk. One Saturday I ate cereal, yogurt, pizza, and a glass of milk and my son cried for 8 hours straight, refused to nurse for 6 of those hours, and puked up two different kinds of formulas (both dairy based). I called the after hours pediatrican on call and she asked me about my diet and told me to lay off the dairy. It turns that cow protein "Casein" is very difficult, sometimes impossible for babies to digest - which is why you don't give a baby cow milk until they are one year old (why they make baby formula with cow milk makes zero sense at all). Anyway, if a mother consumes dairy products this protein passes through breastmilk and apparently Ben was intolerant to it (not allergic or else he'd have foamy green poop or blood in his stool). I wasn't taking any chances with my next baby so I just eliminated all dairy from my diet.
On July 9th 2010 at 5:30am we arrived at the hospital. Nick and I put on our hospital gowns and I told Nick he would have made a VERY attractive doctor. We rested in the hospital bed while Nick and I discussed some of the details from Ben's birth with the staff there. My sister in law had her third Cesarian delivery just 22 days before I was about to have mine. She and my UNCC "breast friend" filled me in on what to expect during my c-section. One of the nurses asked me if I was ready for my catheter which I was told my by sister in law to ask if I could wait to have the catheter placed after my spinal tap. "Of course, that's not a problem," she told me sweetly. A different nurse then tried to get me hooked to an IV but instead of the IV fluids going into my vein, the blood began to backup into the IV tubes. I looked at the small bubble forming in my forearm and started to panic. I could envision the blood flowing freely from my vein and wondered if I could die from internal bleeding if it didn't stop. I don't remember what it's called when this happens, but I thought this was just the beginning of more bad things to come. A different nurse tried my other arm and got the IV in with little more pain than a quick pinch. I tried to remain calm. The nurse who failed at getting the IV needle into my vein returned with two bags of IV fluid that she said were heated. She told me that they are meant to be used for other patients but replaced my ice cold ones with these pre-heated bags. As this warm fluid filled my veins I did feel better and had a little hope.
Another nurse asked me if I had shaved in preparation for surgery. I had not only shaved but I'd blowed out my hair, flat ironed it, had my eyebrows waxed and had a pedicure too! She asked if she could check just in case, and I was thankful that my sister in law had told me to shave down there ahead of time. Unfortunately, when you have a belly the size of a beach ball it's a little difficult to see what you're doing and so she brought out a cheap disposable razor and had to get the areas I couldn't see or reach. This was pretty embarassing so if you are going in for a scheduled Cesarean have your husband help you shave the night before.
By 7:30am my OB met with me and reassured me that everything was going to be fine. An elderly nurse with a southern accent reminded me of the older nurse that had delivered Ben in North Carolina. She warned me that the room they wheeled my bed into had very bright lights. She pulled my pony-tail out from under my head and stroked my hair away from my forehead. It seemed like her entire job there was to comfort me because I don't think she did anything medically related. She asked me if I was cold and would bring me more blankets if I needed them, which I didn't. I told her, "I'm a hot blooded Italian," so I rarely get cold. The Anesthesiologist had me sit up and my older nurse placed my arms over her shoulders. She told me to lean forward and "hug her" which felt kind of awkward until she started patting and softly rubbing my back, whispering in my ear to just breathe and squeeze if I needed to. As it turned out, the IV (the good insertion) was more painful than the prick of the spinal tap. My sweet grandma-like nurse helped me lay back down and continued to comb my hair back.
Nick was sitting on a chair beside me and I heard him suck in a deep breath. I looked up at his face and saw him staring at he ground. I knew the sight of blood left him dizzy and was worried he might pass out on me. "Look at me," I told him. He looked towards me but his eyes were unfocused like he was looking through me and concentrating hard on something. "Hey, I'm okay. Look in my eyes." I tried to keep him calm. He looked like he was close to tears. I squeezed his clammy palm and told him that I loved him. "I'm fine," he tried to assure me. Men! Here I am about to be cut open like a fish and I'm comforting him. The truth is, I think he was genuinely worried about me and his family doesn't call him a soft shell for nothing. Poor guy, looking back I don't know how he handled Ben's birth. He was probably in more pain than I was in...well maybe not physically, but emotionally and mentally I was at least drugged with Ambien and had some relief from the Epidural, he was up all night suffering along with me.
The Anesthesiologist explained that my body might start to tingle and feel cold, and it did. My grandma nurse placed straps around my wrists and told me this was in case I decided to try and "help my doctor" during the surgery. I laughed. Partially because I thought of how some patients might actually get anxious and pull at the curtain or freak out and want to stop the doctor from cutting them, but mostly I laughed because I remembered a story that involved my Nanna's wrists being tied up. Nope it's not some kinky story! Back in the "olden days" when my mother's mother gave birth they use to tie a woman's hands down. When my Nanna had been strapped down and in labor for several days she tried to trick the nurse into unstrapping her hands. She thought if she could just get her hands free, she'd get up and leave. So she told the nurse she had an itch on her nose and could she please unstrap her hands so she could scratch it. The nurse walked over and began to scratch my Nanna's nose, even though it wasn't itchy!
My doctor heard my giggle and asked me if I could feel her touching my belly. Maybe she thought I was ticklish and that was why I laughed, but I couldn't feel anything. They began to wipe that orange stuff across my belly, I think to sterilize it, and then they placed a blue curtain across my chest and my doctor explained that she was going to do a small test to make sure I couldn't feel anything. After a moment she said, "You're doing beautifully," and I thought that was kind of funny since I was just laying there doing nothing. She continued to cut through my stomach and I felt nothing. She was focused on her work sometimes warning me that I might feel pressure. I could tell someone was moving my body around, but I didn't feel any pain. My grandma nurse continued to ask me questions, trying to distract me from the surgery I guess.
My OB was talking medical jargin with her assistant doctor and I caught part of it and repeated it back to her, asking what that meant. She laughed and said she was going to have to watch what she said since I was paying attention. She explained that they were just deciding who should do what. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I wasn't going to waste anymore small talk with my grandma nurse. I guess my OB decided that if she was going to perform this Cesarian AND have a conversation with her patient it wasn't going to be about the surgery itself. She picked up where grandma left off and talked to me about books I was reading. When I told her I was rereading The Host by Stephenie Meyer she asked if that was the same author as the Twilight books. I told her yes, and we both went on discussing our love for the books and the differences in the movies. I was having so much fun I remember thinking, I could have a kid every day if this was what have a c-section was all about!
Occasionally the Anesthesiologist would interupt our dialogue with a warning about how I might feel like the wind got knocked out of me and it might be hard to breathe, but I felt fine and continued to discuss my love for these books with my doctor. Then, grandma held my hand and told me the baby was coming. I felt a small pressure followed by Jonathan's little cry. I looked up at Nick who stood up to take a picture. I was jealous that he could see him and take pictures. I wanted to see my baby too! I focused on Jonathan's gravelly cry. It was so much softer than Ben's had been. I was eager to hold him and comfort him. A second later a swaddled Jonathan was handed to Nick and without needing to ask he lowered the bundle so I could see his face. He was still crying but it was cute somehow. His little quivering bottom lip pouted and it made me want to kiss his face. I then noticed his hair and saw that it was curly. "He has my curly hair" I said to Nick. I looked up to see his expression now and the tears in Nick's eyes brought tears to my own. This was the beautiful birth experience that I had expected and had given up on.
I may have had the worst vaginal birth ever, but I was blessed with the very best Cesarian delivery and I have to give all the credit to my very compassionate and talented OB. I really wanted to share all the details of both birthing experiences with you because I think every woman should be prepared for the best and worst case scenarios. I don't think it's fair to make women believe that giving birth is going to be this picture perfect experience. Not all births are beautiful, and sometimes surgeries are needed. It's okay if you feel let down, or that you didn't get the birth you thought you were going to have. The reality is sometimes there are complications, and just because you didn't love your pregnancy or birth experience that doesn't mean you don't love your baby. On a similar note, my wedding day didn't go as planned but I had to remind myself that the actual wedding isn't important, all the details I planned for didn't need to be executed perfectly. What mattered is that I got to marry the perfect man for me and I get to spend my life with him. Go into your pregnancy and labor with the same attitude, because after it's all done and over with, whether or it was beautiful or horrible, you get to spend your life raising and loving your baby.
With that attitude in mind, treat breastfeeding the exact same way. For some, it may come naturally with little or no challenges. But be prepared and get as much education and support as you can. Be willing to accept that it will take days for your milk to come in, you'll spend hours trying to get your baby to latch correctly, you and baby will cry together, you might get engorged, get a clogged duct, a mastitis infection, have sore cracked bleeding nipples, and God help you if you have a colicky baby and that can of formula winking at you saying "I'll make everything better" and family and friends with good intentions telling you that it's true. Don't give up because eventually you and your baby will get the hang of it and you'll have a beautiful nursing experience that you'll cherish more than just about anything else you can ever do for your child.
This blog entry is surprisingly a lot longer than I thought it would be so I'll share some of the nursing challenges I had with Jonathan in another blog. Yes, even after successfully nursing Ben I had to relearn how to do it with Jon.
No comments:
Post a Comment